Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

‘‘I don’t know anything about that,’’ said Waylander, ‘‘but it’s the sort of thing Abuk trades for as well.’’

  James led the others to the door. ‘‘Get to the Earl, Michael,’’

  he said. ‘‘You and Arle should be there before sundown tomorrow if you value your heads. We’re in the inn until dawn, and then we’re going south.’’

  ‘‘I’ll walk with you as far as Arle’s house,’’ said Waylander.

  ‘‘And then we’ll see the Earl tomorrow. Where south are you going?’’

  ‘‘First to Silden to find Abuk and those three men you mentioned. If we have any luck, we’ll put paid to this mess within a few days.’’ Waylander said nothing, and James knew it was because even if all the Nighthawks and Crawler’s men vanished overnight, there would still be crimes to pay for. But even years in a dungeon, thought James, were better than dying. At least in a dungeon there was the chance of escape.

  The last thought made him smile as he headed up the road toward the inn.

  As they neared the town of Silden, they slowed. A band of men were also riding toward the town, coming in from the 139

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  west. ‘‘We don’t know they’re looking for us,’’ said James.

  ‘‘But as many times as you’ve been attacked, Gorath, I’d just as soon wait to see what they’re up to.’’

  Gorath had no disagreement, so he remained silent. The riders crossed over the bridge which arched over the River Rom into the town proper. Because it was built on a bluff that sloped down to a deep harbor, Silden had no foulbourgh outside the city walls. Rather, a series of small villages dotted the coastline around the bay of Silden, and a large village dominated the western shore of the bay, on the other side of the bridge.

  They rode into the northern gate of the city, and passed a bored-looking pair of city watchmen. James turned to Owyn, and asked, ‘‘Any friends or relatives here?’’

  ‘‘Not that I’m aware of,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Or at least none my father would admit to.’’

  James laughed. ‘‘I can understand that. This isn’t exactly a garden spot, is it?’’

  Silden was only important to two groups: those who lived in it and smugglers. The majority of trade coming up the river to the north entered through the much larger trading port of Cheam, which had spacious docks, a huge warehouse district, and was the second largest port on the north shore of the Kingdom Sea after Bas-Tyra. Silden was therefore a far more profitable destination for those seeking to conduct business without benefit of Kingdom Customs officers. They made an attempt to curtail smuggling, but with the host of villages within a day’s ride to the east and west, keeping smuggling under control was impossible. As a result, control of Silden had for years been an ongoing goal of competing criminal gangs, from the Mockers of Krondor, Keshian drug smugglers, and bully gangs from Rillanon, to an alliance of local thieves.

  This constant struggle had turned Silden into the closest thing to an open city seen in the Eastern Realm of the Kingdom.

  The Earldom of Silden, while a reasonably attractive fiefdom, with rents and income sufficient to keep a noble family in style, was an absentee office. The last Earl of Silden had died during the Riftwar, in the great attack by King Rodric IV

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  had yet to award the Earldom to anyone, which was fine with the Duke of Cheam, who presently enjoyed the income from the property in the Earldom. James was of the opinion it should be turned into a proper Duchy and run from here in the city. A resident noble would clear up a lot of the problems of this valuable port city. He would have to mention it to the Prince when he returned, but for the moment, it was still a neglected backwater town without proper oversight.

  The upshot of this situation was an almost complete absence of law and order in Silden beyond that which was enforced by the local constabulary. And from what James could tell, it ended where the market district of the city turned into the waterfront, and at a boulevard marked by a sign of four gulls in flight. One side of the street was marked by prosperous-looking shops and homes, the other by inns and warehouses. Down the middle of the street a long red line had been painted.

  ‘‘What is that?’’ asked Gorath as they rode across it.

  ‘‘A deadline,’’ said James. ‘‘If you’re brawling over there, no one cares. Brawl on this side, and you’re off to the work gangs.’’

  He motioned for them to cross the deadline, and as they entered the dock district, he said, ‘‘Ah, I love a town where they let you know how things stand with no apology.’’

