Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

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      • CHAPTER FOUR •

      Homeward

      MARTIN REINED IN HIS MOUNT.

      The escort behind him also halted as they crested the rise. To their left squatted the abandoned fortification he had seen burning only short months ago, fired on his brother’s command in order to deny the use of it to the Keshians. Down the road ahead, they could see the distant walls of the city of Ylith.

      ‘Downright peaceful-looking, Highness,’ observed Sergeant Oaks. The rangy, red-headed commander of the escort was the leader of one of Prince Edward’s best combat-proven patrols. Kesh might be observing the conditions of the truce, but trust was still a far distance away. And he didn’t wish to explain to Prince Edward why two of the last three remaining conDoin brothers were no longer among the living.

      Riding down the road, they were spotted by city lookouts long before they reached the south-eastern gate. As the company was clad in the tabards of Krondor and as the cease-fire had been honoured for some weeks now, the gate was opened and a familiar face greeted Martin.

      ‘Captain Bolton,’ Martin said, with surprise and some pleasure. When they had first met, George Bolton had been an annoying, officious young man, his bluster covering his deep fear of showing himself a fool. Under Martin’s guidance he had turned into a competent officer, eager to do his best. He had even begun to manifest some military talent and a quiet courage before the truce.

      Martin and Brendan climbed down from their horses and shook hands with Bolton. ‘What news?’ asked the acting city commander.

      Before Martin could answer, he was knocked a half-step backwards as Lady Bethany of Carse threw her arms around his neck in a hug so fierce he could barely breathe. Sergeant Oaks and Captain Bolton exchanged a look that conveyed barely contained amusement, while Brendan laughed openly. Martin held her tightly for a moment, then managed to say, ‘Let me breathe, Beth.’

      She loosened her hold on him, then kissed him and said, ‘I missed you so much. You were gone so long.’ She wore the leather trousers, linen shirt, and leather archer’s vest she had taken to wearing on the wall when Martin had last seen her. Her hair was gathered up in an efficient knot behind her head. Even without the usual lip paint and powders, jewellery and gowns of the ladies of the court, he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

      He nodded. ‘I’ll explain everything when we’re alone.’ Then he smiled and whispered into her ear.

      She stepped back, tears streaming down her face. ‘Really?’

      ‘Really.’ Turning to Bolton, Martin said, ‘We need to deal with a number of matters.’ He waved in the general direction of the mayor’s home, used by him as a command centre during the assault on the city by Keshian forces. ‘I’ll tell you all the news from the east once we’re seated. What’s the situation here?’

      ‘Better than when you left,’ said Bolton. He set some of his men to quartering of the escort.

      Martin beckoned Sergeant Oaks to accompany them. Brendan said, ‘I’ll get everyone settled and catch up.’ As Bethany clung to his arm and they walked towards the mayor’s house, Martin listened as Bolton reviewed the changes that had occurred since Martin’s departure. Bolton finished by saying, ‘So they’ve held fast to the ridgeline in the hills to the north-west, and down to some imagined line between the Free Cities and Yabon.’ He shook his head as if somewhat confused. ‘They’ve been very quiet, content to do nothing, and if anything they’ve proved to be reasonable neighbours. They sent a message last week telling us that their outriders saw what looked to be a large band of Dark Brothers heading south towards the smaller game trails—’ he looked at Martin as if waiting to be corrected, ‘—heading over the ridges into the Grey Towers and down to the Greenheart.’ Martin merely nodded. ‘They were alerting us to possible raiding.’

      ‘That’s downright neighbourly,’ Martin said.

      Bolton looked a little embarrassed. ‘And there’s been some, well, I guess you could call it “unofficial trading” going on across the lines.’

      Now Martin was amused. ‘Keshian belt-buckles?’

      Bolton nodded. ‘How did you know?’

      ‘It’s been going on for years along the southern front.’ He glanced over at Sergeant Oaks.

      ‘Sir,’ said the veteran. ‘Kesh’s finer units, like those Leopard Guard, get some pretty equipment. They have these enamel-and-bronze belt-buckles.’ He held up his hands with fingers and thumb forming a square about two by three inches and said, ‘Really fancy things with a leopard head. Fetches a nice bit of gold in the bazaar. It’s something of a joke among their sergeants that sooner or later every man loses a belt-buckle, usually after a bad run of luck gambling or after having met a particularly pretty whore.’ Glancing at СКАЧАТЬ