The Complete Krondor’s Sons 2-Book Collection. Raymond E. Feist

august company to such a miserable place?’

      ‘We are travelling to the City of Kesh for the Empress’s Jubilee.’

      The sergeant shrugged, indicating that the ways of the gods were not for mortals to understand, nor the ways of nobility clearly sensible to common soldiers. ‘I would have thought nobles such as yourselves would have been travelling in more … stately company.’

      As the wind increased, the horses began to stamp and shy. James raised his voice over the noise, ‘It seemed better to move quickly and with stealth than slowly, Sergeant. The storm rises. May we continue?’

      The Captain signed his own men forward as he said, ‘Of course, my lord. I and my men are travelling to the Inn of the Twelve Chairs, to wait out the storm in comfort. I suggest you join us.’

      ‘Is it dangerous?’

      The Sergeant glanced at the horizon as Gamina had and said, ‘Who can say? Dust storms that rise in the Jal-Pur may blow quickly or long. If I was a betting man, I would wager this one will be little more than an inconvenience. Still, I would rather be conveniently inside.’

      ‘We’ll continue,’ said James. ‘We stayed longer at our last rest than planned, and it wouldn’t do to arrive late to the Jubilee.’

      The Sergeant shrugged, clearly not caring one way or the other. ‘Insults to the Empress, blessings be upon her, are to be strenuously avoided. She is often merciful, but rarely forgiving. May the gods guide your travels, my lords.’

      With a wave, he motioned his patrol to give way as the Kingdom party resumed its journey. James signalled and his small band started down the hard-packed dirt that passed for an Imperial road in the northern frontier.

      As they rode past the silent Keshians, Borric nodded to Erland, who had also been studying the tired, dirty soldiers. Each man looked a seasoned fighter, with not one youthful face in the company. To his brother, Erland said, ‘They keep their veterans along our borders.’

      Jimmy, overhearing, said loudly enough for the entire company to hear, ‘They have veterans to spare in Kesh. A man who retires in their army has spent twenty years and more putting down revolts and fighting civil wars. They keep but a tenth part of their army near our borders.’

      Borric said, ‘Then why do they fear us?’

      James shook his head. ‘Nations fear their neighbours. It’s a fact of life, like the three moons in the sky. If your neighbour is bigger than you, you fear invasion and occupation. If smaller, you fear their envy, so you invade them. So, sooner or later, there’s war.’

      Erland laughed. ‘Still, it’s better than having nothing to do.’

      James glanced at Locklear. Both had seen more than their share of war before they were the twins’ age. Both disagreed with Erland’s sentiments.

      ‘Riders!’

      The soldier pointed to the far horizon, where the wind blew up a dark wall of swirling sand that raced toward the travellers. And within the dusty murk, the shape of approaching riders could be seen. Then, as if the soldier’s warning had been a signal, the riders spread out and galloped their horses.

      ‘Gamina! Get to the rear,’ James shouted, as he drew his sword. The soldiers were but a moment behind in releasing the pack animals and bringing their own weapons to the ready.

      ‘Bandits!’ cried one, as he moved to Borric’s side. Instinctively, the Prince reached for his sword, finding the odd staff there instead. Cursing fate, he circled his horse away from the attack, moving toward the rear alongside Gamina, who had taken it upon herself to herd the shying packhorses in a circle so they didn’t run away. Seeing that the four animals were more than she could manage, Borric leaped from his horse and took two in hand.

      The sounds of steel upon steel caused Borric to pull the horses around, back to the wind, in time to see the first bandits intercepted by his own soldiers. In the fray, he sought out sight of Erland, but the milling horses and swirling dust made it impossible.

      Then a horse screamed and a rider went down cursing loudly. A clash of sword upon shield and a grunt of effort were followed by a succession of shouts made almost incoherent by the rising shriek of the wind. The bandits had timed the raid with perfection, picking the moment when the travellers would be most vulnerable to the onslaught, almost blinded by the sandstorm. In the time it had taken to react and draw weapons, the bandits had already succeeded in throwing the men of the Isles into confusion.

      But the men of Arutha’s garrison were tested veterans and quickly they regrouped as the first few bandits rode past. To a man, they sought sight of Baron Locklear, who shouted orders to those closest to him. Then a tremendous blast of stinging sand and dust hit the company and it was as if the sun had vanished.

      In the biting sand, Borric fought to control horses terrorized by the sounds of wind and battle and the smell of blood. He could only use his weight to slow their pulling, shouting ‘Whoa!’ repeatedly. A pair of war-trained, riderless horses heard his shouts and halted their trot away from the battle, but the pack animals were ready to bolt.

      Borric was suddenly pulled off-balance and released his grip on the lead ropes. He hit the ground and rolled, coming to his feet. He thought of Gamina and feared she might be in any danger from the spooked horses. He looked about, but all he could see were riders locked in combat. He called her name. In his mind he heard her answer, I am fine. Borric. See to yourself. I will attempt to keep the pack animals in sight.

      Attempting to ‘think’ back at her, he yelled, ‘Be alert for raiders! They’ll seek the pack animals!’ He glanced about, hoping to find a dropped weapon, but saw none.

      Then suddenly, a rider was galloping toward him, one of his own guards, shouting at him. Borric couldn’t understand him, but sensed something behind. He spun as two bandits bore down upon him, one pointing a scimitar at the guard who raced toward them, the other veering his horse toward the Prince.

      As the guard was intercepted by the first rider, Borric braced himself, then jumped at the horse’s bridle, causing the mount to stumble and throw his rider. The horse’s chest struck the Prince, the impact sending Borric flying back, landing upon the ground with a heavy thud. Quickly he was on his feet, poised for the attack he knew was coming. The raider had also come up ready for a fight, but had the advantage of his weapon. Borric pulled the glowing staff from his belt and attempted to use it to defend himself. The bandit swung wildly, and Borric slipped the blow, moving inside the man’s guard. He drove the head of the staff into the pit of the man’s stomach, generating a satisfying explosion of breath as the bandit went down, the wind knocked out of him. Borric then broke the staff over the man’s head, leaving the raider unconscious or dead. The Prince didn’t have time to investigate. He picked up the fallen rider’s sword, a short-bladed, heavy thing, suitable for hacking at close quarters, not as sharp as the scimitar most of the other raiders used, nor as pointed as a good rapier.

      Borric turned and attempted to see what was happening, but all that was visible were milling, cursing shadows in sandy gloom. Then he felt more than heard something behind him. He ducked to one side as a blow intended to crack his skull glanced off the side of his head. Falling heavily, he attempted to roll away from the rider who had taken him by surprise from the rear. He rose to his knees and was almost to his feet, when the chest of a horse struck him, as the rider used his mount as a weapon. Stunned as he lay upon the ground, the Prince barely understood what he saw as the rider leaped from his mount and came to stand over him. Through dust and his own muddled senses, the Prince watched with some detachment as the man drew back a boot and kicked him in the head.

      James spun his horse and moved to intercept a bandit heading toward the packhorses. Two soldiers were down by his count, and Locklear was engaged in a running fight with a raider. The raider veered off, and for an instant James was in an island of relative calm in the midst of the struggle. He glanced about, trying to discover the whereabouts of the two Princes and saw Erland clubbing a raider from his horse. There was no sign of Borric.

      Through the howl of the sandstorm, James heard Locklear’s