  Gorath looked at Owyn and shrugged. Then he asked, ‘‘Why is it called a deadline?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘In the past if you were caught after curfew on the wrong side by the soldiers of the King, you were hanged.’’

  They rode through a series of dark streets, bounded on either side by high warehouses, and crossed another fairly large street, rumbling with wagons and large men pushing carts piled high with goods. Then they were looking at the harbor below, a jumble of docks and jetties, some stone, mostly wood, pushed hard against one another. Small boats were moving in and out of the harbor. Silden was blessed with one saving grace, the high bluffs upon which the three riders now stood, which provided shelter from the harshest winter storms.

  James conducted them down the long roadway which led to the docks and pointed to an inn in front of which hung a sign made from an old ship’s anchor, painted white. A modest stabling yard stood to the side, and when James rode in, a 141

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  grubby-looking boy hurried over. ‘‘Pick their feet, give them hay and water, and rub them down,’’ said James as he dismounted.

  The boy nodded, and James said, ‘‘And tell whoever’s interested that I would consider it a personal courtesy if these animals were here in the morning.’’ He made a small gesture with his thumb, and the boy nodded slightly.

  ‘‘What was that?’’ asked Owyn.

  As they entered the Anchorhead Inn, James said, ‘‘Just a word dropped in the proper ear.’’

  ‘‘I mean the thing with the thumb and fingers.’’

  ‘‘That’s what let the boy know I deserved being listened to.’’

  The common room was seedy and dark, and James looked around at its clientele. Sailors and dockhands, soldiers of fortune looking for an outward-bound ship, ladies of negotiable virtue, and the usual assortment of thugs and thieves. James took them to a table in the rear, and said, ‘‘Now we watch.’’

  ‘‘For what?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘For the right person to show up.’’

  ‘‘How long do we wait?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘In this hole? A day, two at the outside.’’

  Gorath shook his head. ‘‘You humans live like . . . animals.’’

  ‘‘It’s not so bad once you’ve gotten used to it, Gorath,’’ said James. ‘‘It’s a fair improvement over some places I’ve called home.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘That is an odd claim for one who serves a prince of his race.’’

  ‘‘Agreed,’’ conceded the Squire, ‘‘but nonetheless true for being strange. I have had an unusual opportunity to improve my situation.’’

  ‘‘The opposite is my fate,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I was a clan chieftain; I was sought out in council and was counted among the leaders of my people. Now I am sitting in squalor with the enemy of my race.’’

  James said, ‘‘I am no one’s enemy lest he harm me or mine first.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘I can believe that, Squire, though it strains my senses to hear myself saying it; yet I can’t say that for most of your race.’’

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  James said, ‘‘I never claimed to speak on behalf of most of my race. If you’ve noticed, we’re often a great deal more busy killing one another than we are causing problems for the N
ations of the North.’’

  Suddenly Gorath laughed. Both Owyn and James were startled by the sound, surprisingly musical and full. ‘‘What’s so funny?’’ asked Owyn.

  Gorath’s smile faded, and he said, ‘‘Just the thought that if you were a little more efficient killing one another, I wouldn’t have to worry about a murderous dog like Delekhan.’’

  At mention of the would-be conqueror, James was reminded of the importance of unraveling the knotted cord of who was behind which plot. So far he had decided that this Crawler, whoever he might be, was more a problem for the Upright Man and his Mockers, and Prince Arutha, and whatever other local nobles he was plaguing, but his part in Delekhan’s plans was coincidence, not design.

  The Nighthawks were obviously working with either the Crawler, the moredhel, or both. And what caused James to worry was that they might be again the pawns of the Pantathian Serpent Priests. At some point James would bring up the serpents with Gorath, but not here in this public a place.

  The barmaid, a stout woman who had probably been a whore in her youth, but now could not rely on her faded looks to earn her livelihood, came over and, with a suspicious look at Gorath, asked their pleasure. James ordered ale, and she left. James returned to his musing.

