The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Raymond E. Feist

here?’

      Gorath pointed up to the rafters and announced, ‘Someone hides up there.’

      James said, ‘Come down. We mean you no harm.’

      A man lowered himself from the rafters, hanging by his hands a moment before releasing his hold and dropping to the dirt floor. He landed nimbly on his toes and looked at his rescuers. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

      The man moved toward them and when he stopped a few feet away, Owyn said, ‘Gods!’

      James looked at the man, who looked enough like him to be his twin. ‘You must be Lysle,’ said James.

      ‘Why do you assume that?’ asked the man.

      ‘Because people keep mistaking me for you,’ said James, moving around so he faced the door and the scant light from outside could strike his features. ‘It got me almost murdered by some unhappy folks up in Tannerus some months back.’

      The man laughed. ‘Sorry, but they’re waiting for me to return with some items they sent me to purchase on their behalf. I’ve been distracted and am overdue in getting back there.’ He paused a moment, then said, ‘You do look enough like me to confuse people, it’s true. I’m Lysle Riggers.’

      ‘I’m James, from Krondor,’ came the reply. ‘These are my friends, Owyn and Gorath. We were on our way to Romney and when we were in Malac’s Cross an old woman thought I was you.’

      ‘Old Petrumh,’ said Lysle. ‘She’s a little crazy. She’s been that way since her husband died in a fire. Most of the folks in town give her something to eat or let her sleep in their barns. For some reason she’s taken to telling everyone she’s my gran.’ He shook his head.

      ‘Care to tell us why a bunch of Nighthawks are trying to kill you?’

      ‘Nighthawks?’ asked Riggers, shrugging. ‘Assassins? Can’t say as I would know why. Maybe they thought I was you.’

      Gorath looked at James and said nothing. Owyn said, ‘Maybe –’

      James cut him off. ‘No, someone wants you dead, Riggers. Let’s head into town and maybe by the time we get there you’ll remember why.’

      The man looked at the three before him as if weighing the possibility of flight or resistance. Obviously discarding either as an option, he nodded. ‘Let’s go. The Wayside is a decent enough inn, and I could use an ale after all this.’

      ‘Check the bodies,’ said James. Gorath and Owyn went outside to do so. ‘You have anything you need to fetch?’ asked James.

      Riggers said, ‘No. I had a sword, but lost it somewhere back in the woods running from those four. It wasn’t a very good one. I’ll take one off the dead outside.’

      Moving outside, James said, ‘Fair enough.’

      Owyn said, ‘They’re carrying nothing, James. No papers, no money, nothing. Just weapons and those black clothes.’

      Gorath came over and said, ‘And these,’ as he held up a medallion with a hawk on it.

      James took it, inspected it, and threw it to the ground. ‘These are the real Nighthawks,’ he said. ‘Not those frauds down in Krondor.’

      ‘Frauds?’ asked Riggers.

      ‘It’s a long story.’

      ‘Good,’ said Riggers. ‘That means a second ale. Let’s go.’ He set off toward the distant lights of the town, while the others mounted up.

      Owyn rode next to Jimmy and said, ‘For a fellow who was about to be chopped up by assassins, he’s pretty cheerful.’

      ‘Yes, he is,’ said James.

      They followed their new acquaintance into town.

       • SEVEN •

       Murders

      THE INN WAS CROWDED.

      Lysle Riggers led James, Gorath and Owyn into The Wayside, a tavern whose location was reflected in its name, situated as it was just on the edge of the city, and a good walk from the main street. But it seemed a popular place, with workingmen, armed fighters and some unsavoury-looking sorts packing the common room.

      James and his companions had left their horses with the lad who worked in the stabling yard, giving instructions for their care, and followed Lysle inside.

      Lysle led them over to a table in the corner. He motioned for them to sit and waved to the barman, who hurried over to take their order. James ordered a round of ale and some food, and the barman offered a quick glance between him and Riggers, but said nothing as he headed back to the kitchen.

      Riggers said, ‘Well, then, I owe you a story.’

      ‘A long one, you said,’ observed Gorath.

      Riggers said, ‘And you shall have it, but I have one question. What brought you so fortuitously to my rescue?’ He studied James a moment, then said, ‘If it was pure chance, then fate has a curious sense of humour, my friend.’

      James said, ‘It was chance of a sort, though I had heard your name down in Malac’s Cross, as a few people seemed to think I was you. As to how we came to your rescue, that was pure chance, though we were on the lookout for just the sort of trouble you found yourself in.’

      ‘You recognized my assailants,’ Riggers said, lowering his voice. ‘Obviously you know more than the average mercenary.’ He jerked his head toward Gorath. ‘His kind have been seen around here in increasing numbers lately, though rarely openly walking around with humans. All of which leads me to think you’re someone about whom I need to know more before I launch into my long story.’

      James grinned. Riggers returned the grin and again the others were struck at the resemblance. Owyn said, ‘If you’re not brothers, the gods have a fine sense of whimsy.’

      ‘That they do,’ said Riggers, ‘irrespective of any other thing.’

      James said, ‘Here’s what I can tell you. I’m working for people who presently have no reason to want you dead, Riggers. Let’s not give them one. They are also people who are at odds with those employing your would-be killers.’

      ‘And the enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ said Riggers, quoting the old truism.

      ‘To a point,’ said James. ‘At this time I like to think we may have more reasons to help one another than not.’

      Riggers was silent for a minute, then the food arrived, giving him another moment of respite as he took a slice of cheese and laid it over warm bread. After the ale arrived and he took a long pull on his mug, he said, ‘Allow me to be a little circumspect, and I’ll tell you what I can.

      ‘I represent interests in Krondor, well established and well connected. They have trading relationships throughout the Kingdom, and into Kesh and across the Bitter Sea to Natal. Lately they’ve been harried by a new competitor, who seeks to disrupt established business relationships and carve out a new trading empire.’

      James considered this a moment, then said, ‘Care to name your principals or your new competition?’

      Lysle’s grin stayed in place, but the humour left his eyes. ‘No, to the first, but the second is a personage of some mystery. He’s called “the Crawler” by some.’

      James leaned forward and spoke low enough that only those at the table might hear him. ‘I’m Seigneur James, of the Prince’s court, so I’m the King’s man. But I was also known for a time as Jimmy the Hand, so I know of whom you speak. “There’s a Party at Mother’s”.’

      ‘“And