Shadow of a Dark Queen by Raymond E. Feist Read Free Book Online Page B

was left to Milo to dispose of the corpse, and he arranged a hasty funeral, with a quick pyre. The ashes were scattered, and a prayer was said to the Singer of Green Silence by her priest, though smiths were more correctly considered the province of Tith-Onanka, the god of war. Erik felt that somehow the prayer to Killian, the goddess of the forest and field, was appropriate: Tyndal had repaired perhaps one sword in the six years Erik had been around the forge, but countless plows, tillers, and other implements of farming.
    A sound in the distance caught Erik’s ear. A midday coach was coming along the western road from Krondor, the Prince’s City. Erik knew that the chances were excellent it was Percy of Rimmerton at the reins, and if so, he would be putting in to the Pintail for refreshments for his horses and passengers. The driver was a rail-thin man of enormous appetite who loved Freida’s cooking.
    As Erik had anticipated, within minutes the sounds of iron-shod wheels and hooves echoed loudly as the commercial coach approached the courtyard. Then it turned in and with a loud “Whoa!” Percy reined in his team of four. The commercial coaches had begun their travel between Salador andKrondor five years previously and had proved a great success for their innovator, a wealthy merchant in Krondor named Jacob Esterbrook, who was now planning a coach line from Salador to Bas-Tyra, according to gossip. Each coach was essentially a wagon, with a covered roof and sides, and a small tailgate that when lowered provided a step into the wagon. A pair of planks along the sides provided indifferent seating, and the ride was lacking any pretense to comfort, as the wagons were rudely sprung. But the journey was swift compared to that by caravan, and for those unable to secure their own mounts to ride, almost as rapid as horseback.
    â€œHo, Percy,” said Erik.
    â€œErik!” replied the coachman, whose long thin face appeared to have been frozen in a grin surrounded by road dirt. He turned to his two passengers, a man dressed well and another in plain garments. “Ravensburg, sirs.”
    The plainly dressed man nodded and moved to the rear of the coach as Erik obliged Percy by unlatching the tailgate. “Are you lying over?” he asked the driver.
    â€œNo,” answered Percy. “We go on to Wolverton, where this other gentleman is bound; then we are done with this run.” Wolverton was the next town in the direction of Darkmoor, and less than an hour away by fast coach. Erik knew that the passenger would be unlikely to welcome a meal stop this close to his destination. “From there I’m going empty to Darkmoor, so there’s ample time and no hurry. Tell your mother I’ll be back in a few days, gods willing, and I’ll have an extra of her best meat pie.” Percy’s grin continued to split his thin face as he patted his stomach, miming hunger.
    Erik nodded as the driver turned his team and quickly had them up to a trot and out of the courtyard. Erik turned to the man who had dismounted the coach, to ask if he required lodging, and found him vanishing around the corner of the barn.
    â€œSir!” Erik called, and hurried after.
    He circled the barn and reached the forge, finding that the stranger had set down his bag and was removing his travel cloak. The man was as broad of shoulder and thick of arm as Erik, though he was a full head shorter. He had a fringe of long grey hair receding from his bald pate, and a thoughtful, almost scholarly expression. His brows were bushy and black, and his face was clean-shaven, though the stubble grown while traveling was almost white.
    And he inspected everything carefully. He turned to see the young man standing at the door and said, “You must be the apprentice. You keep an orderly forge, youngster. That is good.” He spoke with the odd flat twang typical of those from the Far Coast or the Sunset Islands.
    â€œWho