Exile's Return by Raymond E. Feist Page B

at inns along the way, but it’s impossible. You find yourself waking up, anxious to make sure that thing is safe.”
    “Sometimes, two or three times a night,” nodded Kenner.
    “So, now we sleep under the wagon,” said McGoin.
    “Well, you three can sleep here if you must, but I’m for a hot bath, clean clothing, and a night in a good inn. Give me some coin, Flynn.”
    Flynn dug out some silver pieces and handed them to Kaspar. “I’ll see you at first light.”
    Kaspar left the inn and indulged himself for the first time since losing the citadel. He found a tailor and purchased a new tunic, trousers, and small clothes, as well as an outer jacket and a new felted beret with a metal pin clasping a false ruby. Then he found the best bathhouse in the town—which wasn’t close to the standard of the great bathhouses in Opardum.
    Afterward, Kaspar felt refreshed and reinvigorated. He took a room at an inn off the main town square, and discovered an agreeable barmaid who, after only a little coaxing, arrived at his door after the other guests had retired and her chores were finished.
    An hour after drifting off into a deep, satisfied slumber, Kaspar came awake with a start. He glanced around the room and felt disoriented. Slowly, he realized where he was and rolled over to inspect his bedmate.
    She was a pretty thing, no more than nineteen years old and typical of her calling; a poor girl hoping to catch a rich husband, or at least, garner a generous gift for her favors. Only time would tell if she ended up married, or in a brothel.
    Kaspar put his head down again but sleep refused to return. He turned over and tried to clear his mind of images, but each time he started to drift off he would catch a disturbing glimpse of the wagon in his mind’s eye, and of what rested upon it.
    Finally, he rose and dressed, leaving the girl a small gift of silver. If Flynn proved correct, there would be ample wealth to replace it soon enough.
    He was opening the door quietly as the girl awoke. “Leaving?” she asked sleepily.
    “I have an early day,” Kaspar said, closing the door behind him.
    He made his way carefully through the dark streets, mindful that few lawful folk were about this late. Finally he reached the warehouse and opened the door to find Kenner awake and the others sleeping.
    Kenner approached him, treading softly, and said, “Knew you’d be back before dawn.”
    Kaspar ignored the urge to respond with a jibe, and simply replied, “Why are you awake?”
    “One of us is always awake. It’ll be better now that you’re here. What’s the time?”
    “About two hours after midnight,” said Kaspar.
    “Then you can take the next three hours and wake McGoin after that.” Kenner climbed underneath the wagon, pulled a blanket over him, and settled in to sleep.
    Kaspar found a crate to sit on, and kept watch. Kenner was quickly asleep and so he was left with his thoughts. He resisted the urge to go to the wagon and lift the tarpaulin. Kaspar refused to believe that any unnatural compulsion had forced him to be here. He was here out of choice.
    He cursed all magicians and all things magical as he thought about his recent past. It was too much of a coincidence, but he rejected the idea of fate or that the gods wanted him to be here. He was no one’s pawn. He had enjoyed the company of a magician, but Leso Varen had also been his advisor; and while many of suggestions he made to Kaspar had been repulsive, the benefits had largely outweighed the costs. Varen had been influential, perhaps the most influential advisor in Kaspar’s entire court, but Kaspar had always made the final judgment and given the final order on what would or would not be done.
    Dark memories flooded his mind as he considered the arrival of Leso Varen. The magician had appeared one day in open court as a supplicant seeking a place to rest for a while; a simple purveyor of harmless magic. But he had become a fixture in Kaspar’s household very