Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  Then he realized he wasn’t moving, and James said, ‘‘We’ve got to save the commander!’’

  He waved at a few warriors nearby, and said, ‘‘Help us find the commander!’’

  They followed, and James led them into the ruins of the inn.

  Several stunned warriors lay sprawled on the floor, and James had to duck under cracked and fallen ceiling beams, which were now only five feet above the floor in the commons.

  ‘‘Where’s the commander?’’ he asked one.

  ‘‘He was over there, at his place in the rear of the commons,’’

  said a moredhel warrior with blood running down his face.

  Turning to those moredhel who had followed James inside, he said, ‘‘Get these warriors outside to safety.’’ Pointing at Patrus and Locklear as if they were just two among many, he said, ‘‘You and you, come with me and help me find the commander.’’

  They had to crawl under a beam. After a minute of negotiating their way in the gloom, they came to the room used by the commander. The door was off the hinges, and they had to climb over a fallen beam, but they got inside.

  Two moredhel, killed by flying timber splinters the size of arrows, lay on the floor near the door. But behind a table crouched a moredhel, whimpering in terror, but otherwise un-injured. From the rings on this fingers and the golden amulet 242

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  around his neck, James deduced he was the commander. He lay curled up and obviously shocked to near mindlessness.

  ‘‘Not what one expects in a moredhel chieftain,’’ observed Locklear.

  ‘‘Get him outside, Locky,’’ said James, ‘‘but take your time.

  Patrus and I will see what we can save from the fire.’’

  ‘‘What fire?’’ asked Locklear.

  James took a paper and handed it to Patrus. ‘‘Is this important?’’

  The magician closed his eyes a moment, then opened them.

  He looked at the document, and said, ‘‘No.’’ James took a shattered lantern, and dipped the paper in it. Then he produced a flint and steel from his belt pouch and struck sparks on the paper. It ignited. Taking the burning paper from Patrus, he pointed to it with his other hand, and said, ‘‘That fire.’’

  Locklear grinned. ‘‘Oh.’’ He pulled on Kroldech’s arm and said, ‘‘Commander, we must flee! Fire!’’

  That seemed to energize the stunned moredhel chieftain. He let Locklear help him to his feet, and said something in his native tongue.

  ‘‘Come with me, Commander,’’ Locklear repeated. He led Kroldech away.

  Patrus and James quickly examined papers, and each one that Patrus gave James that wasn’t important, James added to the growing fire.

  Finally, he said, ‘‘This. This is the attack plan.’’

  ‘‘Read it to me,’’ said James, ‘‘quickly.’’

  Patrus did and James forced himself to remember every word as it was being read. ‘‘I have it. Now, grab up some other papers and follow me.’’

  The fire was now burning in earnest, and by the time they reached the point where they had to crawl under the timbers, it was getting hot. Just as flames erupted through the roof they reached safety outside and found Locklear holding up the still-wobbly commander.

  Reaching them, James said, ‘‘Master! We managed to save these papers.’’ He held out the entire random bundle of papers.

  Kroldech’s eyes focused, and at last he understood what happened. ‘‘Assassins!’’ he shouted. ‘‘They tried to kill me.’’

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  ‘‘They are in custody,’’ said the moredhel chieftain who had been alerted by Locklear. ‘‘These mercenaries saved you, master.’’

  Kroldech grabbed the papers from James and started inspecting them. After a moment, he came to the orders of battle, and smiled. ‘‘Good!’’ He struck James on the arm, hard enough to hurt. ‘‘You are heroes!’’ He stuck the battle plan under James’s nose. ‘‘Do you know what this is?’’

  James feigned ignorance. ‘‘No. We just grabbed what we could, master.’’

  ‘‘If this had been lost, I would have had to redraw all our plans. You’ve saved me days of labor.’’ Looking at the fire, he said, ‘‘And you saved my life. I am in your debt.’’

  ‘‘Think nothing of it,’’ said James.

  ‘‘Nonsense,’’ said Kroldech. ‘‘Come to me tomorrow, and I will reward you.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, master,’’ said James. ‘‘We will.’’

  The still-shaken moredhel leader allowed himself to be escorted away to new quarters as James turned to Locklear and said, ‘‘Where’s Patrus?’’

  ‘‘He was with you. Maybe he’s over where our horses are waiting?’’

  They walked to where their horses were. Patrus had a third horse and was mounting it. Locklear said, ‘‘Kroldech said we’re heroes. Wants us to come by tomorrow and collect a reward.’’

  ‘‘You going to hang around for the reward, James?’’ asked the old magician.

  ‘‘When trolls can fly. By tomorrow morning, I want to be halfway to Northwarden.’’

  As all eyes were on the burning inn, they slipped out of town and managed to get down the road before being challenged. The bored-looking mercenary asked what they were doing on the road late at night, and James said, ‘‘The elves can’t handle those trolls down south, so we’re being sent to sort them out.’’

