Rise of a Merchant Prince by Raymond E. Feist Page B

heard you’d been hung. I don’t know how you and your scrawny friend escaped, but we’ll soon put that right. Seize them.”
    Roo said, “Wait a minute—”
    The men moved quickly, but Erik and Roo were both quicker, and the first two soldiers who laid hands upon them found themselves on the floor, their heads ringing from swift blows. The two merchants spied a pathway past the trouble and beat a hasty exit from the room, running outside into the rain without their hats or coats. The man at the table laughed. “Well done!” he shouted.
    The corporal leveled his sword and thrust, butErik slipped aside and had him by the wrist before he could react. One of the strongest men Roo had ever seen, Erik also had been trained in bare-handed combat, and his iron grip wrung the corporal’s sword from his fingers as he gasped in pain.
    Roo simply thrust with his hand, palm out, fingers extended, and delivered a sharp blow with the heel of his hand upward to the chin of the other standing soldier, who went down in a stunned heap.
    â€œWait a minute!” commanded Erik in the voice he had developed as Robert de Loungville’s corporal on their return from Novindus. The other two soldiers, who were slowly standing, hesitated, and Erik shouted his command: “Hold, damn you!”
    He released the corporal’s wrist while kicking aside his sword so he couldn’t reach for it easily, then showed that his hands were empty of weapons. “I have a paper.” He reached slowly inside his tunic, removed the document given him the day before by an officer in the office of the Knight-Marshal of Krondor, and handed it to the corporal.
    The man took it and glanced it over. “Got the seal of Krondor at the bottom,” he grudgingly admitted, while still sitting on the floor. Then his eyes lowered as he said, “Can’t read.”
    The swordsman stood and with a relaxed air moved to Erik’s side. “If I may help, Corporal,” he said, extending his hand.
    The corporal handed back the document and the man read aloud: “Know you by my hand and seal that Erik Von Darkmoor is sworn to my service and . . .” His eyes glanced to the bottom of the document. “It’s a lot of mumbo jumbo, Corporal. The short of it is you just tried to arrest one of Prince Nicholas’spersonal guards. A corporal, like yourself, it says.”
    â€œA fact?” asked the corporal, his eyes widened.
    â€œYes, not only is the document signed by the Duke of Krondor’s own Knight-Marshal, the Prince himself signed it.”
    â€œTrue?” was the corporal’s next remark as he slowly rose to his feet.
    â€œTrue,” answered the stranger. “And from the way he took your sword from you, I think there’s a reason he’s in the Prince’s personal service.”
    The corporal rubbed his wrist. “Well, perhaps.” His eyes narrowed. “But we heard nothing about this, and last time Erik’s name was mentioned it was when we heard he was to be hung for killing the young Baron.”
    Erik sighed. “The Prince pardoned us.”
    â€œSo you say,” said the corporal. “But I think me and the boys will hurry back to Darkmoor and see what Lord Manfred has to say about this.”
    He picked up his sword and signaled to his men to depart. One of them shook his head in disgust at forgoing a hot meal and the other threw Erik and Roo a black look as he helped the one Roo had stunned back to his feet.
    That man, still trying to focus his eyes, said, “We’re leaving? Did we eat? Is it morning?”
    The other said, “Shut up, Bluey. A bit of that cutting rain will sort you out, quick like.”
    The soldiers left the inn and Erik turned to the stranger. “Thanks.”
    The man shrugged. “If I hadn’t read it, the innkeeper or someone else would.”
    Erik said, “I’m Erik von