The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

Kingdom cities and towns up and down the coast. Although neutral, Roldem was historically close to the Isles and their navy was a possible threat. While sending reassuring messages to King Carol, the Emperor’s chancellor had also dispatched a squadron of ships which had taken up station just outside the harbour mouth in Roldem, to discourage the Roldem fleet from sailing out. It was a strategic move, as the Roldem fleet could easily crush the Keshians, but it would be an act of war and right now Roldem was working hard to remain neutral. The King wished to serve as an honest broker between the two warring nations so he ordered his navy to stand down while he sent diplomatic messages to the two capitals.

      As a result, people were staying close to home, out of fear of a Keshian assault on the city. Most judged it unlikely that war would come, but fear cared not for likelihood.

      Every shop they passed was closed or empty of customers, and every step past a street vendor brought pleas to inspect goods or hungry stares from pedlars too long without sales.

      ‘Is war coming?’ asked Ty.

      ‘It’s already come,’ said Hal. ‘At least to my nation. I don’t know if the first arrow has been shot or the first sword blow struck, but if blood hasn’t been spilled it will be soon.’

      ‘How can you be certain? Isn’t it possible this is some sort of ploy, a means to gain concessions from the King of the Isles?’

      Hal said, ‘One day I will be a duke and while I may not be the brightest student the university has seen, I do know how to listen, read, and try to utilise the lessons of wiser men than me.’ He was attempting to be light in tone, but Ty could tell he was serious. ‘Fleets as big as those Kesh has unleashed are not sent into hostile waters as a feint or to spur diplomacy. They are sent out to force concessions or to conquer.’

      He stopped, looking around. From their vantage point along the river docks, they could see down into the harbour. ‘You see that clutter of ships?’ he said, pointing.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Every one of those is owned by a man losing gold. Every hour a ship sits there is an hour that owner is not making profit. Wood rots, rope frays, metal rusts, and men must be paid even if they sit and do nothing; or they must be discharged and leave the owners without crew once business returns, but ships only make money if they are hauling cargo and passengers.

      ‘There are syndicates across the Sea of Kingdoms and in the Bitter Sea where underwriters of cargo are already losing fortunes, because goods contracted and paid for are not being delivered. Men sitting in Barrett’s Coffee House in Krondor, Rufino’s Tavern in Salador, and Hanson’s Inn in Rillanon, men who were wealthy a month ago, now stand on the edge of poverty. Lives are being ruined. Shop owners will run out of goods to sell and people will go hungry.’ He turned and looked at Ty. ‘At least so far Kesh hasn’t sent any assassins to kill me.’

      ‘That we know of,’ said Ty. ‘We’ve kept you out of sight … until now!’ He laughed.

      ‘But now we are just two young men spending a pleasant afternoon out and about, walking, taking in the sights, talking about life, and getting out of your father’s lovely establishment which is currently my gaol!’

      Ty laughed. ‘Was there ever so fine a gaol?’

      ‘True. But I am getting fat,’ Hal said patting his stomach. ‘I could use a hunt, a few days on the trail, some camp cooking, and I’d be able to get back into these trousers.’

      ‘Or you could eat less?’

      ‘Of Francisco’s cooking?’ asked Hal, looking as if what Ty had said was sheer madness.

      ‘Well, he is very good.’ Ty looked around and his eyes narrowed.

      ‘What?’ Hal’s gaze followed Ty’s.

      ‘Those men over there. I think they’re watching us. Don’t stare.’

      Hal turned his back on them as if he were in conversation about something private with Ty and said, ‘Tall man, black cloak, short fellow, green vest over dirty grey shirt?’

      ‘Those are the two,’ said Ty glancing off in another direction as if listening to something he didn’t want to hear.

      ‘Saw them watching us before we came around the corner. I thought they might be following us.’

      ‘You didn’t think to mention it to me?’

      ‘I didn’t want to cause needless alarm.’ Hal kept his back to them. ‘What are they doing now?’

      ‘Not watching us, and working hard at it.’

      ‘Do you know a disreputable ale house not too far from here?’

      Ty grinned. ‘Just the place, around this next corner.’

      ‘Back door?’

      ‘On a nice alley. I have had to employ it occasionally.’

      ‘Fights?’

      ‘Women.’

      As they moved down the street, glancing out of the corner of their eyes at the two men, Ty continued, ‘When we first arrived here, I was new to many things, including the charms of the ladies.’

      ‘You don’t have ladies in Olasko?’

      ‘I had a mother in Olasko.’

      Hal laughed. ‘I understand.’

      They turned the corner. ‘My mother thinks I need to settle down. She’s …’ His voice dropped. ‘My mother went through a great deal … well, let us leave it that she would be happier if I found some nice young woman and started a family.’

      ‘How does your father feel?’ asked Hal as Ty pushed open the door to the tavern. He glanced up at the sign they passed beneath. It showed a painting of a man in fancy livery being chased by a large black dog which was nipping at his heels.

      ‘Father thinks I’ll get around to it in my own good time,’ Ty answered. ‘He’s been through a lot as well, but it’s left him with a different perspective.’ He opened his arms expansively. ‘Welcome to the Running Footman.’

      It was just what one would expect of a riverside tavern in a port town: crowded, filled with workers, sailors, river men, and no doubt thieves and cheats. ‘Not exactly the River House,’ muttered Hal.

      ‘True, but for me that’s the charm, don’t you see?’ Ty moved to the bar and shouted, ‘Babette! My love! Miss me?’

      The woman behind the bar was at least fifty years of age, possibly more, with sallow skin and a badly applied mask of rouge on her cheeks. She had darkened her eyes with kohl, or kajal as it was sometimes called, and wore the most impossibly red wig Hal had ever seen, including those worn by travelling players and clowns. She smiled. ‘Ty! You wound me with your absence.’ Her voice was so gravelly that for a moment Hal wasn’t certain she wasn’t a man in some horrible mummery; but that might have been the result of the pipe that hung from her lips, or from its smoke, from the very pungent and strong tabac she preferred. ‘Who’s your friend?’

      ‘By name, Henry.’

      ‘Hal.’ He extended his hand and she took it and gave the fingers a squeeze.

      ‘Pleasure.’

      ‘We’re thirsty,’ said Ty, and Hal nodded.

      ‘Two blacks!’ she shouted and a young man behind her grabbed two large porcelain mugs and filled them with a very dark brew. He brought them forward and Ty slapped a silver coin down. ‘Let me know when that’s used up.’

      He led Hal to a waist-high shelf against the far wall where they could place their drinks and stand, for there were no empty seats at any table. Hal took his first drink and was greeted by a thick, frothy mouthful unlike anything he had tasted before. It was nutty and slightly bitter, yet it had a lingering sweetness. ‘This is remarkable,’ he said. ‘What is it?’

      ‘Porter,’