Prince of the Blood. Raymond E. Feist

sure to run to Mother and she’ll speak to Father and—’

      Borric winced. ‘And we’ll get another round of lectures.’

      Then as one they said, ‘Father!’ and hurried toward Arutha’s private quarters. The guard stationed at the door, seeing the approaching brothers, opened the doors for them.

      Once inside, the twins found their father seated in his favourite chair, an old thing of wood and leather, but which he preferred to any of the dozen others in the large conference hall. Standing slightly to his left were Barons James and Locklear. Arutha said, ‘Come in, you two.’

      The twins came to stand before their father, Erland moving with a slight awkwardness, as his injured side had stiffened overnight. ‘Something wrong?’ asked Arutha.

      Both sons smiled weakly. Their father missed little. Borric said, ‘He tried a beat and counter-lunge when he should have parried in six. The fellow got inside his guard.’

      Arutha’s voice was cold. ‘Brawling again. I should have expected it, as Baron James obviously did.’ To James he said, ‘Anyone killed?’

      James said, ‘No, but it was a bit close with the son of one of the city’s more influential shippers.’

      Arutha’s anger surfaced as he slowly rose from his chair. A man able to hold emotions in check, the sight of such a display was rare, and for those who knew him well, unwelcome. He came to stand before the twins and for a moment appeared on the verge of striking them. He stared into the eyes of each. He bit off each word as he sought to regain control. ‘What can you two possibly have been thinking of?’

      Erland said, ‘It was self-defence, Father. The man was trying to skewer me.’

      Borric chimed in, ‘The man was cheating. He had an extra Blue Lady up his sleeve.’

      Arutha almost spat as he said, ‘I don’t care if he had an extra deck up his sleeve. You aren’t common soldiers, damn it! You are my sons!’

      Arutha walked around them, as if inspecting horses or reviewing his guard. Both boys endured the close perusal, knowing their father’s mood brooked no insolence.

      At last he threw up his hands in a gesture of resignation and said, ‘These aren’t my sons.’ He walked past the twins to stand next to the two Barons. ‘They’ve got to be Lyam’s,’ he said, invoking the King’s name. Arutha’s brother had been known for his temper and brawling as a youth. ‘Somehow Anita married me, but bore the King’s ruffian brats.’ James could only nod in agreement. ‘It must be some divine plan I don’t understand.’

      Returning his attention to his boys, he said, ‘If your grandfather still lived, he’d have you over a barrel, a leather strap in his hand, no matter your size or age. You’ve acted like children, once again, and should be treated like children.’

      His voice rose as he walked back before them, ‘I sent orders for you two to come home at once! But do you obey? No! Instead of coming straight away to the palace, you vanish into the Poor Quarter. Two days later, Baron James finds you brawling in a tavern.’ He paused, then in a near shout, he exclaimed, ‘You could have been killed!’

      Borric began to quip, ‘Only if that parry—’

      ‘Enough!’ cried Arutha, his temper frayed beyond his ability to control it. He gripped Borric’s tunic and pulled his son forward, off-balance. ‘You will not end this with a joke and smile! You have defied me for the last time.’ He punctuated this with a shove that sent Borric half-stumbling into his brother. Arutha’s manner showed he had no patience for the flippancies from his son he usually ignored. ‘I didn’t call you back because the court missed your peculiar sort of chaos. I think that another year or two on the border might have settled you down a bit, but I have no alternative. You have princely duties and you are needed now!’

      Borric and Erland exchanged glances. Arutha’s moods were old business to them, and they had endured his anger – which was usually justified – before, but this time something serious was occurring. Borric said, ‘We’re sorry, Father. We didn’t realize it was a matter of duty that called us home.’

      ‘Because you are not expected to realize anything, you are expected to obey!’ shot back their father. Obviously out of patience with the entire exchange, he said, ‘I am done with you for now. I must compose myself for the business of dealing in private with the Keshian Ambassador this afternoon. Baron James will continue this conversation on my behalf!’ At the door, he paused, and said to James, ‘Whatever you need do, do! But I want these miscreants impressed with the gravity of things when I speak to them this afternoon.’ He closed the door without waiting for a response.

      James and Locklear moved to either side of the young Princes, and James said, ‘If Your Highnesses would be so kind as to follow us.’

      Borric and Erland both glanced at their life-long tutors and ‘uncles’ and then at each other. Both had an inkling of what was to come. Their father had never laid strap nor hand upon any of his children, to the profound relief of his wife, but that still didn’t prevent regular bouts of ‘fighting practice,’ when the boys were unruly, which was most of the time.

      Waiting outside, Lieutenant William quietly fell into step with the twins and the Barons as they moved down the hall. He hurried to open the door, which led to Prince Arutha’s gymnasium, a large room where the royal family could practise their skills with sword, dagger, or hand-to-hand combat.

      Baron James led the procession down the hall. At the door to the gymnasium, William again moved to open the door, for while he was second cousin to the twins, he was still merely a soldier in the company of nobles. Borric entered the room first, followed by Erland and James, with Locklear and William behind.

      Inside the room, Borric nimbly turned and walked backwards, his hands raised in a boxer’s pose, as he said, ‘We’re a lot older and bigger, now, Uncle Jimmy. And you’re not going to sucker punch me behind the ear like you did last time.’

      Erland leaned to the left, clutching his side in exaggeration and suddenly developed a limp. ‘And faster, too. Uncle Locky.’ Without warning, he threw an elbow at Locklear’s head. The Baron, a seasoned soldier of almost twenty years, dodged aside, allowing Erland to overbalance. He then turned him in a circle by hauling on one arm, and pushed him into the centre of the gymnasium with the sole of his boot.

      The two Barons stood away as both brothers stood poised for a fight, fists upraised. With a wry grin, James raised his hands palms out and said, ‘Oh, you’re too young and fast for us, all right.’ The tone of sarcasm was not lost on the boys. ‘But as we have to be clear headed over the next few days, we thought we’d forego the pleasure of seeing how far you’ve come in the last two years.’ He hiked his thumb behind him, indicating a far corner. ‘Personally, that is.’

      Two soldiers, stripped to breeches only, stood in the corner. Each had massive arms crossed over impressively muscled chests. Baron James waved for them to approach. As they did, the boys glanced at one another.

      The two men moved with the fluid motion of a thoroughbred war horse, supple, but with power waiting. Each looked as if he was carved from stone, and Borric whispered, ‘They’re not human!’ Erland grinned, for both men had large jaws, suggesting the protruding mandible of mountain trolls.

      ‘These gentlemen are from your Uncle Lyam’s garrison,’ said Locklear. ‘We had a demonstration of the Royal Fist-Boxing Champions last week and asked them to stay with us a few extra days.’ The two men began to move away from each other, circling the boys in opposite directions.

      Jimmy said, ‘The blond-haired fellow is Sergeant Obregon, from the Rodez garrison—’

      Locklear injected, ‘He’s champion of all men under two hundred pounds. Ah, Erland should be your student, Obregon; his side is injured. Be gentle with him.’

      ‘—and the other,’ continued Jimmy, ‘is Sergeant Palmer, from Bas-Tyra.’

      Borric’s eyes narrowed as he