Murder in LaMut: Legends of the Riftwar: Book 2 – An Epic Fantasy Adventure of Three Veteran Mercenaries on a Deadly Mission

Murder in LaMut: Legends of the Riftwar: Book 2 – An Epic Fantasy Adventure of Three Veteran Mercenaries on a Deadly Mission

Available in the U.S. for the first time, ehre is the second volume in the exceptional Legends of the Riftwar series from “a master storyteller who weaves exciting, sweeping epic tales” (SF Site) Durine, Kethold, and Pirojil are mercenaries who have spent 20 years fighting other people’s battles, defeating the Tsurani and the Bugs and the goblins. Yet now it seems, there are no more enemies to vanquish, leaving them with a few months of welcomed garrison duty as the Riftwar rages on west in Crydee. When the trio are ordered to accompany a lady and her husband safely to the city of LaMut, it looks like an easy―even cushy―assignment. But in Midkemia, nothing is that simple. . . . “Fest remains honorably in the forefront of fantasists who continue to create well-told tales out of the genre’s familiar elements.” - Booklist In Midkemia, there are no easy roads . . . For twenty years the mercenaries Durine, Kethol, and Pirojil have fought other people's battles. Having already defeated the Tsurani, the Bugs, and the goblins, it seems there are no more enemies for them to vanquish—even as the Riftwar rages on in the west. What lies ahead for the able trio are a few welcomed months of restful garrison duty. When ordered to accompany the promiscuous Lady Mondegreen, her aging husband, and her current lover to a summit in the city of LaMut, the Three Swords willingly comply, expecting an uncomplicated and undemanding assignment. But nothing is straightforward in this land of violence and treachery. And when the fury of a winter's storm traps them inside a castle teeming with ambitious, plotting lords and ladies, the mercenaries suddenly find themselves with a series of cold-blooded murders to solve . . . and the political future of Midkemia resting in their hands. Raymond E. Feist is the author of more than thirty previous books, including the internationally bestselling “Riftwar Cycle” of novels set in his signature world of Midkemia; the Empire trilogy co-authored with Janny Wurts; the stand-alone novel, Faerie Tale ; and the epic fantasy series, the Firemane Saga. He lives in San Diego, California. Joel Rosenberg was born in 1954. The author of many science fiction and fantasy novels, he is best known for his Guardians of the Flame fantasy series. He lives in Minneapolis with his wife Felicia, two daughters, one sister, five cats, one dog and a couple of dozen fish. Murder in LaMut Legends of the Riftwar: Book II By Raymond Feist HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. Copyright © 2008 Raymond Feist All right reserved. ISBN: 9780060792916 Chapter One Night It was a dark and stormy night. That was fine with Durine. Not that the goddess Killian, whose province was the weather, was asking his opinion. Nor were any of the other gods—or any mortals—for that matter. In more than twenty years of a soldier's life, both fealty-bound and mercenary—as well as during the dimly-remembered time before he took blade and bow in hand—few of those in charge of anything had asked Durine's opinions before making their decisions. And that was fine with him, too. The good thing about a soldier's life was that you could concentrate on the small but important decisions, like where to put the point of your sword next, and leave the big decisions to others. Anyway, there was no point in objecting: complaining didn't make it any warmer, griping didn't stop the sleet from pelting down, bitching didn't stop the ice from clinging to his increasingly heavy sailcloth overcoat as he made his way, half-blinded, down the muddy street. Mud. Mud seemed to go with LaMut the way salt seemed to go with fish. But that was just fine with Durine, too. Wading through this half-frozen mud was just part of the trade, and at least here and now it was just this vile slush, not the hideous sort of mud made from soil mixing with dying men's blood and shit. Now, the sight and particularly the smell of that kind of mud could make even Durine gag, and he had seen more than enough of it in his time. What wasn't fine with him was the cold. It was still too damn cold. His toes had ceased to feel the cold and the pain, which wasn't good. Locals were talking about the 'thaw', something they apparently expected any day now that Midwinter was behind them. Durine glanced up at the sleet smacking him in the face, and decided that this was an odd sort of thaw. To his way of thinking, there was far too damn much of this half-frozen stuff falling from the sky for a reasonable thaw, or even an unreasonable one. Yes, before the current storm they had had three days of clear skies, but there was no change in the air; it was still too damn wet, and too damn cold. Too cold to fight, perhaps? Well, yes, maybe, in the view of the Bugs and the Tsurani, and that was a good thing. They had fought Tsurani and goblins and Bugs in the north, and now, it seemed, they had run out of Tsurani and goblins and Bugs to kill—at least around here—and as soon as things t