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Authors: Raymond E. Feist
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years even.’
Hal nodded his acceptance of the offer.
The two finalists and their companions were escorted to the royal box where they bowed before the King of Roldem. King Carol was an ageing man with grey hair, but he still looked alert and happy. Next to him sat his wife, Queen Gertrude, and to her side stood their youngest son, Prince Grandprey, who was only a few years older than the two combatants and was dressed in the uniform of a general of the Royal Army; and his sister the Princess Stephané, resplendent in a gown of softly folded yellow silk, which spread gracefully out to the floor. Her shoulders were bare and her somewhat daring décolletage was hidden by a sheer shoulder wrap of the same hue. Her choice of colours made a dramatic contrast to her chestnut hair and striking brown eyes.
Henry tried not to blush as he looked away from her, then he noticed Ty Hawkins was staring boldly at the King’s daughter. And instantly decided he disliked the victor of the contest.
On the King’s right side stood Crown Prince Constantine, the Heir Apparent to the throne, and the middle son, Prince Albér, the Heir Presumptive. Henry and Tyrone both bowed before the royal family.
The Master of Ceremonies said, ‘Your majesties, your highnesses, the victor and vanquished of today’s final match. Lord Henry of Crydee, approach.’
As the first among those who were defeated by the winner, Henry was awarded a miniature silver sword. As he knelt to receive the gift from the hand of the Crown Prince, the King said, ‘Shame to end this way, lad; you’ve acquitted yourself admir ably. Still, second is nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe you’ll have better luck in the next tourney.’
‘Your majesty is gracious,’ said Henry, accepting the sword and with some discomfort returning to stand next to Swordmaster Phillip.
‘We’ll send a healer over to your quarters at the university, and have that . . . leg seen to. You must be ready for tomorrow’s gala,’ said the King.
‘I thank your majesty,’ said Hal, bowing. ‘Tyrone Hawkins of Olasko,’ intoned the Master of Ceremonies. Ty knelt and the King said, ‘Young Hawkins, I gave the King’s prize to your father many years ago.’ He gave Tal a rueful smile. ‘That was a day we’ll never forget.’
The bout had ended in the death of two of Tal’s opponents: a trained swordsman from Kesh who had come with one purpose, to kill the young swordsman, and a lieutenant in the army of Olasko who had been among those responsible for the death of most of Tal’s people.
The King said, ‘So concludes this contest, and we shall gather in five years to see if young Hawkins can continue his family’s achievements. I bid you, good lords, ladies, and gentlemen, a fair day and will welcome many of you to our gala tomorrow night.’
Everyone who had been seated rose when the King stood, and led his wife and family from the Hall of the Masters’ Court. As Ty turned to find Hal staring at him with a narrowed gaze, a man wended his way though the press of folk leaving the building to come and stand before Tal.
But it was Hal who spoke first, ‘Lord Jamison!’
James Dasher Jamison, Baron of the Prince’s Court in Krondor, nodded at the young nobleman and then to Ty and his father. ‘Well, Jim,’ said Tal Hawkins, ‘this is an unexpected pleasure.’
Lord Jamison, also known as Jim Dasher to some, glanced around the room and said, ‘Unexpected, I warrant, but hardly a pleasure.’ Lowering his voice a little he added, ‘We need to speak in private, Hawkins.’ Then he turned to Hal and said, ‘Don’t wander too far, Hal. I need to speak with you as well.’
Moving a short distance away from the throng surrounding the victor, Jim said, ‘Tal, I need to ask you a favour.’
‘What?’ replied Hawkins. His relationship with Jim Dasher and everyone else associated with the Conclave of Shadows had been a mixed one at best. They had saved his life as a child but exacted
Hal nodded his acceptance of the offer.
The two finalists and their companions were escorted to the royal box where they bowed before the King of Roldem. King Carol was an ageing man with grey hair, but he still looked alert and happy. Next to him sat his wife, Queen Gertrude, and to her side stood their youngest son, Prince Grandprey, who was only a few years older than the two combatants and was dressed in the uniform of a general of the Royal Army; and his sister the Princess Stephané, resplendent in a gown of softly folded yellow silk, which spread gracefully out to the floor. Her shoulders were bare and her somewhat daring décolletage was hidden by a sheer shoulder wrap of the same hue. Her choice of colours made a dramatic contrast to her chestnut hair and striking brown eyes.
Henry tried not to blush as he looked away from her, then he noticed Ty Hawkins was staring boldly at the King’s daughter. And instantly decided he disliked the victor of the contest.
On the King’s right side stood Crown Prince Constantine, the Heir Apparent to the throne, and the middle son, Prince Albér, the Heir Presumptive. Henry and Tyrone both bowed before the royal family.
The Master of Ceremonies said, ‘Your majesties, your highnesses, the victor and vanquished of today’s final match. Lord Henry of Crydee, approach.’
As the first among those who were defeated by the winner, Henry was awarded a miniature silver sword. As he knelt to receive the gift from the hand of the Crown Prince, the King said, ‘Shame to end this way, lad; you’ve acquitted yourself admir ably. Still, second is nothing to be ashamed of. Maybe you’ll have better luck in the next tourney.’
‘Your majesty is gracious,’ said Henry, accepting the sword and with some discomfort returning to stand next to Swordmaster Phillip.
‘We’ll send a healer over to your quarters at the university, and have that . . . leg seen to. You must be ready for tomorrow’s gala,’ said the King.
‘I thank your majesty,’ said Hal, bowing. ‘Tyrone Hawkins of Olasko,’ intoned the Master of Ceremonies. Ty knelt and the King said, ‘Young Hawkins, I gave the King’s prize to your father many years ago.’ He gave Tal a rueful smile. ‘That was a day we’ll never forget.’
The bout had ended in the death of two of Tal’s opponents: a trained swordsman from Kesh who had come with one purpose, to kill the young swordsman, and a lieutenant in the army of Olasko who had been among those responsible for the death of most of Tal’s people.
The King said, ‘So concludes this contest, and we shall gather in five years to see if young Hawkins can continue his family’s achievements. I bid you, good lords, ladies, and gentlemen, a fair day and will welcome many of you to our gala tomorrow night.’
Everyone who had been seated rose when the King stood, and led his wife and family from the Hall of the Masters’ Court. As Ty turned to find Hal staring at him with a narrowed gaze, a man wended his way though the press of folk leaving the building to come and stand before Tal.
But it was Hal who spoke first, ‘Lord Jamison!’
James Dasher Jamison, Baron of the Prince’s Court in Krondor, nodded at the young nobleman and then to Ty and his father. ‘Well, Jim,’ said Tal Hawkins, ‘this is an unexpected pleasure.’
Lord Jamison, also known as Jim Dasher to some, glanced around the room and said, ‘Unexpected, I warrant, but hardly a pleasure.’ Lowering his voice a little he added, ‘We need to speak in private, Hawkins.’ Then he turned to Hal and said, ‘Don’t wander too far, Hal. I need to speak with you as well.’
Moving a short distance away from the throng surrounding the victor, Jim said, ‘Tal, I need to ask you a favour.’
‘What?’ replied Hawkins. His relationship with Jim Dasher and everyone else associated with the Conclave of Shadows had been a mixed one at best. They had saved his life as a child but exacted
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