Rise of a Merchant Prince by Raymond E. Feist Page A

they’d been proper bandits, we’d have been feeding the crows tomorrow instead of them. Better keep alert.”
    Duncan said, “Well then, I’m turning in.”
    Tom and Roo sat before the fire. Because of his age, Roo and Duncan allowed Tom the first watch. The man with the second had it roughest, having to awake for a few hours in the dark, then turn in again. Roo also knew that dawn was the most dangerous time for attack, as guards were the sleepiest and least alert and anyone contemplating a serious assault would wait for just before sunrise. Chances were near-certain if Tom had morning watch, should trouble come he’d be sound asleep when he died.
    Tom said, “Had a stone like that one Duncan’s got, once.” Roo said nothing. His father rarely talked to him, a habit that had developed in childhood. Rupert had traveled with his father many times as a boy, learning the teamster’s trade, but on the longest of those journeys, from Ravensburg to Salador and back, he’d rarely had more than ten words for the boy. When at home, Tom drank to excess, and when working, remained sober but stoic.
    â€œI got it for your mother,” said Tom quietly.
    Roo was riveted. If Tom was a quiet man when sober, he was always silent about Roo’s mother, sober or drunk. Roo knew what he did about his mother from others in the village, for she had died in childbirth.
    â€œShe was a tiny thing,” said Tom. Roo knew his diminutive status was a legacy from his mother.Erik’s mother had mentioned that more than once. “But strong,” said Tom.
    Roo found that surprising. “She had a tough grit to her,” continued Tom, his eyes shining in the firelight. “You look like her, you know.” He held his right arm across his chest, clutching his left arm, which he massaged absently. He peered into the fire as if seeking something in the dancing flame.
    Roo nodded, afraid to speak. Since he had struck his father, knocking him to the ground, the old man had treated him with a deference Roo had never experienced before. Tom sighed. “She wanted you, boy. The healing priest told her it would be chancy, with her being so tiny.” He wiped his right hand over his face, then looked at his own hands, large, oft scarred, and calloused. “I was afraid to touch her, you know, with her being so small and me having no gentleness in me. I was afraid I’d break her. But she was tougher than she looked.”
    Roo swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to speak. He finally whispered, “You never speak of her.”
    Tom nodded. “I had so little joy in this life, boy. And she was every bit of it. I met her at a festival, and she looked like this shy bird of a thing, standing on the edge of the crowd at the feast of Midsummer. I had just come up from Salador, driving a wagon for my uncle, Duncan’s grandfather. I was half-drunk and full of myself, and then she was right there before me, bold as bright brass, and she says, ‘Dance with me.’” He sighed. “And I did.”
    He was silent awhile. He hugged himself, and his breath seemed labored, and he had to swallow hard to speak. “She had that same look you do, not fetching with her thin face and uneven teeth, until shesmiled—then she lit up and was beautiful. I got her that stone I was speaking of for our wedding. Had it set in a ring for her.”
    â€œLike a noble,” said Roo, forcing his voice to a lighter tone.
    â€œLike the Queen herself,” Tom answered with a shallow laugh. He swallowed hard. “She said I was mad and should sell it for a new wagon, but I insisted she keep it.”
    â€œYou never told me,” said Roo softly.
    Tom shrugged and was silent. He took a deep breath, then said, “You’re a man now. Showed me that when I woke to find you standing over me at Gaston’s. Never thought you’d amount to much, but you’re a shrewd one, and if