Prince of the Blood by Raymond E. Feist

Author:Raymond E. Feist
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science-Fiction
ISBN: 0553588117
Publisher: Spectra
Published: 2008-11-29T05:00:00+00:00

Three hours later, two men and a very pale boy passed through the eastern city gate, and entered the caravansary. The large field, surrounded on three sides by tents and sheds, was located just to the east of the city, less than a quarter mile from the gates of Farafra. Close to three hundred wagons of varying sizes were spread around the meadow. Dust filled the air as horses, oxen, and camels moved from one place to another.

Suli hefted the large sack he carried, full of various items Ghuda had insisted they buy. Borric had followed the mercenary’s lead in the matter, save when it came to his own armor. Borric now wore an old but serviceable jacket of leather, with leggings and bracers. He couldn’t find a light helm, so rather than one he didn’t care for, he chose a leather band with a cloth head covering, to keep his lengthening hair back and perspiration out of his eyes. The covering also protected the back of his neck from the harsh Keshian sun. A longsword hung from his left hip, and a dirk from his right. He’d have preferred a rapier, but they were rarer in Faráfra than in Krondor and beyond his means. The day’s shopping had eaten away at his meager supply of coins and he was aware that he was still a long way from the city of Kesh.

As they moved along past the corrals where horses were kept, they came to the main concourse, a series of wagons arrayed in two lines. Strolling along between them were a full score of armed men, as well as merchants seeking transport for their goods.

Moving down the concourse, the three were called to by a man atop each wagon. “Bound for Kimri. I need guards for Kimri!” At the next, a man shouted to them, “Ghuda! I need guards for Téleman!” The third called, “Top price paid. We’re leaving tomorrow for Hansulé!”

Halfway down the concourse, they found a caravan bound for the city of Kesh. The caravan master looked them over and said, “I know you by name, Ghuda Bulé. I can use you and your friend, but I don’t want the boy.”

Borric was about to speak, but Ghuda cut him off. “I don’t go anywhere without my Good Luck Cook.”

The stout caravan master looked down upon Suli, perspiration beading upon his hairless head as he said, “Good Luck Cook?”

Ghuda nodded, as if it was something so obvious he needn’t comment upon. “Yes.”

“What, O Master of Ten Thousand Lice, is a Good Luck Cook?”

“When I was guard on Taymus Rioden’s caravan from Querel to Ashunta, seven years back, we were raided by bandits. Struck as if by lightning. Had no time to even get out a prayer to the Death Goddess.” He made a good luck sign, as did the caravan master. “But I survived as did my Good Luck Cook. Not another man did. I have always had my Good Luck Cook with me since.”

“As that boy

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