Rise of a Merchant Prince. Raymond E. Feist

clutching his left arm, which he massaged absently. He peered into the fire as if seeking something in the dancing flame.

      Roo nodded, afraid to speak. Since he had struck his father, knocking him to the ground, the old man had treated him with a deference Roo had never experienced before. Tom sighed. ‘She wanted you, boy. The healing priest told her it would be chancy, with her being so tiny.’ He wiped his right hand over his face, then looked at his own hands, large, oft scarred, and calloused. ‘I was afraid to touch her, you know, with her being so small and me having no gentleness in me. I was afraid I’d break her. But she was tougher than she looked.’

      Roo swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. He finally whispered, ‘You never speak of her.’

      Tom nodded. ‘I had so little joy in this life, boy. And she was every bit of it. I met her at a festival, and she looked like this shy bird of a thing, standing on the edge of the crowd at the feast of Midsummer. I had just come up from Salador, driving a wagon for my uncle, Duncan’s grandfather. I was half-drunk and full of myself, and then she was right there before me, bold as bright brass, and she says, “Dance with me."’ He sighed. ‘And I did.’

      He was silent awhile. He hugged himself, and his breath seemed labored, and he had to swallow hard to speak. ‘She had that same look you do, not fetching with her thin face and uneven teeth, until she smiled – then she lit up and was beautiful. I got her that stone I was speaking of for our wedding. Had it set in a ring for her.’

      ‘Like a noble,’ said Roo, forcing his voice to a lighter tone.

      ‘Like the Queen herself,’ Tom answered with a shallow laugh. He swallowed hard. ‘She said I was mad and should sell it for a new wagon, but I insisted she keep it.’

      ‘You never told me,’ said Roo softly.

      Tom shrugged and was silent. He took a deep breath, then said, ‘You’re a man now. Showed me that when I woke to find you standing over me at Gaston’s. Never thought you’d amount to much, but you’re a shrewd one, and if you can beat the King’s own hangman, and learn to handle yourself so I can’t bully you, why, I figure you’ll turn out all right down the road.’ Tom smiled slightly and said, ‘You’re like her that way; you’re tougher than you look.’

      Roo sat in silence a minute, not knowing what to say, then after a bit he said, ‘Why don’t you turn in, Father. I have some thinking to do.’

      Tom nodded. ‘I think I will. Got a pain in my neck.’ He moved his left shoulder as if to loosen tight muscles. ‘Must have really twisted it hitting the ground when those lads started shooting arrows at us. Hurts from my wrist to my jaw.’ He wiped perspiration from his brow. ‘Broke a bit of sweat, too.’ He sucked in a large breath and blew it out, as if just standing had been exertion. ‘Getting too old for this. When you get rich, you remember your old father, hear me, Roo?’

      Roo started to smile and say something when his father’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell forward, facedown into the fire. Roo yelled, ‘Duncan!’ and with a single move yanked his father out of the flames.

      Duncan was over in an instant and saw the waxy pallor of Tom’s face, the white eyes, and smoldering burns on his cheek and neck. He knelt next to Roo, then said, ‘He’s dead.’

      Roo remained motionless as he silently regarded the man who had been his father, and who had died still a stranger to him.

       • Chapter Four • Setback

      Roo signaled.

      Duncan reined in the second wagon, coming to a halt behind the first. Roo turned, stood, and shouted, ‘Krondor!’

      They had been traveling this way since burying Tom, in a grave Roo had dug with his bare hands, covering him with stones to keep scavengers away. Duncan had become a fair driver. He had remembered a few things taught to him by Tom when he was a boy, and Roo had increased his skill until he no longer had to spend every minute worrying about the second wagon and its cargo.

      Roo was still troubled by his father’s death. He couldn’t escape the feeling that he had glimpsed something in his father when he had been speaking about Roo’s mother. Roo knew there was a great deal about his own history he didn’t understand. His father had always been an aloof man when sober and abusive when drunk, and in part Roo now understood why: each time Tom looked at his son he saw a reminder of the wife he had loved beyond measure, taken from him at Roo’s birth.

      But there had been more, and Roo now had dozens of questions, none of which his father would ever answer. He vowed to return to Ravensburg and try to find those few people in the town Tom might have called friend, to ask them those questions. Perhaps he might travel to Salador to visit with Duncan’s branch of the family. But he wanted answers. Suddenly Roo had been made aware that he really didn’t know who he was. Pushing aside that thought, he insisted to himself it wasn’t as important who one is as who one becomes, and he was determined to become a rich, respected man.

      Duncan tied off the reins and jumped down from his wagon, walking to where Roo stood. Roo had come to like his cousin, though there was still the rogue in his manner, and Duncan didn’t bring out any strong sense of trust, the way Roo trusted Erik or the other men he had served with under Calis. But he liked the man and thought he might be useful, for he had enough experience with nobility to tutor Rob in manners and fashion.

      Duncan climbed up on the first wagon and looked at the distant city. ‘We’re going in tonight?’ he asked.

      Roo glanced at the setting sun and said, ‘I don’t think so. I’d have to find a stable yard to house this wine until we could move out in the morning. We’re still more than an hour from the gate now. Let’s make a camp and we’ll head in at first light, try to sell some of this before the inns get too busy.’

      They made camp and ate a cold meal before a small fire, while the horses, tied in a long picket, grazed along the roadside. Roo had given them the last of the grain and they were making satisfied noises. ‘What are you going to do with the wagons?’ asked Duncan.

      ‘Sell them, I think.’ Roo wasn’t sure if he wanted to depend on other shippers, but he didn’t think his time was best spent actually driving the wagons back and forth between Ravensburg and Krondor. ‘Or maybe hire a driver and send you back for another load after we sell off this lot.’

      Duncan shrugged. ‘Not much by way of excitement, unless you count those two hapless boy bandits.’

      Roo said, ‘One of those “boy bandits” almost put an arrow through my head’ – he tapped the side of his skull – ‘if you remember.’

      ‘There is that.’ Duncan sighed. ‘I mean by way of women and drink.’

      ‘We’ll have some of that tomorrow night.’ Roo glanced around. ‘Turn in – I’ll take the first watch.’

      Duncan yawned. ‘I won’t argue.’

      Roo sat by the fire as his cousin grabbed a blanket and crawled under one of the wagons to protect himself from the dew that would form during the night. This close to the ocean it wasn’t a possibility, it was a certainty, and waking up wet wasn’t either man’s idea of a pleasant way to start the day.

      Roo considered what he would do first in the morning, and made up several speeches, rehearsing each and discarding this phrase or that as he tried to determine which sales pitch would work best. He had never been a focused thinker in his youth, but so much was riding on his doing well that he became lost in his thinking, and didn’t realize how much time had passed until he noticed the fire burning down. He considered waking Duncan, but decided instead to reconsider some of his sales pitch, and just stuck some more wood in the fire.

      He was still practicing his pitch when the lightening sky finally took his attention from the now merely glowing embers of the fire and he shook himself out of his half-daze, half-dreaming,