The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

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СКАЧАТЬ Erik couldn’t help but laugh, and suddenly he realized it was the first laugh he had experienced since Stefan had died. Suddenly his foot slipped and he half fell, slamming both knees into the rocks. As he winced in pain and regained his feet, he cursed the day he had first seen this camp, a week earlier.

      Five miles to the east of Krondor, the wagon he had ridden in had turned south, leaving the heavily traveled road from Krondor to Darkmoor. But it wasn’t the main road southeast that headed toward the Vale of Dreams and the border with Kesh. Rather, they had followed an old wagon trail to what looked to Erik to have once been a farming village near a small lake, surrounded on three sides by sheltering hills. The Crown had obviously taken over this area, for several guard posts had been erected along the way and three times they had been forced to stop while Robert de Loungville had shown proper passes. Erik had been curious, for with all the guards riding with them, and the tabards of the Prince’s own Household Guard, the guards along the way had still appeared cautious.

      The other thing that had piqued Erik’s interest had been how veteran those soldiers guarding the way to this camp had appeared. All the men had been older; not one smooth cheek in the crew, and many had borne scars. And most wore differing tabards, some the black with the golden eagle of Bas-Tyra, others the golden gull on brown of Crydee.

      A guard sergeant at the gate had greeted de Loungville by name, calling him Bobby, but still looked over his pass. Once inside the compound, Erik and the others had their first glimpse of the camp. A dozen men, all wearing black tunics and trousers, had been practicing with bows in a corner of the compound as the wagon had rolled through the gate, and as the large doors were swung shut, Erik caught sight of a dozen more practicing their horsemanship. He had gawked as the wagon had ground to a halt and the prisoners had been unchained.

      The men had been forced to run from the wagon to stand in front of the main building for over an hour, toward what end Erik had never understood.

      As he had waited, he had reveled in the simple fact of still being alive. His experience on the gallows had left him alternating between black depression and giddy elation. He had entered the compound in good spirits, which hadn’t worn off as he had waited before the nameless building.

      De Loungville had gone inside for over an hour and had returned with a man who appeared to be some sort of chirurgeon, who had examined all the prisoners and had made several comments on their condition Erik hadn’t understood. For the first time in his life he had some sense of how horses felt when he examined them for fitness.

      The prisoners had been run through some strange drills and asked to march around. This had brought rude comments and mocking observations from those men in black who were standing around while the prisoners drilled.

      At the end of the day, they had been ordered to the second large building, the mess. Fully half the tables were unoccupied after the men in black were seated. Young boys in the livery of squires of the Prince’s court in Krondor raced between the tables heaping abundance beyond Erik’s dreams on them. Breads, hot and slathered with butter, pitchers of cow’s milk, cooled by ice brought down by riders from the nearby mountains. Meats – chicken, beef, and pork – surrounded by vegetables of every description were set down next to platters of cheese and fruit.

      Erik was suddenly hungry beyond belief and ate.

      He lay almost comatose in a tent next to Roo that night.

      The next morning, training had begun, and they had been ordered to build the mountain. Robert de Loungville had ordered them to pick up seemingly endless piles of rocks and move them half the distance across the compound to build this hill.

      His revery was broken by Sho Pi saying, ‘I apologize.’

      Erik reached the peak and, as he knelt and started filling the bag with rocks, said, ‘For what?’

      ‘My temper got the best of me. Had I let him knock me down, we would not have to do this over.’

      Erik finished loading up his sack. ‘Oh, I think he’d have found a reason. You just provided a convenient excuse.’

      Moving carefully down the hill as Sho Pi took his place at the summit, Erik said, ‘It was worth it to see him dumped on his prat.’

      ‘I trust you feel that way tomorrow, friend Erik.’

      Despite aching shoulders and legs and black-and-blue marks all over his body from the constantly rolling rocks, Erik knew he would.

      ‘Get out of there, you dogs!’

      Erik and Roo were out of their bedding and on their feet before they were fully awake. Corporal Foster looked at the six men. Billy Goodwin, Biggo, and Luis were on one side of the large tent, while Erik and Roo were on the other with Sho Pi. All six stood at what they had come to learn was the approved stance, what the soldiers called ‘at attention,’ head back, eyes forward, hands to either side of them, palms in, feet at an angle together at the heels, each man before the foot of his wood and straw bed.

      If this morning was like the others, they would be working for an hour or so before the morning meal, when they would be required to sit in silence at a table removed from the forty or so men who occupied the compound. They had been forbidden to speak to the other men, and those black-clad soldiers had shown no inclination to speak to the prisoners.

      That they were soldiers was beyond doubt to Erik. They spent long hours drilling, climbing the wooden walls, jumping barricades, riding horseback, practicing with all manner of weapons.

      Instead of being returned to the rock hill, for their third day of moving the rocks to Robert de Loungville’s newly chosen location, they were marched before the big building where Erik was now convinced the officers lived. They were told to stand at attention and wait, while de Loungville entered the building.

      A few minutes later he reemerged with another man behind. The second man struck Erik as looking somewhat odd, though he couldn’t place why. He was slender, blond, and youthful – no more than twenty or twenty-five years of age – but de Loungville showed obvious deference to him as they spoke.

      ‘These are the last six,’ he said. The blond-haired man nodded, saying nothing. ‘I don’t like this,’ de Loungville continued. ‘We planned for sixty men, not thirty-six.’

      The other man spoke at last, and there was something strange in his speech: soft and well mannered, yet different from what Erik had heard among the nobles and wealthy merchants of Darkmoor and Ravensburg. Erik had heard a lot of foreign accents in his day, but he couldn’t place this one. ‘Agreed, but conditions force us to make do with what we have. What about these?’

      ‘They have promise, Calis, but we’ve months of training ahead.’

      ‘Who are they?’ asked the man called Calis.

      Robert de Loungville moved before Biggo. ‘This one’s called Biggo. Strong as an ox and almost as intelligent. Quicker than he looks. Calm – doesn’t rattle easily.’

      He stepped before the next. ‘Luis de Savona. Rodezian cutthroat. Likes to use a knife. Handy where we’re going.’

      Then he said, ‘Billy Goodwin. Looks like a simple lad, but he’d cut your throat for the fun of it. Too mean when angered, but he can be broken.’

      He came to stand before Erik. ‘This is von Darkmoor’s bastard. Probably too stupid to live, but he’s almost as strong as Biggo and he’ll do as he’s told.’

      Then СКАЧАТЬ