Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

no longer among the living.

      Riding down the road, they were spotted by city lookouts long before they reached the south-eastern gate. As the company was clad in the tabards of Krondor and as the cease-fire had been honoured for some weeks now, the gate was opened and a familiar face greeted Martin.

      ‘Captain Bolton,’ Martin said, with surprise and some pleasure. When they had first met, George Bolton had been an annoying, officious young man, his bluster covering his deep fear of showing himself a fool. Under Martin’s guidance he had turned into a competent officer, eager to do his best. He had even begun to manifest some military talent and a quiet courage before the truce.

      Martin and Brendan climbed down from their horses and shook hands with Bolton. ‘What news?’ asked the acting city commander.

      Before Martin could answer, he was knocked a half-step backwards as Lady Bethany of Carse threw her arms around his neck in a hug so fierce he could barely breathe. Sergeant Oaks and Captain Bolton exchanged a look that conveyed barely contained amusement, while Brendan laughed openly. Martin held her tightly for a moment, then managed to say, ‘Let me breathe, Beth.’

      She loosened her hold on him, then kissed him and said, ‘I missed you so much. You were gone so long.’ She wore the leather trousers, linen shirt, and leather archer’s vest she had taken to wearing on the wall when Martin had last seen her. Her hair was gathered up in an efficient knot behind her head. Even without the usual lip paint and powders, jewellery and gowns of the ladies of the court, he’d never seen anything more beautiful.

      He nodded. ‘I’ll explain everything when we’re alone.’ Then he smiled and whispered into her ear.

      She stepped back, tears streaming down her face. ‘Really?’

      ‘Really.’ Turning to Bolton, Martin said, ‘We need to deal with a number of matters.’ He waved in the general direction of the mayor’s home, used by him as a command centre during the assault on the city by Keshian forces. ‘I’ll tell you all the news from the east once we’re seated. What’s the situation here?’

      ‘Better than when you left,’ said Bolton. He set some of his men to quartering of the escort.

      Martin beckoned Sergeant Oaks to accompany them. Brendan said, ‘I’ll get everyone settled and catch up.’ As Bethany clung to his arm and they walked towards the mayor’s house, Martin listened as Bolton reviewed the changes that had occurred since Martin’s departure. Bolton finished by saying, ‘So they’ve held fast to the ridgeline in the hills to the north-west, and down to some imagined line between the Free Cities and Yabon.’ He shook his head as if somewhat confused. ‘They’ve been very quiet, content to do nothing, and if anything they’ve proved to be reasonable neighbours. They sent a message last week telling us that their outriders saw what looked to be a large band of Dark Brothers heading south towards the smaller game trails—’ he looked at Martin as if waiting to be corrected, ‘—heading over the ridges into the Grey Towers and down to the Greenheart.’ Martin merely nodded. ‘They were alerting us to possible raiding.’

      ‘That’s downright neighbourly,’ Martin said.

      Bolton looked a little embarrassed. ‘And there’s been some, well, I guess you could call it “unofficial trading” going on across the lines.’

      Now Martin was amused. ‘Keshian belt-buckles?’

      Bolton nodded. ‘How did you know?’

      ‘It’s been going on for years along the southern front.’ He glanced over at Sergeant Oaks.

      ‘Sir,’ said the veteran. ‘Kesh’s finer units, like those Leopard Guard, get some pretty equipment. They have these enamel-and-bronze belt-buckles.’ He held up his hands with fingers and thumb forming a square about two by three inches and said, ‘Really fancy things with a leopard head. Fetches a nice bit of gold in the bazaar. It’s something of a joke among their sergeants that sooner or later every man loses a belt-buckle, usually after a bad run of luck gambling or after having met a particularly pretty whore.’ Glancing at Bethany, he muttered, ‘Begging your pardon, m’lady.’

      Bethany just smiled at him.

      ‘They’re a novelty up here, I guess,’ said Bolton as they turned the corner. ‘But it’s a bit odd, as we’re also getting reports that some stores heading here are being diverted to the Keshians.’ He glanced at Martin to see if he might have done something wrong.

      ‘Not much you can do about that,’ Martin reassured him. ‘Short of having patrols up and down every trail and road north and west of here, and that’s hardly practical.’ He fell silent for a moment, then said, ‘As it stands, anything that lowers tension along the frontier is to be welcomed.’ He glanced around to see if anyone might overhear. ‘I’ll have more to say on that when we’re alone, but for the time being consider yourself as having discharged your responsibilities in an admirable fashion.’

      Bolton looked visibly relieved.

      At the mayor’s house, Martin was greeted by Lily, the mayor’s daughter. ‘We haven’t much to offer by way of hospitality,’ she said brightly.

      Glancing around the conference room where he, his brother and Bolton had met so often to discuss the defence of the city, Martin felt a sudden exhaustion. He had missed Bethany every moment he’d been away from her, but had managed to stay busy and keep that longing buried deeply. Now she was at his side, but duty required him to be on his way as soon as the horses were rested and a clear way into the Grey Towers was identified. ‘Whatever you offer is fine, Lily,’ said Martin with fatigue creeping into his voice.

      ‘Vegetable stew and some hot bread,’ said Lily cheerfully as she left for the kitchen.

      ‘Only water,’ said Bolton, sitting opposite Martin and Bethany. ‘No ale coming from either Stone Mountain or the Grey Towers, and there hasn’t been a shipment of anything up the coast since the hostilities stopped. I expect that will change in a while. Every tavern and inn is making do. Some of the local stuff—’ He made a face. ‘It won’t kill you, but it might.’

      Martin laughed. He said, ‘Water’s fine.’

      ‘Then a hot bath,’ said Bethany, wrinkling her nose, ‘and some rest.’

      Oaks and Bolton exchanged quick glances, but neither said a word.

      ‘Lily,’ said Martin when the girl returned with a tureen of hot stew. ‘Where is the mayor?’

      ‘He’s out and about, checking on the outlying farms to see who’s still around, who’s hiding what, trying to get commerce moving again, and get some food flowing into the city once more. It’s getting better, but we’re living on stores usually put up for winter. People are tired of fish stew and boiled potatoes and would welcome a little change. It’s not until goods stop arriving you realize how much of what you take for granted comes from far away. All that fruit from Queg and farther south. I haven’t had a good piece of fruit in months,’ she said wistfully.

      She left for the kitchen again and Bolton said, ‘Lots of chaos after you left, Highness. The mayor and a few of the more influential merchants headed up north to see if they could organize some sort of temporary governance while all the nobles were gone. Recruit some local lads to act as a constabulary of sorts, so the farmers would risk bringing their crops into the city.’

      Lily returned with bowls, a platter of fresh, hot bread, a pot of butter and spoons.

      Just then Brendan arrived and, smelling the stew, exclaimed, ‘Perfect! I’m starved.’ With a grin he added, ‘Hello, Lily!’

      She gave him a playful kiss on the cheek and he sat down. As the three hungry travellers began to eat, Martin looked at George and said, ‘What else?’

      Bolton quickly resumed his summary. ‘The Keshian commander we faced, and his Leopard Guard, have been withdrawn, either recalled or moved somewhere else along the Far Coast. The fellow they’ve left in charge is some sort of … I’m not sure what to call him. He