RAYMOND E. FEIST
The Complete Legends of the Riftwar
Trilogy
Honoured EnemyMurder in LaMutJimmy the Hand
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Map
Honoured Enemy
Murder in LaMut
Jimmy The Hand
Continue The Adventure
About the Author
Also by the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Map
RAYMOND E. FEIST & WILLIAM R. FORSTCHEN
Honoured Enemy
Book Two of Legends of the Riftwar
This ones for Janny Wurts, who showed me that two heads often were far better than one.
Raymond E Feist
When I think of Honour, Colonel Donald V Bennett, Fox-Green, Omaha Beach, and Sergeant Andy Andrew, Easy Red, Omaha Beach stand before me. When duty called, they served unflinchingly. I am honoured to call them my friends.
William R Forstchen
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue: Intelligence
Chapter One: Grieving
Chapter Two: Discovery
Chapter Three: Moredhel
Chapter Four: Practicalities
Chapter Five: Accommodation
Chapter Six: Pursuit
Chapter Seven: River
Chapter Eight: Decisions
Chapter Nine: Chances
Chapter Ten: Valley
Chapter Eleven: Respite
Chapter Twelve: Blood Debts
Chapter Thirteen: Accord
Chapter Fourteen: Betrayal
Chapter Fifteen: Flight
Chapter Sixteen: Confrontation
Chapter Seventeen: Parting
Epilogue: Reunion
Acknowledgements
Copyright
Prologue
Intelligence
THE RAIN HAD STOPPED.
Lord Brucal, Knight-Marshal of the Armies of the West, entered the command pavilion, snorting like a warhorse and swearing under his breath. Damn weather, he finally said. The elderly general, still broad-shouldered and fit, ran a gloved hand back from his forehead, getting the damp hair out of his eyes.
Borric, Duke of Crydee, and his second-in-command looked at his old friend with a wry smile. Brucal was a steadfast warrior and a reliable ally in the politics of the Kingdom of the Isles, as well as an able field general. But he had a tendency towards vanity, though. Borric knew he was getting irritated by the regal mane of hair now being plastered to his skull.
Still sick? Borric was a striking man of middle years, with more black in his hair and beard than grey. He had on his usual garments of black the only colour he had donned since the death of his wife many years before and over this he wore the brown tabard of Crydee, emblazoned with a golden gull above which perched a small golden crown, signifying Borrics royal blood. His eyes were dark and piercing, and currently showed a slight amusement at his old friends bluster.
As Borric expected, the old grey-bearded duke swore an oath. Im not sick, damn it! Just a bit of a sniffle.
Borric remembered Brucal when he was a young man, visiting Borrics father at Crydee, his laughter, with his robust joy and a glint in his eye. Even when his reddish-brown hair and beard had turned grey, Brucal had been a man who lived each day to the fullest. Today was the first time Borric recognized that Brucal was now an old man.