Prince of the Blood Read Free

wouldn’t have killed him; you just don’t have the instinct. You’d have tried to disarm him or something equally noble,” Borric observed, catching his breath in a gasp, “… and stupid. Now, let’s see about getting out of here.”
    Erland gripped his wounded side as they headed toward the door. Several town toughs, seeing blood upon Erland’s side, moved to block the twin’s exit. Borric and Erland both leveled their sword points at the band of men. Borric said, “Keep your guard up a moment,” pickedup a chair, and threw it through the large bay window facing the boulevard. Glass and leading showered the street, and before the tinkle of shards upon stone had stopped, both brothers were leaping through what remained of the window. Erland stumbled and Borric had to grip his arm to keep him from falling.
    As they straightened, they took in the fact that they were looking at horses. Two of the more bold thugs jumped through the window after the twins, and Borric smashed one in the side of the head with his sword hilt, while the other man pulled up short as three crossbows were leveled at him. Arrayed before the door was the small company of ten burly and heavily armed town watchmen commonly known as the Riot Squad. But what had the half dozen denizens of the Sleeping Dockman standing in open-mouthed amazement, was the sight of the thirty horsemen behind the Riot Squad. They wore the tabards of Krondor and the badge of the Prince of Krondor’s own Royal Household Guards. From within the inn someone overcame his stupefaction and shouted, “Royal Guardsmen!” and a general evacuation through the rear door of the tavern began, while the gaping faces at the window vanished.
    The brothers regarded the mounted men, all armed and ready in case trouble came. At their head rode a man well-known to the two young mercenaries.
    “Ah … good evening, my lord,” said Borric, a smile slowly spreading across his face. The leader of the Riot Squad, seeing no one else in sight, moved to take custody of the two young men.
    The leader of the Royal Guard waved him off. “This doesn’t concern you, Watchman. You and your men may go.” The watch commander bowed slightly and led his men back to their barracks in the heart of the Poor Quarter.
    Erland winced a bit as he said, “Baron Locklear, what a pleasure.”
    Baron Locklear, Knight-Marshal of Krondor, smiled an unamused smile. “I’m certain.” Despite his rank, he looked barely a year or two older than the boys, though he was nearly sixteen years their senior. He had curly blond hair and large blue eyes, which were presently narrowed as he watched the twins in obvious disapproval.
    Borric said, “And I expect that means that Baron James—”
    Locklear pointed. “Is standing behind you.”
    Both brothers turned to see the man in the great cloak framed in the doorway. He threw back his hood to reveal a face still somewhat youthful despite his thirty-seven years of age, his curly brown hair slightly dusted with grey. It was a face the brothers knew as well as any, for he had been one of their teachers since boyhood, and more, one of their closest friends. He regarded the two brothers with ill-disguised disapproval and said, “Your father ordered you directly home. I had reports of your whereabouts from the time you left Highcastle until you passed through the city gates … two days ago!”
    The twins tried to hide their pleasure at being able to lose their royal escorts, but they failed. “Ignore for a moment the fact your father and mother had a formal court convened to welcome you home. Forget they stood waiting for three hours! Never mind your father’s insisting that Baron Locklear and I comb the entire city for two days seeking you out.” He studied the two young men. “But I trust you’ll remember all those little details when your father has words with you after court tomorrow.”
    Two horses were brought forward and a soldier deferentially held out the