Read Online Exile's Return by Raymond E. Feist - Free Book Online

heavy hauling. I do know that they can be difficult.”
    “I’ll make him work!” said Jorgen with youthful eagerness.
    “How much will the steer bring?”
    “What do you mean?” Jojanna looked at Kaspar as if she didn’t comprehend.
    “I’ve never sold a steer before.” Kaspar realized that he had little idea about the cost of many items. As Duke he never paid for anything out of his own purse. The gold he carried was for wagering, brothels, or to reward good service. He had signed documents allocating the household budget for the entire citadel, but he had no idea what his housecarl paid to the local merchants for salt, or beef, or fruit. He didn’t know what food came as taxes from his own farms. He didn’t even know what a horse cost, unless it was one especially bred as a gift for one of his ladies or his own warhorse. Kaspar started to laugh.
    “What?” asked Jojanna.
    “There are many things I don’t know,” he said, leaving his meaning ambiguous. She looked at him pointedly and he elaborated. “In the army other people—quartermasters, commissaries, provisioners—made all our arrangements. I just showed up and the food was there. If I needed to ride, a horse was provided.”
    “That must be nice,” she said, her manner showing that she didn’t believe him.
    He considered what he did know about the prices of luxury items, and asked, “How much does a steer bring in silver or copper around here?”
    Jorgen laughed. “He thinks we have coins!”
    “Hush!” snapped his mother. “Go outside and find something useful to do, or at least play, but go outside.”
    Grumbling, the boy left. Jojanna said, “We don’t see coins here often. There’s no one making them. And after the war—” he didn’t have to be told what war; all references to “the war” meant the Emerald Queen’s rampage “—there were many false coins, copper with silver painted on them, or lead covered in gold. Sagrin sees a few from time to time from travelers, so he has a touchstone and scales to tell the true from the false, but mostly we barter, or sometimes work for one another. Kelpita will list what he’s willing to exchange for the steer, then consider if it is worth a mule. He might want both steers in return.”
    “No doubt he will,” said Kaspar. “But that’s negotiating, isn’t it?”
    “He has what I want, and doesn’t have that much use for a steer. He can only eat one so fast.”
    Kaspar laughed, and Jojanna smiled. “He’ll then trade it to Sagrin who will slaughter and dress it out, and Kelpita will be able to eat and drink here for a while at no cost, which will please him and vex his wife. She doesn’t like it when he drinks too much ale.”
    Kaspar waited without making further comment. Again he was visited by the thought that Olaskon peasants must lead similar lives. In Olasko there would be merchants whose wives grew bitter when they drank too much ale, ex-soldiers who owned run-down inns, and little farm boys out looking for someone with whom to play. He sat back and reflected that it was impossible to know each and every one of them. He barely recognized half the household staff at the citadel, let alone knew their names. But even so, he should have been mindful of what kind of people looked to him for protection.
    He was visited by an unexpected rush of sadness. How little care he had given. A torrent of images swept through his thoughts, much like the dreams he had experienced.
    “What’s wrong?” asked Jojanna.
    Kaspar looked at her sideways. “What?”
    “You’ve gone all pale and your eyes are brimming with moisture. What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” he said, his voice surprisingly hoarse. He swallowed hard, then said, “Just an unexpected old memory.”
    “From a war?”
    He shrugged and nodded once, saying nothing.
    “Bandamin was a soldier once.”
    “Really?”
    “Not like you,” she added quickly. “He served with a local militia when he was a boy, with his