Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘‘How could you lie taking a vow in a temple?’’ asked Owyn, his expression showing astonishment. ‘‘It can’t be done!’’

  Graves said, ‘‘It can, if you don’t know it’s a lie when you make it. I honestly thought I was rid of my past, but I was lying to myself.’’

  ‘‘What does that mean?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘I thought I had severed all ties, but I hadn’t. When I was placed in the brotherhood of monks, I was asked to work on behalf of the temple in Krondor. So I was back among my old haunts.’’

  He fell silent, as if reluctant to go on.

  ‘‘What happened?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘There’s a woman. She was a girl I knew when I was a basher. She was as tough as a boot and mean as an alley cat.

  That’s what we called her, Kat. Her name is Katherine.’’

  ‘‘A whore?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘No, a thief,’’ said Graves. ‘‘She was a fair pickpocket and tough enough to be a basher, but where she really excelled was boosting. She could steal your nightshirt off you while you slept and you’d wake naked and wondering where your laundry was.’’ He sighed. ‘‘She was a little slip of a thing when I met her. I used to tease her and watch her get mad at me.

  Then when she got older I’d tease her and she’d tease back.

  ‘‘Then I fell in love with her.’’

  ‘‘But you left her to take orders with Ishap?’’ said Owyn.

  ‘‘She’s a lively thing, and she could do better than me. A lot of the younger boys would like to take up with her. I thought she would be better off with someone else. I thought it would be easy to put her out of my mind. But it wasn’t.

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  ‘‘I saw her on the streets from time to time, and someplace, somehow, a fellow named the Crawler got wind of her, and one night this Navon du Sandau comes up to me, bright as gold, and sits down at a table at the Queen’s Cross, and says,

  ‘We know about your little kitty cat in Krondor. If you don’t do what we tell you to do, she’s dead.’ He said if I asked the temple for help, she’d be dead.’’

  ‘‘You believed him?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘I had to. He knew things. This Crawler had been looking for people for a long time, I guess, because he knew enough about my old life. I knew he’d kill her before I could do anything.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘So why are you getting ready for travel?’’

  ‘‘I was expecting a message a month ago from du Sandau.

  Instead a Nighthawk tried to climb the wall of the abbey. The brother responsible for defending the abbey intercepted him, and it was close, but the assassin died.

  ‘‘Then two weeks later, I was walking back from the center of town when a crossbow bolt intended for me struck the brother walking next to me.’’

  ‘‘Where are you going?’’ asked Owyn.

  Graves said, ‘‘I am owed some favors by a man in a village near Sloop. He has dealings in Kesh. I sent him a message asking him to help me get out of the Kingdom. Today a message came from him indicating he could help.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Michael Waylander?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ replied Graves. ‘‘How did you know?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘There is a relationship here. Waylander, you, the Nighthawks, and this Crawler. I’m not sure I can begin to guess at it, but if James were here, he might puzzle this out.’’

  ‘‘I can’t wait. Even if Sandau is dead, there are other Nighthawks. The one who shot at me is still out there.’’

  ‘‘True,’’ said Gorath, ‘‘but won’t your order protect you?’’

  Graves shook his head, and his expression was one of regret.

  ‘‘If I had gone to them at once, perhaps. But I didn’t, and I’ve broken my vow. My only hope is to get Kat out of Krondor and to reach Kesh before the Nighthawks find me.’’

  ‘‘We’re heading for Krondor,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Should we travel together?’’

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  ‘‘Your magic and your friend’s sword would count for a lot, but you’d be putting yourself in harm’s way.’’

  Owyn laughed. ‘‘I’ve been doing that on a regular basis since I met Gorath.’’

  ‘‘Life is danger,’’ Gorath said. ‘‘I do not understand how your love for this girl could blind you to your duty, but then much about you humans is strange to me. If Owyn says we should not kill you for your part in this business with the Nighthawks, I will follow his lead.’’ He leaned forward, his boot on the bench on which Graves sat, until his face was before the Abbot’s. ‘‘But if you betray us again, I will eat your heart.’’

