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

and I came in to the city to buy some stores. I’ll hire a waggon and head back in the morning. For the time being, I’m content to sit and drink, and jabber with some of these Tsurani here in LaMut. I fought them during the war, and they’ve turned out to be a stalwart enough bunch once you get to know them.’ He pointed to the bar. ‘That tall fellow –’ Locky laughed to hear anyone call a Tsurani ‘tall’ ‘– he’s Sumani, the owner. Has a fair number of tales to spin about his days serving on the Tsurani world, and I’m switched if it doesn’t sound like he’s telling the truth most of the time.’

      Locklear laughed. ‘Most Tsurani I know don’t indulge in tall tales, Dubal.’

      ‘Seems to be so, but you never know. I’ve fought the big bugs, the Cho-ja, but some of those other things he talks about, well, I’m hard-pressed to believe them.’

      The serving woman arrived with the food and ale and they fell to. ‘Now,’ said Dubal, ‘can you tell me what brings you here?’

      ‘No,’ replied Locklear, ‘but we can ask you if you’ve seen any Quegans hanging around?’

      ‘There was a pack of them through here two days ago, according to the gossip,’ said Dubal. ‘I just arrived and was brokering the material we need. Aren’t Quegans a bit far from home?’

      ‘You could say that,’ observed Locklear. ‘We ran into some and wondered if they had friends.’

      ‘Well, according to the gossip, they were all heading north from here, so if you didn’t run into a big bunch, they’ve got friends around.’

      Locklear said, ‘That’s as I figured.’

      They ate in silence for a while, as Dubal nursed his mug of ale. Then the dwarf said, ‘You wouldn’t have run across one of those Armengar monster hunters coming from the north, have you?’

      ‘Monster hunter?’ asked Owyn.

      Locklear said, ‘Beast Hunter, is what he means. I met one, once.’ He smiled at the memory. They had been travelling with Prince Arutha away from a band of moredhel, and had run into a Beast Hunter from Armengar with his Beast Hound. It had been a trap, but it had saved them from the pursuing moredhel. ‘No, I think those that remain are up in the hills of northern Yabon. Why?’

      ‘Oh, we’ve got a Brak Nurr loose in the mine and need someone to hunt it down for us. We can either rebuild the mine or hunt the thing, but there aren’t enough of us on this side of the mountain to do both.’

      ‘What’s a Brak Nurr?’ asked Owyn. ‘I’ve never heard of such a creature.’

      ‘It’s more a nuisance than a menace,’ said Dubal. ‘It’s a pretty stupid creature, but most of their kind stay in the lower mines and tunnels under the mountain. It’s roughly man-shaped, but looks like a walking pile of rocks. That’s part of its danger, boy,’ Dubal said to Owyn. ‘You can’t see one until you’ve stepped on its toes, as often as not. They’re slow and lumbering, but they’re strong and can crush a man’s skull with a single blow. This one came up because of the rockslide, I think, but whatever the cause, it’s tried to hurt a couple of our lads. We’ve chased it off, but can’t take the time to hunt it down. If you’re up for a bit of fun, I can take you along and if you rid the mines of it, I’ll be happy to see you rewarded.’

      ‘Reward?’ said Locky. ‘That’s always a good word, but time doesn’t permit. If circumstances bring us to the mines any time soon, we’ll be glad to help, but for the moment, we’re heading south.’

      Dubal stood. ‘I understand. Once we get the tunnels finished, we’ll go looking for the beastie. Now, I’m for bed and an early start. It was good seeing you again, squire, even in such company as this,’ he said, indicating Gorath. ‘Good fortune follow you.’

      ‘And you, Dubal.’

      Locklear finished eating and rose to approach the innkeeper.

      The innkeeper wore a Kingdom-style tunic and trousers, the latter tucked into high-top calfskin boots. But he wore a fur-lined, woven-wool heavy cloak, though it was thrown back, as if even in this warm inn it was too cold for his liking.

      ‘Sir?’ asked the innkeeper, his heavy accent making the word sound odd to Locklear.

      ‘Honours to your house,’ said Locklear in Tsurani.

      The man smiled and said something in return. Locklear smiled and shrugged. ‘Sorry, that was all the Tsurani I know.’

      The man’s smile broadened. ‘More than most,’ he said. ‘You’re not from LaMut,’ he observed.

      ‘True. I learned a little of your native tongue at Sethanon.’

      ‘Ah,’ said the innkeeper, nodding in understanding. Few who were at Sethanon spoke of what had occurred there, mostly because few understood it. At the height of the battle a great upheaval had driven both armies, invaders and defenders, fleeing from the city. A green light from the heavens and the appearance of something in the sky, followed by the destruction of the centre of the city, had rendered most men stunned, and a few deaf, after the battle. No one was certain what had happened, though most conceded a great magic had been unleashed. Most speculated the magician Pug, a friend of the Prince, had a hand in it, but no one seemed to know for certain.

      Locklear had missed most of the end of the battle, being hidden in a cellar in the city, but he had heard enough accounts from other eyewitnesses to have formed a pretty clear picture in his own mind. And there was a special bond among those who had survived the Battle of Sethanon, irrespective of their place of birth, for it had been Tsurani, Kingdom, and even Keshian soldiers, who had driven the moredhel and their goblin allies back into the Northlands.

      ‘What I said,’ explained the innkeeper, ‘was “Honour to your houses, and be welcome to the Blue Wheel Inn”.’

      ‘Blue Wheel? That’s one of your Tsurani political parties, isn’t it?’

      The innkeeper’s broad face split into a smile, revealing even white teeth. His dark eyes seemed to glint in the lanternlight. ‘You do know of us!’ He extended his hand, Kingdom fashion, and said, ‘I am Sumani. If there is anything that my servants or I may do, you need only ask.’

      Locklear shook the innkeeper’s hand and said, ‘A room for the night after we finish our meal would serve. We have business in the castle tomorrow at dawn.’

      The stocky ex-fighter nodded. ‘You’re in luck, my friend. Last night I would have had to express my regrets and endure the shame of being unable to fulfil your request. We were full, but this morning a large party departed and we have rooms.’ He reached under the bar and produced a heavy iron key. ‘On my home world this would have been worth a man’s life; here it is but a tool.’

      Locklear nodded, understanding the scarcity of metals on Kelewan. He took the key. ‘Large party?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Sumani. ‘Foreigners. Quegans, I believe. Their speech was strange to my ear.’

      Locklear looked around the obviously prosperous inn. ‘How did a Tsurani soldier end up running an inn in LaMut?’

      ‘After the war, Earl Kasumi gave those of us who had been trapped on this side of the rift the opportunity to live as Kingdom citizens. When the rift was reopened, he gave those of us here in LaMut the choice of leaving service and returning to the Shinzawai estates on Kelewan. Most stayed, though some left service and returned to serve again with Kasumi’s father, Lord Kamatsu. A few of us, however, retired here in LaMut. I had no living family back home.’ He glanced around. ‘And to tell the truth, I live better here than I would have back home. There, I might have become a farmer, or a labourer on the Shinzawai estates.’ He pointed through the open door to the kitchen to where a tall, stout woman was hard at work preparing food. ‘Here, I have a Kingdom wife. We have two children. Life is good. And I am part of the city’s militia, so I still train with my sword. The gods of both worlds smile on me and I prosper. I find business to be as challenging as warfare.’