Raymond E. Feist - Honored Enemy

Honoured Enemy

Legends of the Riftwar Book 1

Raymond E. Feist

The rain hadstopped.

Lord Brucal,Knight-Marshal of the Armies of the West, entered the commandpavilion, snorting like a warhorse and swearing under his breath.Damn weather, he finally said. The elderly general,still broad-shouldered and fit, ran a gloved hand back from hisforehead, getting the damn hair out of his eyes.

Borric, Duke ofCrydee, and his second-in-command looked at his old friend with a wrysmile. Brucal was a steadfast warrior and a reliable ally in thepolitics of the Kingdom of the Isles, as well as an able fieldgeneral. But he had a tendency towards vanity, though. Borric knew hewas getting irritated by the regal mane of hair now being plasteredto his skull.

Stillsick? Borric was a striking man of middle years, with moreblack in his hair and beard than grey. He had on his usual garmentsof black - the only colour he had donned since the death of his wifemany years before - and over this he wore the brown tabard of Crydee,emblazoned with a golden gull above which perched a small goldencrown, signifying Borrics royal blood. His eyes were dark andpiercing, and currently showed a slight amusement at his old friendsbluster.

As Borricexpected, the old grey-bearded duke swore an oath. Imnot sick, damn it! Just a bit of a sniffle.

Borricremembered Brucal when he was a young man, visiting Borricsfather at Crydee, his laughter, with his robust joy and a glint inhis eye. Even when his reddish-brown hair and beard had turned grey,Brucal had been a man who lived each day to the fullest. Today wasthe first time Borric recognized that Brucal was now an old man.

On the otherhand, it had to be said that Brucal was an old man who could quicklydraw a sword and do considerable harm. And he refused to admit he wasill.

Brucal pulledoff his heavy gauntlets and handed them to an aide. He allowedanother to remove the heavy fur-lined weather-cloak he had worn fromhis own tent. He was dressed in simple blue trousers and a greytunic, his tabard left behind in his tent. And this bloodyrain doesnt help.

Anotherweek of this and the snows will be falling in earnest.

Accordingto our scouts, its already snowing heavily up north, aroundthe Lake of the Sky, replied Brucal. We should considersending the reserves back to LaMut and Yabon for the winter.

Borric nodded.We might get one more week of clement weather before thewinter storms come, though. Just enough time for the Tsurani to startsomething. I think well keep half of the reserves close by,Ill order the other half back to LaMut.

Brucal looked atthe campaign map on the large table before Borric. He said, Theyhavent been doing much, lately, have they?

The sameas last year, said Borric, pointing at the map. Asortie here, a raid there, but theres little evidence theyseek to expand much any more.

Borric studiedthe map: the invading Tsurani had taken a large chunk of the GreyTower Mountains and the Free Cities of Natal, but had seemedsatisfied to hold a stable front for the last five years of the war.The dukes had managed one successful raid through the valley in themountains the Tsurani had used as their beachhead, and since thenintelligence about what was occurring behind enemy lines wasnon-existent.

Brucal blew hisnose in a rag used to oil weapons, and then threw it into a braziernearby. His large nose now looked red and shiny.

The nine-yearcampaign had taken its toll on him, Borric noticed. Borric thoughtback a moment to when the first sightings of the Tsurani invaders hadbeen reported, by two boys at his own keep who had found a wreckedTsurani ship on the headlands near his castle at Crydee. Later, wordhad been brought by the Elven Queen of aliens in the forests that laybetween her own Elvandar and the Duchy of Crydee.

The world hadchanged: the fact of an alien invasion from another world via a magicgate was no longer a source of wonder. Borric had a war to fight andwin. He had added some marks with brush and ink to the campaign map.

Whatsthis? asked Brucal, pointing to a notation Borric had addedearlier in the morning.

Anothermigration of Dark Brothers. It looks as if a fairly large contingentof them are moving down the southern foothills of the Great NorthernMountains. Theyre treading a narrow path near the elvenforests. I cant understand why theyd come over themountains at this time of year.

Thoseblackhearts dont have to have a reason, observedBrucal.

Borric nodded.My son Arutha reported a large force tangled with the Tsuraniwhile they were besieging my castle five years ago. But those wereDark Brothers driven from the Grey Towers by the Tsurani; they werestriking north to join their kin in the Northlands. Theyvebeen quiet since then.

Theresone possibility.

Borric shrugged.Im listening, old friend.

Thatsa bloody long trek for nothing, observed Brucal, as he wipedhis nose with the back of his hand. Theyre not fools.

The DarkBrotherhood is many things, but never stupid, agreed Borric.If theyre moving in force, its for a reason.

Where arethey now?

Borric said,Last reports from the scouts near the Elven Forest. Theyreavoiding the dwarves at Stone Mountain and the elven patrols, headingeast.

Lake ofthe Sky is the only destination, said Brucal, unlesstheyre going to turn south and attack the elves or theTsurani.

Why Lakeof the Sky?

It makessense if theyre trying to get up to the eastern side of theNorthlands. Theres a spur of mountains that runs north-eastout of the Teeth of the World, hundreds of miles long and impassable.Over the Great Northerns, past the Lake of the Sky, and up a trailback north over the Teeth of the World is a shortcut, actually.The old duke stroked his still-wet beard. Its one ofthe reasons we have so much trouble with the bastards up in Yabon.

Borric nodded.They tend to leave us alone in Crydee, compared to theencounters your garrisons have with them.

I justwish I knew why they were out in force, heading east, this close towinter, muttered Brucal.

Somethingsup, said Borric.

Brucal nodded.Ive been fighting Clan Raven since I was a boy.He fell silent for a moment. Their paramount chieftain is amurderous dog named Murad. If this bunch from the Northlands islooking to join with him...

What?

I dontknow, but itll be bad. Looking over the rest of themap, Brucal asked, Do we have anyone in that area now?

Just thegarrison forts along the Tsurani front, and a few last patrols beforewinter, Borric replied.

Brucal leanedclose to inspect each of the small ink marks on the map, then made asound half-way between a snort and a laugh. Hartraft.

Who?asked Borric.

Son ofone of my squires. Dennis Hartraft. Runs a company of thugs andcut-throats called the Marauders for Baron Moyet. Hes upthere.

Whatshe doing? asked Borric. The name is familiar, but Idont recall any reports from him.

Dennis isnot one for paperwork, said Brucal. What hesdoing is unleashing bloody murder on the Tsurani. Its personalwith him.

Can weget word to him about this Dark Brothers migration?

Hesan independent. Hell come back to Moyets camp for thewinter in the next week or two. Ill send word to the Baron toget whatever information from Dennis he can. Then Brucallaughed. Though it would be fitting for him and Clan Raven totangle if it comes to that.

Why?

Brucal said,Too long a story to tell now. Just say theres even morehistory between his family and Murads blood-drinkers thanthere is between him and the Tsurani.

So whathappens if this Hartraft and the Dark Brothers meet up?

Brucal sighed,and wiped his nose. A lot of people are going to get dead.

Borric took astep away from the map table and looked out of the pavilionsdoor. A light mix of rain and snow was starting to fall. After amoment, he said, Maybe theyll miss each other andHartraft will get back to Moyets camp.