  Graves smiled back, and the old basher could briefly be seen, as he said, ‘‘You’re welcome to try at any time, elf.’’

  Gorath snorted. Owyn said, ‘‘Well, we are lacking funds, so we must needs depend on your generosity to eat on the road.’’

  Graves stood up and called for his monks, who returned to help him finish packing. ‘‘If you get me to Krondor alive, you’ll have earned your meals and some gold as bonus.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘If that Nighthawk is out there watching the abbey, he’ll know we’re here.’’

  ‘‘We leave tonight,’’ said Graves.

  Owyn winced. ‘‘I wanted to sleep in a bed,’’ he complained.

  ‘‘Sleep now,’’ said Graves, pointing to his own pallet in the corner of the room. ‘‘I’ll awaken you when it’s time to go.’’

  Owyn nodded. ‘‘If we must.’’

  ‘‘We must,’’ said Graves.

  Owyn lay down on the straw-stuffed mattress on the floor, and Graves said to Gorath, ‘‘Would you like to sleep?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ replied the dark elf, but he remained standing, his eyes on Graves. ‘‘But after we’re on our way to Krondor.’’

  Graves nodded and returned to overseeing the preparations for his departure.

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  Thirteen

  •

  Betrayal T HE TROLLS LOOKED UP.

  James said, ‘‘Just keep moving slowly, like we know what we’re doing.’’

  Patrus whispered, ‘‘Do we know what we’re doing?’’

  ‘‘Don’t ask,’’ Locklear replied.

  The trolls were raising weapons and spreading out to fight.

  James slowed his horse, and said, ‘‘Just keep moving, but be ready.’’

  The trolls were roughly human in appearance, with almost no necks. Their heads thrust forward from their shoulders, so they always looked as if they were shrugging. James knew their somewhat comical appearance was as far from the truth as it could be. The lowland trolls were little more than beasts, without language or the ability to use tools and weapons. Their mountain cousins were intelligent, if stupid by human standards, and knew how to use weapons. Very well. Their language sounded like grunts and squawks to humans, but they had a social organization and knew how to fight.

  As the trolls approached, James held up his hand in greeting.

  ‘‘Where is Narab?’’ he asked conversationally.

  The trolls halted their advance and looked one to another.

  They had low foreheads and jutting lower jaws, and large teeth, with two lower tusks that protruded up over their upper lips a short way. One turned his head as if listening, and said,

  ‘‘No Narab here. Who you?’’

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  ‘‘We’re mercenaries, but we’ve been sent to find Narab and find out why you trolls haven’t been paid.’’

  At the mention of payment, the trolls began an excited conversation. After a few minutes, the first troll to speak—James assumed he was the leader—said, ‘‘We no fight if we not paid.’’

  ‘‘That’s the problem,’’ said James. He leaned over the neck of his horse and spoke conversationally. ‘‘Look, I understand.

  If I were you and weren’t getting paid, I wouldn�
�t fight either.

  I might even just take my lads and go home, the way this Delekhan’s been treating you.’’

  ‘‘You pay?’’ asked the troll, holding his war club in a suddenly menacing fashion.

  James quickly sat back in his saddle, ready to spin his horse away if he saw that weapon moving with any but the most casual purpose. ‘‘I suppose,’’ said James. He turned to Locklear, and said, ‘‘How much gold do you have?’’

  ‘‘My travel allowance!’’ hissed Locklear. ‘‘A bit more than a hundred good sovereigns.’’

  James smiled. ‘‘Give it to them.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Just do it!’’ insisted the senior squire.

  Locklear took off his belt pouch and tossed it to the troll, who caught it with surprising dexterity. ‘‘What this?’’

  ‘‘A hundred golden sovereigns,’’ said James.

  ‘‘Gold is good,’’ said the troll. ‘‘We work for you now.’’

  James grinned. ‘‘Very good; then stay here until we get back.

