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

war?’ asked James, as if he had heard nothing about this before.

      ‘Damn Riverpullers are raising prices in violation of every agreement that’s in place, and they’re threatening to shut down all business up and down the river. I represent an alliance of other guilds: glaziers, rope-makers, carpenters, smiths and most of the local merchants, and we refused to pay.’

      James said, ‘Let me shorten this for you. You tried to make arrangements to get your own cargo in and out of the city and the Riverpullers started dumping goods in the river and wrecking boats.’

      ‘More,’ said Waylander. ‘They killed two apprentices three weeks ago and fired a half-dozen boats.’

      James said, ‘Well, those are local matters. We’re on business for the Crown and will brook no more delays.’

      ‘Let me see your warrants,’ said Waylander.

      James hesitated. This Waylander was no noble or Crown official. By rights he had no legal standing and James was not under any obligation to humour him. But practical considerations and a dozen armed men made him reach into his tunic and pull out his travel warrant and a demand for aid warrant, instructing any noble to aid James in his mission for the Crown.

      ‘Well, we couldn’t be too careful. The Riverpullers were hiring swords and the city’s become an armed camp. We can’t do much about those inside the city already, but we can keep more from coming in.’ He handed over the warrants.

      ‘What about the Earl?’ asked Owyn. ‘Isn’t he keeping the peace?’

      ‘We don’t have a garrison here, son,’ said Waylander, and something in his tone led James to think he liked the idea. ‘We’re in the heart of the Kingdom and the most trouble we have is the occasional drunken brawl on the docks or a few bandits riding down from the northern hills to ambush someone on the road. We have a city constabulary, but most of those men are on one side or the other in this dispute. The Riverpullers are the most important guild in this area, but the other guilds together are stronger. It’s a close thing and we don’t have many neutral parties in Romney. Earl Richard asked me to come up from my home in Sloop, a village a half-day’s ride south of here, just because I’m not local; I have a lot of friends on both sides of this, and sometimes they’ll listen to me. But the Riverpullers are out of line and there’s no other way to see it.’

      James put his warrants back in his tunic and said, ‘I expect they’d have something different to say on that matter. But that’s no concern of mine. I need to see the Earl.’

      Waylander was about to say something when a clatter of hooves from behind caused James to look. A company of riders was approaching at a leisurely pace up the road, a banner at the head of their column announcing the presence of the Royal Lancers.

      Their leader approached, held up his hand for the halt, and said, ‘What’s this then? Clear the way, you men.’

      James nodded, Waylander gave the order, and the men started pulling aside the grain sacks and crates.

      James walked to stand before the officer, and after a moment, the officer said, ‘What are you looking at, man?’

      James grinned. ‘Walter of Gyldenholt? So Baldwin sent you south, finally?’

      The former captain from the garrison at Highcastle said, ‘Do I know you?’

      James laughed. ‘We met at Highcastle. I’m James, squire of the Prince’s court.’

      ‘Ah, yes,’ said the old captain. ‘Now I recall you.’

      James couldn’t help but grin. When he had first met the captain, he had been one of the victims of Guy du Bas-Tyra’s fall from grace, an officer in service to Guy’s most loyal ally, the result of which had been years of hard service with the border barons. Glancing at Walter’s girth, he said, ‘Peacetime’s been good, it seems.’

      ‘What brings you here, squire?’ asked the captain, ignoring the friendly barb.

      ‘The Prince has us running some errands for him. You’re the company Guy sent here to restore order?’

      ‘We are,’ said Walter. ‘Would have been here a few days ago, but we ran into a spot of trouble to the south. Band of lads in black objected to our coming this way. Caused us a merry chase, but we managed to kill a few before the rest got away.’

      James looked at Owyn and Gorath. ‘These are things we had better not speak of in the open, captain. I have to talk to the Earl. I imagine you do as well.’

      ‘Indeed,’ said the captain, motioning for his men to move forward, through the barricade now open before them. ‘Ride in with us, squire. We’ll keep the ruffians off your back.’ He smiled at James.

      James laughed and mounted his horse, motioning for his companions to join the end of the column. There were fifty lancers in the company, enough to prevent serious trouble, and keep both sides of the dispute from doing anything rash, or at least James hoped so.

      Waylander said, ‘We were only holding this bridge until the lancers arrived, squire. Tell the Earl my men and I are heading home to Sloop.’

      James acknowledged the man’s request and they rode across the bridge.

      Romney was a major trading centre in the east. The city was big enough to be considered huge by western standards, but here in the eastern half of the Kingdom it was a modest sized place, about half the size of Krondor. With fifty lancers at hand, the Earl could re-form his constables and restore order as long as neither side in the dispute opted for open warfare.

      The tension in the city was almost palpable. As they rode in, curious onlookers glanced out of windows or cleared the streets, letting the soldiers pass.

      Gorath said, ‘There is a lot of fear in the air.’

      ‘People worry when riots break out,’ said James. ‘Even if you’re not taking sides, the violence can sweep you up and carry you into harm’s way. Many a man has died trying to explain he wasn’t taking sides in a guild riot.’

      They rounded a corner and found themselves entering the city’s square dominated by a large fountain. James was struck by something odd. ‘There aren’t any hawkers or vendors about.’

      Owyn nodded. ‘I’ve been here before, on my way up to see my uncle in Cavell Keep, and there are always merchants in the main square.’

      Gorath said, ‘Perhaps they were fearful of being swept up in that violence you spoke of.’

      James nodded. A large inn occupied the north side of the square, a black sheep against a green meadow painted on the sign hanging over the door. ‘We’ll headquarter here,’ announced Walter of Gyldenholt.

      The lancers dismounted and whatever James might have thought of the truculent former captain from Highcastle, his squad was the model of efficiency. The captain waved over a passer-by and said, ‘Do you know where the Earl of Romney is?’

      The man said, ‘He’s taken up residence in that house there, sir.’ He pointed to a house across the square.

      Handing the reins of his horse to an orderly, Walter dismounted and said, ‘Squire James, let’s go call upon his lordship.’

      James dismounted and said to Owyn, ‘Find us a room, but in a different inn. We’ll be able to snoop about a bit easier if we’re not keeping company with fifty Royal Lancers.’

      Owyn said, ‘I know just the place. I stayed here with my father once.’ He pointed. ‘Down that street is another bridge, crossing the River Cheam, and just on the other side is an inn marked by a green-cat sign. We’ll wait for you there.’

      James turned and followed Walter, who marched purposefully to the door of the house. He had barely knocked when the door opened and a servant said, ‘Enter, sirs.’

      The man wore a castle tabard, with the Earl’s coat-of-arms on it, a stylized river with a fish jumping