  There was another player in this, some faction who were orchestrating all this turmoil in the Kingdom, either the Pantathians or someone else, and that was what had James concerned. Going over what Gorath had told Arutha and James several times, he said, ‘‘I would give a great deal to know more about those you call The Six.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘Little is known of them, save by Delekhan’s closest advisors, and I know of no one who has actually met them. They are powerful, and have provided my people with weapons in abundance. But Delekhan’s enemies have been disappearing suddenly. I was called to council and taken on the 143

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  road to Sar-Sargoth, and locked away in the dungeon by Narab, Delekhan’s chief advisor.’’

  James said, ‘‘You didn’t mention that part before.’’

  ‘‘You didn’t ask about what I had been doing before I met Locklear,’’ said Gorath.

  ‘‘How did you escape?’’

  ‘‘Someone arranged it,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I’m not sure who, but I suspect it was an old . . . ally. She is a woman of some influence and power.’’

  James was suddenly interested. ‘‘She must have a great deal of influence to get you free right under Delekhan’s nose.’’

  ‘‘There are many close to Delekhan who will not openly oppose him but would be pleased if he failed; Narab and his brother are among them, but as long as The Six serve Delekhan, they will as well. Should anything befall Delekhan before he consolidates the tribes, any alliance he has forged will disin-tegrate. Even his wife and son are not fully trusted by him, and for good reason. His wife is Chieftain of the Hamandien, the Snow Leopards, one of the most powerful clans after Delekhan’s own, and his son has ambitions that are obvious.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Sounds like a happy family.’’

  Gorath chuckled at that, his tone ironic. ‘‘My people rarely trust those who are not of our own family, tribe, or clan. Beyond that are political alliances, and they are sometimes as fugitive as dreams. We are not a trusting people by nature.’’

  ‘‘So I have determined,’’ said James. ‘‘Then, for the most part, neither are we.’’ He slowly stood up. ‘‘Excuse me. I’ll be back in a moment.’’

  He passed the barmaid, who ignored him as she brought the ale to the table, which forced Owyn with ill humor to pay for the drinks from his meager purse. Gorath found this amusing.

  James crossed to where a man had emerged from the back room, dark skin and beard marking him as one of Keshian ancestry. ‘‘Can I help you,’’ he asked with an appraising look.

  By his accent, he was a Keshian by birth. He was thin, and James assumed dangerous, and while his close-cropped beard was greying, he was probably still vigorous enough to be a deadly opponent.

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  James said, ‘‘You’re the owner of this establishment?’’

  ‘‘I am,’’ he said. ‘‘I am Joftaz.’’

  Lowering his voice, James said, ‘‘I am here representing interests that are concerned with some downturns in their business of late. There are difficulties stemming from the activities of men who have been most recently both up in Romney and to the west.’’

  Joftaz regarded James with an appraising eye. ‘‘Why mention this to me?’’

  ‘‘You live in a place where many pass through. I thought perhaps you might have heard something or seen someone.’’

  Joftaz laughed in a jovial manner that was entirely unconvincing. ‘‘My friend, in my line of work, given where we are, it is in my interest to hear nothing, notice no one, and say little.’’

  James studied the man a moment. ‘‘Certain information would have value.’’

  ‘‘How much value?’’

  ‘‘It would depend on the information.’’

  Joftaz looked around, and said, ‘‘The wrong thing said in the wrong ear could end a man’s life.’’

  ‘‘Daggers have points,’’ said James, ‘‘and so do you.’’

  ‘‘On the other hand, I do find myself in need of some help in a delicate matter, and for the right man I could possibly remember a few things I’ve heard or faces I’ve seen.’’

  James nodded. ‘‘Would this delicate matter be aided by a sum of gold?’’

  Joftaz smiled. ‘‘I like your thinking, young man. What may I call you?’’

  ‘‘You may call me James.’’