  And if anyone is following us, stop them.’’

  The troll nodded and waved his companions aside so that James could pass. As they moved away from the trolls, Locklear said, ‘‘Why don’t we just buy them all off and send them home?’’

  James said, ‘‘Truth to tell, it would be cheaper in the long run. But the dark elves are unlikely to set so low a price.’’

  Patrus said, ‘‘Mountain trolls are only one thing more than stupid, boys.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘They’re greedy. You think that bunch is going to let us just ride past and not ask for more?’’

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  ‘‘No,’’ said James, ‘‘which is why I have this other purse here, in case they do.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘So that’s why you needed my gold? So you could use your own on the way back.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said James. ‘‘If we can get back without paying, we will. I had you use your gold because I didn’t want to give them my gold.’’

  Locklear snorted, and Patrus laughed. They moved along the road and after a while saw a company of riders moving at a leisurely pace along the horizon. ‘‘We must be getting close,’’ said James.

  ‘‘Yes, Raglam’s just on the other side of that rise,’’ said Patrus.

  They plodded along, attempting to look unconcerned and relaxed as they rode into the heart of enemy territory. James had managed many times in his young life to go places he wasn’t supposed to be simply on the strength of his looking like he knew where he was going and had a reason for being there, and he hoped that proved as true with dark elves as it had with humans.

  They rounded a corner as they topped the rise, and James halted. ‘‘Gods of mercy!’’ he exclaimed.

  Engineers were hard at work building siege towers for the walls of Northwarden. ‘‘Well,’’ said Locklear, ‘‘I don’t think we have to see much more to convince the Baron they are coming this way, do we?’’

  Patrus walked forward. ‘‘Let’s see what else they’re up to.’’

  They passed a bored-looking band of humans, sitting along-side a huge catapult. A moredhel warrior walked toward them.

  ‘‘Where are you going?’’ he demanded.

  James assumed a look of indifference. ‘‘Where’s Shupik?’’

  The moredhel said, ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘Shupik. Our captain. We’re supposed to report to him, but we can’t find his camp.’’

  ‘‘I have never heard of this Shupik,’’ said the moredhel.

  Before James said anything, Patrus said, ‘‘It’s not our fault you’re ignorant, you pointy-eared lily-eater! Get out of our way so we can find our captain, or you can explain to your 230

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  chieftain why he didn’t get the information we were sent to fetch back here!’’

  Patrus set off at a brisk walk, and James and Locklear moved after him. James gave the moredhel a shrug as he walked past.

  As they rode on, Locklear muttered, ‘‘And I thought you were brazen.’’

  James could barely suppress a laugh. They passed a half dozen towers under construction, and James said, ‘‘Someone did their fieldwork. Those will be hard to get up the road to the keep, but if they can move them quickly enough, and they reach the wall, they’ll fit snug up there and get warriors on the wall in quick order.’’

  Locklear nodded. ‘‘Nothing like those big lumbering mon-strosities at Armengar.’’

  James nodded. He remembered the huge war engines being pulled across the plains of Sar-Isbandia to the walls of Armengar. Only the brilliance of Guy du Bas-Tyra had kept those machines from reaching the walls time after time. James doubted Baron Gabot would prove as able a defensive general.

  As they rode past, Locklear said, ‘‘Some shallow trenches on the road a half mile or so before the walls might cause them some problems.’’

  James grinned. ‘‘Serious problems, especially if we started throwing things down onto the road.’’

  ‘‘Like boulders?’’ asked Patrus, who then began to laugh, a sound that could only be called ‘‘evil.’’

  Locklear was openly cheerful as he said, ‘‘Could be quite a mess.’’

  As they moved down the road, Locklear said, ‘‘Say, Patrus, how did you end up here in the middle of this?’’

