Prince of the Blood. Raymond E. Feist

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      ‘True,’ answered his brother with a grin. ‘But don’t let him kill you. I’d have to avenge you.’

      The dandy tried a combination attack, a high, low, then high series of chops, and Erland was forced to back away. In the night the sound of whistles could be heard.

      ‘Erland,’ said Borric.

      The hard-pressed younger twin said, ‘What?’ as he dodged another masterfully executed combination attack.

      ‘The watch is coming. You’d better kill him quickly.’

      ‘I’m trying,’ said Erland, ‘but this fellow isn’t being very cooperative.’ As he spoke, his boot heel struck a pool of spilled ale and he lost his footing. Suddenly he was falling backward, his defence gone.

      Borric was moving as the dandy lunged at his brother. Erland twisted upon the floor, but the dandy’s sword struck his side. Hot pain erupted along his ribs. And at the same instant the man had opened his left side to a counter thrust. Sitting upon the floor, Erland thrust upward with his rapier, catching the man in the stomach. The dandy stiffened and gasped as a red stain began to spread upon his yellow tunic. Then Borric struck him from behind, using the hilt of his sword to render the man unconscious.

      From outside the sound of rushing men could be heard, and Borric said, ‘We’d best get clear of this mess,’ as he gave his brother a hand up. ‘Father’s going to be upset enough with us as it is without brawling.’

      Wincing from his injury, Erland interrupted, ‘You didn’t have to hit him. I think I would have killed him in another moment.’

      ‘Or he you. And I’d not want to face Father had I let that happen. Besides, you really wouldn’t have killed him; you just don’t have the instinct. You’d have tried to disarm him or something equally noble—’ Borric observed, catching his breath in a gasp, ‘—and stupid. Now, let’s see about getting out of here.’

      Erland gripped his wounded side as they headed toward the door. Several town toughs, seeing blood upon Erland’s side, moved to block the twin’s exit. Borric and Erland both levelled their sword points at the band of men. Borric said, ‘Keep your guard up a moment,’ picked up a chair, and threw it through the large bay window facing the boulevard. Glass and leading showered the street, and before the tinkle of shards upon stone had stopped, both brothers were leaping through what remained of the window. Erland stumbled and Borric had to grip his arm to keep him from falling.

      As they straightened, they took in the fact that they were looking at horses. Two of the more bold thugs jumped through the window after the twins, and Borric smashed one in the side of the head with his sword hilt, while the other man pulled up short as three crossbows were levelled at him. Arrayed before the door was the small company of ten burly and heavily armed town watchmen commonly known as the Riot Squad. But what had the half-dozen denizens of the Sleeping Dockman standing in open-mouth amazement, was the sight of the thirty horsemen behind the Riot Squad. They wore the tabards of Krondor and the badge of the Prince of Krondor’s own Royal Household Guards. From within the inn someone overcame his stupefaction and shouted, ‘Royal Guardsmen!’ and a general evacuation through the rear door of the tavern began, while the gaping faces at the window vanished.

      The two brothers regarded the mounted men, all armed and ready in case trouble came. At their head rode a man well known to the two young mercenaries.

      ‘Ah … good evening, my lord,’ said Borric, a smile slowly spreading across his face. The leader of the Riot Squad, seeing no one else in sight, moved to take custody of the two young men.

      The leader of the Royal Guard waved him off. ‘This doesn’t concern you, Watchman. You and your men may go.’ The watch commander bowed slightly and led his men back to their barracks in the heart of the Poor Quarter.

      Erland winced a bit as he said, ‘Baron Locklear, what a pleasure.’

      Baron Locklear, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, smiled an unamused smile. ‘I’m certain.’ Despite his rank, he looked barely a year or two older than the boys, though he was nearly sixteen years their senior. He had curly blond hair and large blue eyes, which were presently narrowed as he watched the twins in obvious disapproval.

      Borric said, ‘And I expect that means that Baron James—’

      Locklear pointed. ‘Is standing behind you.’

      Both brothers turned to see the man in the great cloak framed in the doorway. He threw back his hood to reveal a face still somewhat youthful despite his thirty-seven years of age, his curly brown hair slightly dusted with grey. It was a face the brothers knew as well as any, for he had been one of their teachers since boyhood, and more, one of their closest friends. He regarded the two brothers with ill-disguised disapproval and said, ‘Your father ordered you directly home. I had reports of your whereabouts from the time you left Highcastle until you passed through the city gates … two days ago!’

      The twins tried to hide their pleasure at being able to lose their royal escorts, but they failed. ‘Ignore for a moment the fact your father and mother had a formal court convened to welcome you home. Forget they stood waiting for three hours! Never mind your father’s insisting that Baron Locklear and I comb the entire city for two days seeking you out.’ He studied the two young men, ‘But I trust you’ll remember all those little details when your father has words with you after court tomorrow.’

      Two horses were brought forward and a soldier deferentially held out the reins to each brother. Seeing the blood along Erland’s side, a Lieutenant of the Guard moved his horse nearby and said in mock sympathy, ‘Does His Highness require help?’

      Erland negotiated the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle without aid. In irritated tones, he answered, ‘Only when I see Father, Cousin Willy, and I don’t think you can do much for me then.’

      Lieutenant William nodded and in unsympathetic tones, he whispered, ‘He did say come home at once, Erland.’

      Erland nodded in resignation. ‘We just wanted to relax for a day or two before—’

      William couldn’t resist laughing at his cousins’ predicament. He had often seen them bring disaster down upon themselves and he never could understand their appetite for such punishment. He said, ‘Maybe you could run for the border. I could get very stupid following you.’

      Erland shook his head. ‘I think I’ll wish I had taken your offer, after tomorrow morning’s court.’

      William laughed again. ‘Come along, this dressing down won’t be much worse than a dozen you’ve already had.’

      Baron James, Chancellor of Krondor and first assistant to the Duke of Krondor, quickly mounted his own horse. ‘To the palace,’ he ordered, and the company turned to escort the twin princes, Borric and Erland, to the palace.

      Arutha, Prince of Krondor, Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm, and Royal Heir to the throne of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat quietly attentive to the business of the court being conducted before him. A slender man in his youth, he had not gained the bulk commonly associated with middle age, but rather had become harder, more angular in features, losing what little softening effects youth had given his lanky appearance. His hair was still dark, though enough grey had come with the twenty years of ruling Krondor and the West to speckle it. His reflexes had slowed only slightly over the years, and he was still counted one of the finest СКАЧАТЬ