  For an instant the man’s eyes flickered, and he said, ‘‘And you are from . . . ?’’

  ‘‘Most recently, the village of Sloop, and before that Romney.’’

  ‘‘Then the men you seek who had been recently in Romney are involved in some matter up there?’’

  ‘‘Some matter, but before we discuss what I need to know, I need to know the price.’’

  Joftaz said, ‘‘Then, my young friend, we are at something of 145

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  an impasse, for to tell you any of my need is to tell you all my need, and as they say, ‘In for a copper, in for a gold.’ ’’

  James smiled, and said, ‘‘I’m hurt, Joftaz. What must I do to win your trust?’’

  ‘‘Tell me why you seek these men.’’

  ‘‘I seek them as nothing more than a link in a chain. They may lead me to another, one with whom I have some serious issues. He is one behind murder and treason, and I will have him to the hangman or dead at my feet; either is fine with me.’’

  ‘‘You’re the King’s man, then?’’

  ‘‘Not directly, but we both respect my employer.’’

  ‘‘Then swear by Ban-ath you will not betray me, and we shall strike a bargain.’’

  James’s grin broadened. ‘‘Why by the God of Thieves?’’

  ‘‘Who better? For a pair of thieves such as we.’’

  ‘‘By Ban-ath, then,’’ said James. ‘‘What is your need?’’

  ‘‘I need you to steal something from the most dangerous man in Silden, my friend. If you can do that, I will help you find the men for whom you are looking. Assuming you survive, of course.’’

  James blinked. ‘‘Me, steal? Why would you think I would steal for you?’’

  ‘‘I have lived enough years to know where eggs come from, young man.’’ He smiled. ‘‘If you are willing to swear by Ban-ath, you’ve walked the dodgy path before.’’

  James sighed. ‘‘I would be foreswearing my oath to speak truly if I denied such.’’

  ‘‘Good. To the heart of the matter then. There is just a short walk from here a house, in which dwells a man, by name Jacob Ishandar.’’

  ‘‘A Keshian?’’

  ‘‘There are many from Kesh who reside here.’’ He touched himself on the chest. ‘‘Such a
s I.

  ‘‘But this man and others like him have but recently come to Silden, less than two or three years ago. They work on behalf of one who is a spider, sitting at the heart of a vast web, and like the spider, he senses any vibration along that web.’’

  James nodded. ‘‘You speak of one known as the Crawler?’’

  Joftaz inclined his head, indicating that this was the case.

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  ‘‘This was never what one might call a peaceful community, but it was orderly after a fashion. With the Crawler’s men—

  Jacob and two called Linsey and Franklin—came bloodshed and pain beyond what is reasonable for men in our line of work to endure.’’

  ‘‘What of the local thieves, and those with ties to Rillanon and Krondor?’’

  ‘‘All gone, save myself. Some have fled, others . . . disappeared. Any thief I contacted in Silden today would be working for the Crawler. Being Keshian by birth, I think these men did not recognize me for one such as those they sought to destroy. There are still a few of us in Silden who survived, but we conduct no business except what we do in the open, such as my inn. Should these interlopers’ enterprises fail, there will be enough of us returning here to reclaim what was taken from us.’’

  James scratched his chin as he thought. ‘‘Before I agree, let me show you something.’’ He produced the silver spider. ‘‘Do you know this?’’

  ‘‘I have seen such before,’’ he said. ‘‘They are rare, and when one comes my way I take notice. They are crafted by a smith in a village in the Peaks of Tranquillity. Those that reach the Kingdom come from Pointer’s Head or Mallow Haven.’’ He took it from James’s hand and inspected it. ‘‘I’ve seen bad copies, but these are far finer. You can’t work silver like this and have it endure unless you have the knack.’’

  ‘‘Odd sort of bird buys an item like this.’’

  Joftaz smiled. ‘‘Night birds, for the most part. You play a dangerous game, my friend. You are just the man I seek.’’

  ‘‘Well, then, can you tell me who you sold this one to?’’