Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

you and Brendan were out shooting things with arrows, I was studying.’ He asked Bolton, ‘What’s the disposition of their troops?’

      ‘Mostly militia, but enough veteran dog soldier infantry that if you’re thinking of retaking Crydee, you’d best wait for the Armies of the West to get back here.’

      Martin shook his head. ‘Long wait, I’m afraid. They’re all camped on the Fields of Albalyn.’

      Bolton and Oaks exchanged glances, but neither said a word. Finally the old sergeant said, ‘We’ve heard rumours.’

      ‘I am certain you have,’ said Martin.

      Brendan added, ‘It’s no rumour. That’s where Prince Edward is camped.’

      Bolton waited and when Martin stayed silent, he said, ‘So, we have had a few stragglers wander out of Crydee … Commander?’

      Martin smiled. Bolton was waiting for him to clarify the situation. Was he back in charge and what was his current rank?

      ‘Under instruction from Lord James of Rillanon, I’m currently “Your Highness”, as I am somehow still considered royalty; but for the sake of all our sanity, Martin will do. You’ll remain in command here, George. In fact, I think it safe to say you’re going to find that the rank of captain isn’t a temporary one now. And I’m going to presume on my royal prerogative to also give you military authority for all of Yabon, should anyone from LaMut or Yabon City presume to question you.’

      ‘Why would anyone question me?’

      ‘You’ve a lot to learn about politics, George,’ said Brendan with a grin.

      Martin tried to suppress a yawn. ‘Now that a truce is in place, we’re in transition, and out of chaos arises opportunity. I will bet you a golden sovereign that when Lily’s father returns, he’ll report that someone from the north with a self-appointed title and a retinue of scruffy guards has named himself Baron of This, or Earl of That, or someone else will turn up within a few more weeks claiming some privilege or another, and seeing your age will try to browbeat you into accepting their orders.

      ‘Confidence tricksters, charlatans, minor nobles with ambition, whoever it may be, feel free to toss them into the local gaol and wait for whoever does return from Prince Edward’s encampment.’ He again tried to suppress a yawn. ‘I have to travel into the mountains and do some exploring for Duke James and whoever turns out to be our next king. So, after my men have rested, I’ve got a Keshian premier to bribe and a guide to find, and some back country to scout. But for now, a bath, and some sleep.’ Rising as if his joints were a hundred years older than he was, Martin said, ‘If you need me, feel free to wake me.’

      Sergeant Oaks made a half-hearted response that indicated that unless the city was on fire, Martin would sleep through the night.

      Brendan said, ‘I’ll quarter with the men.’ He tried to look serious, but could barely contain his mirth; he usually shared quarters with his brother, but he suspected the young lovers might need their privacy.

      Martin followed Bethany to the room he had previously occupied with Brendan and found a clawed-foot brass-and-porcelain tub set in the middle of the room. It was filled with steaming hot water. Martin looked at Bethany with a questioning expression.

      ‘We found it up in the old keep, and Lily convinced George to fetch it down so we wouldn’t have to use that old wooden horror her father has kept here far too long.’

      ‘Small pleasures are a gift in times like these,’ said Martin, stripping off his clothing.

      Wrinkling her nose, Bethany gathered them up and tossed them outside the door. ‘Getting you clean is hardly a small pleasure. You positively reek.’

      ‘A week’s hard riding.’ A satisfied sigh followed as he lowered himself into the hot water. He lay back and slowly slid down the smooth porcelain tub until his head was completely underwater, then slid back up, his hair soaked. Instantly he felt Bethany’s fingers applying soap to his scalp, a creamy concoction she used. It had a floral fragrance, but Martin was too tired to complain. Besides, it did smell better than the usual harsh soaps his father had stocked at Crydee, composed of lye, tallow or oil, ash, and some attempt at a scent with whatever the soap-maker had at hand. This aromatic soap must be something Lily’s father had bought before the war from one of the finer soap-makers in Queg.

      Martin closed his eyes and let the warmth soak into his bones, thinking that whatever else one might say about the Quegans, they knew how to make luxury goods: silken garments to rival the finest in Kesh, wines equal to the best in the Kingdom, jewellery and cut gems without equal. His thoughts drifted off for what seemed a moment, until he felt Bethany push at him gently and whisper in his ear, ‘None of that, now. You’re off to bed for some rest.’

      He blinked awake and realized he must have dozed off for the water was cool. ‘I thought about climbing in with you,’ she whispered in his ear, ‘but you’re farther gone than I thought in the kitchen.’

      He grinned. ‘I might surprise you.’

      ‘Get to bed and maybe we’ll find out, but sleep first!’ Her expression was concerned as she handed him a towel. ‘You don’t plan on lingering, do you?’

      ‘I’ve got my orders,’ he said, drying off. ‘With the nasty business shaping up in the east, Lord James is desperate to know exactly what we face, and everything we can deduce from the madness of this last war tells us that whoever was behind that pointless bloodshed wants the bulk of the Kingdom’s army as far away from the Grey Towers as possible. So that’s where I need to go poke around.’

      Bethany tossed Martin an oversized nightshirt, belonging to Lily’s father, most likely, and said, ‘Get some sleep. If you wake for the evening meal, fine; otherwise I’ll let you sleep through.’

      ‘Don’t let me sleep through the night.’

      She came over and sat on the side of the bed. ‘As much as I’ve missed you, my darling, I think rest is what you need most now.’

      Bethany wasn’t clear at which precise point Martin had fallen asleep, but he was soundly sleeping by the end of her sentence. She shook her head, torn between slipping between the sheets with him and letting him rest, then let caution overrule desire. He needed whatever respite he could seize during this time in Ylith. Tomorrow he would undoubtedly be away on the Crown’s errand, and she wished him to be in possession of all his wits and resources.

      As she started to rise, he reached up and grabbed her belt, yanking her back into bed. She shrieked in surprise. Wrapping his arms around her, he whispered in her ear, ‘I’m not that tired.’

      The next morning it was a very refreshed if not entirely rested Martin who came down to break fast. He was pleased to see that the mayor had returned and quickly got brought up to date on conditions north of Ylith. Captain Bolton and Sergeant Oaks were already at the table. Martin looked around them and said, ‘I’m very pleased to see how well you’ve all done since I left.’

      The mayor said, ‘We try. Fishing is reasonable, given how far out the boats go – there are a great many warships still on the water – but with all the people who fled when the Keshians arrived, we don’t have as many mouths to feed as before the war.’ He fell silent for a second and Martin realized he was also considering those who had died. ‘Still,’ he added brightly, ‘we’re starting to see some farm produce coming into the city. Higher-than-usual prices have lured farmers previously reluctant to venture from home during the fighting, and while the produce is not of highest quality, it suffices.’

      ‘Some of the townswomen had vegetable gardens,’ said Lily. ‘Rather than merely store the produce for next winter, they’re selling it at market on Sixthday.’

      ‘We get along,’ said the mayor.

      ‘Well, if this peace lasts, we’ll see a return to normality, at least in Yabon,’ said Martin.

      ‘What