Exile’s Return. Raymond E. Feist

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      Kaspar leaned against the doorway, waiting to see if anyone would appear this morning requiring labourers. It was traditional for those seeking day-labour to meet before sunrise in a small market near Simarah’s north gate. Kaspar had found work every morning for the first week after arriving in Simarah, and the pay was better than it had been in Muboya.

      There wasn’t a full-scale war underway as yet, but some sort of border skirmish was developing down south, between Muboya and the realm of someone calling himself the King of Sasbataba. Soldiers were being recruited, and because the pay was relatively good, most workers were taking up arms. So, Kaspar had been constantly employed. He had also rediscovered his gambling luck, and so had enough coin in his purse to feed himself for another week should work stop. He could also afford a room – little more than a cot under the stairs – at a local boarding house. He ate simple food and didn’t drink, so he actually ended each day with a little more wealth than he had at the start.

      He had hoped for another caravan to pass through the town, heading south and that he could again find a position as a guard, but during the conflict with King Sasbataba, all supplies and goods heading south were under strict military escort. A sense of urgency was overtaking him as he waited to continue his journey home.

      Three men approached the market and all the workers came to their feet expectantly. Kaspar had seen these three before over the last few days. The first two always hired about two dozen men between them, but the third had lingered for a while, looking closely at the men in the area, as if searching for some unseen quality, and had then departed alone.

      The first man shouted, ‘I need three pickers! Experienced orchard men only!’

      The second said, ‘I need strong backs! I’ve got cargo to load. Ten men!’

      But the third man simply walked past those racing to present themselves to the first two men hiring, and approached Kaspar. ‘You there,’ he said, his words coloured by a strange accent. ‘I’ve seen you here for a few days.’ He pointed to the sword at Kaspar’s side. ‘Know how to use that thing?’

      Kaspar smiled, and it wasn’t friendly. ‘If I didn’t, would I be standing here?’

      ‘I need a man who can use a sword as well as having other talents.’

      ‘What talents?’

      ‘Can you ride?’

      Kaspar studied his would-be employer and realized this man was dangerous. Whatever he was about to suggest was probably illegal, and if so, Kaspar stood to make good money from doing it. He studied the man’s face for a moment and found little in it to recommend itself. He had a thin nose that made his dark eyes look too close together. His hair was oiled and combed flat against his head, and his teeth were yellow and uneven. His clothing was of a fine weave, if simply cut, and Kaspar noticed that his dagger had an ivory handle. But the most noticeable thing about the man was his expression, one of fatigue and worry. Whatever he needed done would undoubtedly be dangerous, and that might mean a healthy wage. After considering the question, Kaspar said, ‘As good as some, better than most.’

      ‘I can’t place your accent. Where are you from?’

      ‘A lot of places, most of them very far from here, but most recently up north, around Heslagnam and Mastaba.’

      ‘You’re not from the south?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Any problem with having to fight?’

      Kaspar was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. He knew that if a horse was involved in the bargain, he was taking the job, no matter what the task; he didn’t plan on returning to Simarah in this lifetime. If he didn’t like the job, he’d steal the horse and ride south. ‘If the job is to fight, I’m no mercenary. But if you mean can I fight if I need to, yes, I can.’

      ‘If things go as planned, you only need to be able to ride, my friend.’ He motioned for Kaspar to follow him. As he walked away, he said, ‘My name is Flynn.’

      Kaspar stopped in his tracks. ‘Kinnoch?’

      Flynn spun around and spoke in the language of the Kingdom of the Isles. ‘Deep Taunton. You?’

      ‘I’m from Olasko.’

      Flynn glanced about and in the King’s Tongue said, ‘Then we’re both far from home, Olaskon. But this may be the gods’ way of providing us both with what we need, because unless I’m sadly mistaken you didn’t just decide to come down here to this godforsaken side of the world out of choice. Follow me.’

      The man named Flynn hurried along a series of streets in the seedier part of the merchants’ quarter, then turned down a long alley. Kaspar kept his face immobile and tried to maintain a calm demeanour, but his heart raced. Flynn had been the surname of one of his boyhood instructors; a man from a region known as Kinnoch, part of a nation long ago overrun by the Kingdom of the Isles. But the inhabitants had retained their strong cultural identity and still spoke a language used only among their community. Kaspar’s instructor had taught him a few phrases, to indulge a curious boy, but even that much would have been considered a betrayal by other clan members. The men of Kinnoch were redoubtable fighters, poets, liars and thieves; prone to drunkenness, sudden bursts of rage and deep sorrow, but if this man had found a way to this godforsaken side of the world, he might well have the means to return to civilization.

      Flynn entered a warehouse which looked draughty, dusty and dark. Inside, Kaspar saw two other men waiting. Flynn stepped to one side and nodded, and without warning the other two men drew their swords and attacked.

       • CHAPTER SIX •

       Opportunity

      KASPAR LEAPT TO HIS RIGHT.

      Before his attacker could react, Kaspar had drawn his sword and spun round to deliver a crushing strike to the man’s back.

      Flynn’s blade scarcely blocked the blow as he shouted, ‘Enough! I’ve seen enough.’ He still spoke the King’s Tongue.

      Kaspar took a step back as the other two men did likewise. Flynn quickly resheathed his blade and said, ‘Sorry, my friend, but I had to see if you really could use that thing.’ He pointed to Kaspar’s blade.

      ‘I said I could.’

      ‘And I’ve known women who said they loved me, but that didn’t make it true,’ countered Flynn.

      Kaspar kept his blade out, but lowered it. ‘You have a problem with trust, it seems.’

      Flynn nodded, a wry smile on his lips as he said, ‘You’re observant. Now, forgive me, but we had to be sure you’d wits enough СКАЧАТЬ