  The old magician shrugged. ‘‘Old Earl Belefote ran me out of Timons for ‘infecting’ his son, as he called it. Like the boy wouldn’t have discovered he had talents without me. Anyway, I wandered a while, up to Salador, where that Duke Laurie was downright hospitable to magicians. But I get bored easily if I don’t have something to occupy myself with, and Laurie said that Gabot had wanted someone up here who knew about magic to advise him about these Dark Brother Spellweavers, 231

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  so I came up and have been working with the Baron for the last year or so.’’

  ‘‘What have you discovered about the moredhel Spellweavers?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘Got some notes back at Northwarden. A lot of little things.

  Not much that makes a lot of sense, at least as I understand magic. I wish I knew more about the elves out in the West, then I might have a better idea about what I’ve learned. When we get back to the castle, I’ll show you what I’ve come up with. But right now,’’ he said, pointing ahead, ‘‘I think we have a problem.’’

  James slowed down as they approached two bands of warriors, humans on one side and a mix of humans and moredhel on the other. They were involved in a heated exchange, and by the time James and his companions reached them, they appeared to be on the verge of open conflict.

  ‘‘I don’t care what he says,’’ exclaimed the apparent spokes-man for the human-only faction. ‘‘Kroldech isn’t fit to command fleas attacking a dog.’’

  ‘‘You’re bound by oath! You took gold, human!’’ retorted a moredhel war chieftain. ‘‘You’ll go where you’re ordered, or you’ll be branded traitor.’’

  ‘‘I signed on with Moraeulf! I took his gold. Where is he?’’

  ‘‘Moraeulf serves his father, Delekhan, as we all do. Moraeulf is in the West because his father wills it. If Delekhan places Kroldech at our head, then that is who we’re following.’’

  James appeared uninterested as they rode by, but he listened to every word.

  When they were a short distance past, Locklear said, ‘‘Dis-sent in the ranks.’’

  ‘‘Pity,’’ said James, dryly.

  James reined in.

  ‘‘What is it?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Look at that catapult.’’

  Locklear looked at the war engine. ‘‘What about it?’’

  ‘‘Does something about it strike you as funny?’’

  ‘‘Not particularly,’’ said Locklear.

  Patrus laughed. ‘‘You’ll never make general, boy. If
you were to move that thing, what would you do first?’’

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  Locklear said, ‘‘Well, I’d unload it—’’ Suddenly Locklear’s eyes widened. ‘‘It’s loaded?’’

  ‘‘That’s what your sharp-eyed friend was trying to make you see,’’ said Patrus. ‘‘Not only is it loaded, it’s pointed the wrong way.’’

  ‘‘And unless I’m mistaken, that rather large rock in the bas-ket end of the arm is sighted to land right over there on that inn.’’ James moved his horse’s head around and started riding toward the inn in question.

  ‘‘Is this a good idea?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Probably not,’’ replied James.

  As they approached the inn, a pair of moredhel warriors walked toward them. ‘‘Where do you go, human?’’ asked one.

  ‘‘Is that headquarters?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘It is where Kroldech holds camp.’’

  ‘‘Is Shupik in there with him?’’

  ‘‘I know of no one named Shupik inside,’’ replied the guard.

  ‘‘I guess he’s not here yet,’’ said James, turning his horse off toward the center of town.

  They rode away, and James said, ‘‘Someone really doesn’t like the idea of Kroldech being in command.’’

  ‘‘What are you thinking?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Locky, my best friend, let’s you, Patrus, and I go and see if we can sow a little dissent.’’

  Patrus chuckled his evil laugh as they approached another inn. Locklear and James dismounted, tied their horses to a line before the inn, and went inside with the old magician.

  Pug sat wearily at his study table, in the small apartment set aside by Arutha for those times when he and Katala visited from Stardock. His eyes grew unfocused as he tried to read yet another report from one of Arutha’s patrols, regarding an encounter with moredhel near Yabon.

  He had spent hours sifting through reports, rumors, and accounts from soldiers, spies, and bystanders regarding The Six, Delekhan’s mysterious magical advisors. The time he had spent with Owyn Belefote discussing his encounter with Nago, and what was before him now, convinced Pug of an unsettling possibility.