Raymond e feist books chronological order
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He ran his hand over his nearly bald pate, the grey hair around it-once dark and curly-now tied back behind his head in a sailor's knot. Turning his back on the scene below, Amos shook his head as he leaned back against the railing. In a high-pitched voice he began shrieking at the boys to get out of the way. Looking forward at the small boat, which was now slowing even more rapidly, Amos said, "Tell me, Lawrence, how does it feel to be the man on the bow when you drown the Prince of Krondor's youngest son?"Ĭolor drained from the assistant pilot's face as he turned toward the small boat. He had coasted into his slip a hundred times in twenty years, but never before with a pair of insane boys playing games in front of the ship. He took pride in always reaching the proper place for the land lines to be thrown out and in having never crashed the docks or required a tow. Amos was the only man with rank enough to intimidate the harbor pilot into allowing him to drop sail at the proper moment and coast into the docks. To the grinning boy, Amos shouted, "Harry! You lunatic!" Glancing back, seeing the last of the sails reefed, Amos observed, "We're coasting to the docks, we don't have room to turn if we wanted to, and we certainly can't stop."Īll ships coming into Krondor dropped anchor in the middle of the harbor, waiting for longboats to tow them to the docks. "I should have known," said Amos to the assistant pilot. "You idiot! We're cutting your wind! Turn about!" The boy at the helm turned to look at Amos and threw him an impudent grin. "Nicholas!" shouted Amos, as the boy lowering the jib waved at him.
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Two young men frantically worked the sails and tiller, one attempting to hold as strong a line to the dock as possible while the other furled a jib. Clumsily tied to the top of the mast was a pennant, a small version of the Prince of Krondor's naval ensign. As the ship glided toward the quay, a small sailing boat, no more than fifteen feet in length, attempted to dart into the opening ahead of it. His dark eyes narrowed as he observed the scene unfolding below. The first seemed to be marriage to one of the Harbormaster's numerous sisters or daughters.Īmos reached the bow and looked ahead. Amos suspected that the second requirement for a position in that office was an objectionable personality. Amos disliked turning over command of his ship to anyone, least of all an officious and not very personable member of the Royal Harbormaster's staff. After sailing Prince Arutha's flagship in and out of Krondor for nearly twenty years, he could dock her blindfolded, but custom required the presence of the harbor pilot.
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Still a barrel-chested, bull-necked man at past sixty years of age, he hurried toward the bow with the sure step of a man who'd spent most of his life at sea. The assistant pilot, a sour-looking young man, shouted back, "They fly the royal ensign!"Īmos Trask unceremoniously pushed past the pilot. The harbor pilot who stood beside the Admiral, guiding the Prince of Krondor's flagship, the Royal Dragon, toward the palace docks, shouted to his assistant at the bow, "Wave them off!" Amos Trask, Admiral of the Prince's fleet of the Kingdom Navy, shouted, "What?"