The Complete Riftwar Saga Trilogy: Magician, Silverthorn, A Darkness at Sethanon. Raymond E. Feist

He’s a good soldier, but he dislikes the responsibility.’

      Arutha regarded the retreating back of the Swordmaster, then said, ‘I think you are right, Martin.’ His voice carried a thoughtful note. ‘I have been at odds with Fannon so much of late, I lost sight of the fact he never requested this commission.’

      Lowering his voice, Martin said, ‘A suggestion, Arutha.’

      Arutha nodded. Martin pointed to Fannon. ‘Should anything happen to Fannon, name another Swordmaster quickly; do not wait for your father’s consent. For if you wait, Algon will assume command, and he is a fool.’

      Arutha stiffened at the Huntmaster’s presumption, while Roland tried to silence Martin with a warning look. Arutha coldly said, ‘I thought you a friend of the Horsemaster.’

      Martin smiled, his eyes hinting at strange humor. ‘Aye, I am, as are all in the castle. But anyone you ask will tell you the same: take his horses away, and Algon is an indifferent thinker.’

      Nettled by Martin’s manner, Arutha said, ‘And who should take his place? The Huntmaster?’

      Martin laughed, a sound of such open, clear amusement at the thought, Arutha found himself less angry at his suggestion.

      ‘I?’ said the Huntmaster. ‘Heaven forfend, Highness. I am a simple hunter, no more. No, should the need come, name Gardan. He is by far the most able soldier in Crydee.’

      Arutha knew Martin was correct, but gave in to impatience. ‘Enough. Fannon is well, and I trust will remain so.’

      Martin nodded. ‘May the gods preserve him . . . and us all. Please excuse me, it was but a passing concern. Now, with Your Highness’s leave, I’ve not had a hot meal in a week.’

      Arutha indicated he could leave, and Martin walked away toward the kitchen. Roland said, ‘He is wrong on one account, Arutha.’

      Arutha stood with his arms folded across his chest, watching Longbow as he vanished around the corner. ‘What is that, Roland?’

      ‘That man is much more than the simple hunter he pretends.’

      Arutha was silent for a moment. ‘He is. Something about Martin Longbow has always made me uneasy, though I have never found fault with him.’

      Roland laughed, and Arutha said, ‘Now something strikes you as funny, Roland?’

      Roland shrugged. ‘Only that many think you and he are much alike.’

      Arutha turned a black gaze upon Roland, who shook his head. ‘It’s often said we take offense most in what we see of ourselves in others. It’s true, Arutha. You both have that same cutting edge to your humor, almost mocking, and neither of you suffers foolishness.’ Roland’s voice became serious. ‘There’s no mystery to it, I should think. You’re a great deal like your father, and with Martin having no family, it follows he would pattern himself after the Duke.’

      Arutha became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you’re right. But something else troubles me about that man.’ He left the thought unfinished and turned toward the keep.

      Roland fell into step beside the thoughtful Prince and wondered if he had overstepped himself.

      The night thundered. Ragged bolts of lightning shattered the darkness as clouds rolled in from the west. Roland stood on the southern tower watching the display. Since dinner his mood had been as dark as the western sky. The day had not gone well. First he had felt troubled by his conversation with Arutha by the gate. Then Carline had treated him at dinner with the same stony silence he had endured since their meeting on this very tower two weeks earlier. Carline had seemed more subdued than usual, but Roland felt a stab of anger at himself each time he chanced a glance in her direction. Roland could still see the pain in the Princess’s eyes. ‘What a witless fool I am,’ he said aloud.

      ‘Not a fool, Roland.’

      Carline was standing a few paces away, looking toward the coming storm. She clutched a shawl around her shoulders, though the air was temperate. The thunder had masked her footfalls, and Roland said, ‘It is a poor night to be upon the tower, my lady.’

      She came to stand beside him and said, ‘Will it rain? These hot nights bring thunder and lightning, but usually little rain.’

      ‘It will rain. Where are your ladies?’

      She indicated the tower door. ‘Upon the stairs. They fear the lightning, and besides, I wished to speak with you alone.’

      Roland said nothing, and Carline remained silent for a time. The night was sundered with violent displays of energy tearing across the heavens, followed by cracking booms of thunder. ‘When I was young,’ she said at last, ‘Father used to say on nights such as this the gods were sporting in the sky.’

      Roland looked at her face, illuminated by the single lantern hanging on the wall. ‘My father told me they made war.’

      She smiled. ‘Roland, you spoke rightly on the day Lyam left. I have been lost in my own grief, unable to see the truth. Pug would have been the first to tell me that nothing is forever. That living in the past is foolish and robs us of the future.’ She lowered her head a little. ‘Perhaps it has something to do with Father. When Mother died, he never fully recovered. I was very young, but I can still remember how he was. He used to laugh a great deal before she died. He was more like Lyam then. After . . . well, he became more like Arutha. He’d laugh, but there’d be a hard edge to it, a bitterness.’

      ‘As if somehow mocking?’

      She nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, mocking. Why did you say that?’

      ‘Something I noticed . . . something I pointed out to your brother today. About Martin Longbow.’

      She sighed. ‘Yes, I understand. Longbow is also like that.’

      Softly Roland said, ‘Nevertheless, you did not come to speak of your brother or Martin.’

      ‘No, I came to tell you how sorry I am for the way I’ve acted. I’ve been angry with you for two weeks, but I’d no right. You only said what was true. I’ve treated you badly.’

      Roland was surprised. ‘You’ve not treated me badly, Carline. I acted the boor.’

      ‘No, you have done nothing but be a friend to me, Roland. You told me the truth, not what I wanted to hear. It must have been hard . . . considering how you feel.’ She looked out at the approaching storm. ‘When I first heard of Pug’s capture, I thought the world ended.’

      Trying to be understanding, Roland quoted, ‘“The first love is the difficult love.”’

      Carline smiled at the aphorism. ‘That is what they say. And with you?’

      Roland mustered a carefree stance. ‘So it seems, Princess.’

      She placed her hand upon his arm. ‘Neither of us is free to feel other than as we do, Roland.’

      His smile became sadder. ‘That is the truth, Carline.’

      ‘Will you always be my good friend?’

      There was a genuine note of concern in her voice that touched the young Squire. She was trying to put matters right between them, but without the guile she’d used when younger. Her honest attempt turned aside any frustration he felt at her not returning his affections fully. ‘I will, Carline. I’ll always be your good friend.’

      She came into his arms and he held her close, her head against his chest. Softly she said, ‘Father Tully says that some loves come unbidden like winds from the sea, and others grow from the seeds of friendship.’

      ‘I will hope for such a harvest, Carline. But should it not come, still I will remain your good friend.’

      They stood quietly together for a time, comforting each other for different causes, but sharing a tenderness each had been denied for two years. Each of them was lost in the comfort of the other’s nearness, and