“Is there someone?” said Erik, suddenly sensing that his half brother, mostly a stranger to him, barely held some sorrow in check.
Manfred’s manner turned neutral. “Nothing of which I choose to speak.”
Erik had nothing more to say and his brother didn’t offer his hand. Erik saluted and started back to where his horse waited. Roo headed toward the tent flap. With a quick move, Erik turned back toward his brother. “That corporal, Alfred.”
“What of him?”
“Send him with the levy.”
Manfred shook his head and smiled slightly. “You have an account with him?”
“Of sorts,” said Erik.
Manfred shrugged. “There’s not much to recommend the man. He’s a brawler. He’ll never make sergeant because of it.’’
“You have a need for brawlers,” said Erik. “Once they’re broken of brawling, they’re the kind of men we need.”
“You can have him.” Turning back into the tent, Manfred vanished.
Roo and Erik returned to their horses and mounted. Erik looked down at Alfred and said, “Fare you well, Corporal.”
“We’ll meet again, bastard,” said Alfred with a baleful stare.
“Oh, count on it.” Erik returned the dark look.
Roo added, with an evil smile, “Sooner than you think.”
With heels to their mounts, Roo and Erik left the soldiers behind and returned to Ravensburg.
“And I’m telling you that if you put any more on that wagon, you’re going to break an axle!” shouted Tom Avery.
Roo stood nose to nose with his father, who was only slightly taller than his son, and after a moment said, “You’re right.”
Tom blinked, then nodded once, curtly, saying, “Of course I’m right.”
The two wagons sat in the yard behind Gaston’s shop, loaded with small barrels of wine. Duncan inspected each tie-down carefully, for the third or fourth time, and looked dubious about the prospect of so many barrels of wine remaining secure.
Roo had spent the day conducting business, spending every coin he had as well as what Erik had given him in purchasing a modest-quality wine that, he hoped, would realize him a significant profit once it reached Krondor.
While not an expert on wine, Roo was a child of Ravensburg and knew more about it than most merchants in Krondor. He knew that the high cost of wine in the Prince’s city was due to the cost of shipping it bottled. Only the most common bulk wine came otherwise, shipped in large barrels. But the smaller barrels of modest-quality wine, used in the taprooms in the area, were never shipped much farther away than a neighboring village, because the wine commanded little profit in an area where high-quality wine was taken for granted. While still not as fine as the great wines served to the nobility, this wine would stand out in Krondor’s common inns. Roo had shrewdly purchased wines he knew to be a cut or two above the quality of what he had drunk in the Prince’s city. Roo calculated that if he could get the inns and taverns frequented by the businessmen of the Merchants’ Quarter to buy his wine, he could realize as much as a threefold profit on this venture, including the cost of wagons and horses.
Duncan said, “You sure you know how to drive this thing?”
Tom wheeled to face his nephew and said, “Roo’s a first-rate teamster, as you’d have been had you not run off after that girl—”
Duncan smiled in remembrance. “Alice,” he supplied. “That didn’t last long. Besides”—he put his hand upon the pommel of his sword—“this is how I earned my living for the last fifteen years.”
“Well, we’ll need it,” said Tom, rubbing his chin. It was the spot Roo had hit him when the old man had come awake and started to bully his son. Three times he had tried to lay hands on the boy and three times had found himself in the dust, looking up at his son. The last time Roo had punctuated his lack of patience for this conflict with a stiff right jab to the old man’s face. After that, Tom Avery looked on his son with a newfound respect. Turning to Roo, he said, “You sure you know your way along this road you told me of?”
Roo nodded. It was a backcountry road, little more than a trail in places, where he and Erik had encountered Helmut Grindle, a trader from Krondor. Roo had learned there was a way from Ravensburg to Krondor that was passable without having to pay toll on the King’s Highway. Erik had papers from the Prince, which had saved them any charges on the way to Ravensburg, but Erik and his company of levies from Darkmoor had left that morning for Krondor, and they would be in the Prince’s city a week before the slow-moving wagons would arrive.