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

may be we have more in common than you know,’ said James. He told of the false Nighthawks in the sewers of Krondor and the suspicion that someone was trying to finesse the Prince into raiding the Mockers’ hideouts in an attempt to find those false Nighthawks.

      ‘That sounds like the Crawler,’ said Lysle. ‘He would happily set Crown against Mockers, and sit back and watch. If the Mockers somehow survived, they would be weakened enough that they couldn’t oppose him; if they were destroyed, he could move in and take their place.’

      ‘That’s unlikely as long as Arutha’s in Krondor,’ said James. ‘He’s too savvy to get sucked into that obvious a ploy. What is of real concern to us is the existence of these genuine Nighthawks, the ones who were seeking to separate your head from your shoulders.’

      ‘I won’t even ask why,’ said Lysle. ‘I’ll assume that it has something to do with the good of the Kingdom.’

      ‘They had a strong hand in repeated attempts to kill Prince Arutha ten years ago. If they’re the survivors of that first bunch, or someone else is attempting to trade on their reputation, either way they’re a menace. What can you tell us about them?’

      Lysle sat back. ‘I’m off for Tannerus in the morning – to put right that little matter that almost got you beaten to death when you were last there – so I’ll tell you what I know. There’s two places this Crawler seems to have taken a foothold. I hear he’s got a lot of the crime on the docks in Durbin under his control, and he’s dislodged the locals over in Silden. The Mockers were never strong outside Krondor, but they always had good working relationships throughout the Bitter Sea, and a lot of influence in Silden. Lately problems in several Bitter Sea ports have put a crimp on Mocker business and those friendly to the Mockers have vanished in Silden. But the real pot about to boil over is up north; there’s a lot of confusion in Romney right now, and from what I can gather, a lot of this Nighthawk business is being run through there.’

      ‘We’ve heard of some problems there.’

      ‘The Riverpullers’ Guild?’ asked Lysle.

      James nodded.

      ‘That’s the Crawler,’ continued Lysle. ‘He starts at the docks, making it difficult for cargo to get in and out of a city, and wears down both the merchants and local thieves. After a while, people start paying protection to get their goods in, and once he’s in their pockets, he never leaves. Damon Reeves is the head of the Riverpullers, and he’s an honest man, but someone near him has been whispering in his ear.’

      James said, ‘You think this Crawler is behind the revived Nighthawks?’

      ‘I don’t know what to think. He may have tired of me flitting around causing him troubles and put a price on my head. Or he might be behind them. Or it might be someone else wants me dead for entirely different reasons. I’ve made a few enemies in my time.’ Lysle grinned at that.

      ‘I have no doubt,’ said Gorath, dryly.

      ‘Where should we start?’ asked James.

      ‘Start with a man named Michael Waylander. He’s always at the centre of these problems, it seems. Arle Steelsoul, of the Ironmongers, is leading the opposition to the Riverpullers. Both sides, at least, will talk to Waylander. It’s rumoured he has his hands in a couple of shady things; nothing too important, but enough to make him dangerous.’

      ‘Anything besides that?’

      ‘Nothing I care to share with you, but also nothing that kept from you will hinder your efforts.’

      ‘Well,’ said James, ‘it’s more than we had before we ran across you. If you’re off for Tannerus tomorrow, we’ll know where to find you.’

      Lysle grinned and James felt as if he was looking in a mirror. While Lysle was two or three years older than James, the likeness was uncanny. ‘That’s where I’m heading now. Who knows where I’ll be if you come there looking for me?’

      James fixed him with a knowing gaze and said, ‘Trust me, my friend. Now that I’ve made your acquaintance, I’ll be keeping an eye on you. We’ll meet again, have no doubt.’

      Lysle finished his food, excused himself and left the three alone. ‘I’ll see about a room,’ said James. He made arrangements and the three retired for the night.

      In the morning, they headed for the stabling yard of the inn and discovered a confused stableboy. ‘Horses, sir? But last night you took one, and sold my master the other two.’

      James turned and looked down the westward road where beyond his vision the village of Tannerus lay. Silently he swore he would certainly find Lysle Riggers again some day. And if any doubt at their being related had existed in James’s mind until this minute, it was now completely vanquished. Suddenly laughing, James said, ‘Well, I guess we need to buy some horses, lad. What have you to sell us?’

      Owyn and Gorath exchanged curious glances at James’s strange reaction, but neither said a word as James waited for the boy to fetch the stable-master so he could start haggling to buy three horses.

      

      Armed men had thrown a barrier across the road into Romney, and signalled the three riders to halt. ‘What’s this?’ asked James.

      One of the men stepped from behind the barrier, mostly grain sacks and crates, and said, ‘We’re not letting strangers into Romney right now.’

      James said, ‘I’m on the King’s business, and I bear warrants from the Prince of Krondor.’

      ‘Prince of Krondor, is it?’ said the man, rubbing his chin with his gloved hand. He looked like a stevedore, shirt sleeves rolled up high on his powerful arms, heavy chest and neck, his face burned brown by the sun. He carried a long wrecking bar, the kind used to open heavy crates off-loaded from riverboats, and he looked eager to use it. ‘Well, the Prince is a long way away; it’s not even the Western Realm, you see, so I can’t see as why that cuts any ice with us.’

      ‘Who’s in charge here?’ said James, jumping down from his horse and handing his reins to Owyn.

      ‘Well, normally it’s Michael Waylander, who’s trying to keep the Riverpullers from taking over the city, but he’s in town right now taking care of some business, so he left me in charge.’

      ‘And your name is …?’

      ‘I’m Karl Widger,’ said the man.

      Before he could move, James spun on him, hitting him as hard as he could in the stomach. The man went over with a loud ‘oof’ and James brought his knee upward into Widger’s descending face. Karl went down like a dropped brick.

      Pointedly stepping over the fallen dockworker, James said, ‘Would one of you run into the city and fetch Michael Waylander here? Tell him Karl is incapacitated and there’s no one in charge. Unless,’ he added, pulling his sword, ‘one of you cares to come over here and claim he’s now responsible for keeping us out of Romney?’

      Two men behind the barricade conferred and one ran off, heading over a small bridge that separated the road into Romney from the King’s Highway. None of the others seemed eager to come over the barricade and challenge James, but James knew he couldn’t just ride through a dozen armed men.

      Owyn dismounted and handed the reins back to James. ‘That was bold.’

      Under his breath, Jimmy said, ‘And a little stupid. I hit that walking tree trunk as hard as I could. Damn near broke my hand, and it was only his stomach. I’m glad I didn’t try to hit his head. I’d probably have broken every knuckle. My knee’s throbbing like mad.’

      It didn’t take long for Michael Waylander to arrive. He was a tall man, blond and sporting a short-cropped beard that looked reddish in the afternoon sun. ‘What is going on here?’ he demanded.

      ‘I might ask you the same thing,’ said James. ‘I bear warrants from the Prince of Krondor and I’m on the King’s