  ‘‘Heard there was some trouble down there,’’ said the guard.

  ‘‘Good luck.’’

  ‘‘Thanks,’’ said James.

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  After they were out of earshot, Locklear said, ‘‘Patrus! Where did you get that horse?’’

  ‘‘I borrowed it,’’ said the old magician with a cackle. ‘‘Kroldech won’t miss it until tomorrow.’’

  Locklear’s only satisfaction on the way back was that James had to spend his pouch of gold to get past the trolls, but at least the trolls thought of them as friends now. The ride was difficult, as the weather had turned very cold and wet. The horses were tiring and had to be walked at times.

  Eventually they reached the road up to the keep, and James said, ‘‘Where are our soldiers?’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘I thought some of the forward elements might be trying to keep out of the rain, but you’re right. We should have seen others by now.’’

  James set his heels hard against his horse’s sides and was off at a canter, demanding as much as the fatigued animal could give going up the steep road to the keep. When they were within sight of the keep, they saw the gate was up and the portcullis down, and torches burned on the walls.

  ‘‘They’ve crawled inside and buttoned up!’’ said Locklear.

  Reaching the edge of the moat, James called out, ‘‘Hello the castle!’’

  From above a sentry shouted, ‘‘Who goes there?’’

  ‘‘Squire James, Squire Locklear, and Patrus. Let us in.’’

  There was some discussion, but eventually the massive bridge was lowered while the iron lattice of the portcullis was raised. James and the others rode across the drawbridge.

  Inside the barbican, a group of soldiers waited, and James dismounted. ‘‘What is wrong?’’ he demanded.

  A soldier said, ‘‘Assassins, Squire. Nighthawks in the castle.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘What has happened?’’

  ‘‘Baron Gabot is dead, Squire. Two captains, and our sergeant.’’

  ‘‘Gods,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘Who’s in charge?’’ asked James.

  The soldiers exchanged glances, and finally one said, ‘‘You are, Squire.’’

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  Fourteen

  •

  Instructions R IDERS HURRIED ALONG THE HIGHWAY.

  Owyn, Gorath, and Ethan Graves rode quickly down the highway toward Krondor. They had spent one night at Darkmoor, in a decent inn, in
dulging themselves in a bottle of good wine—which Gorath grudgingly admitted was better than that served by Baron Cavell—and a hot meal before sleeping on down-stuffed mattresses. The rest of the journey had been less hospitable, sleeping under the stars away from the road, bundled up in sleeping cloaks on rocky ground, and only twice in the rain.

  They had made good time from Malac’s Cross to Krondor, less than fifteen days, and hadn’t killed their horses in the process. Now they were within sight of Krondor.

  As they slowed their horses to a walk, Graves said, ‘‘I must throw myself on the mercy of the Temple of Ishap and confess my sins.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘What will they do?’’

  ‘‘Execute me, perhaps, or exile me. I don’t know.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I don’t much care, but before that I have to get Kat out of the city.’’

  ‘‘Where will you send her?’’

  ‘‘To Kesh. I have connections there. Old trading partners in Durbin.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘From what I hear Durbin’s a rough place.’’

  ‘‘So is Krondor if you have to live on the street,’’ said Graves.

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  Owyn was still trying to piece together all the relationships he and his companions had uncovered since he had first met Locklear. He wished more than once that Squire James was still with them. He asked Graves, ‘‘What about the Prince’s justice?’’

  Graves shrugged. ‘‘If the Ishapians turn me over to Arutha, he’ll probably hang me.’’

  Owyn reflected on that. In the two weeks he had spent in Graves’s company he had come to like the gruff old man. He was unapologetic about his early past, simply admitting he had been involved in smuggling, extortion, and had killed more than one man on behalf of the Mockers of Krondor. He made no brief excusing his behavior and only said that since he had heard the call of the temple, he was a changed man.

  Owyn believed him, but also decided if a fight broke out, he’d want Graves on his side. He was still a powerful-looking man despite his grey hair and lined features.

  The gate to the city was manned by armed guards, one of whom put up his hand, and said, ‘‘Halt!’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Trouble, guardsman?’’

  Pointing at Gorath, the guard said, ‘‘Who’s this?’’

  ‘‘You can talk to me,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I speak your language.’’

  ‘‘Well, then, who are you?’’ demanded the guard. ‘‘What’s your business in Krondor?’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘I bring a message from Prince Arutha to the magician Pug.’’

  The guard blinked in surprise at the mention of those names.

  He motioned them aside, and said, ‘‘We’ll have you escorted to the palace.’’ His tone made it clear this wasn’t optional.

  Another soldier hurried into the city and returned less than ten minutes later with a half dozen burly men wearing the tabards of the city constabulary. At their head was a tall man who bore a badge of office on his tabard. He conferred a moment with the sergeant at the gate, then came to stand before Gorath. ‘‘You claim to be carrying a message from the Prince to the magician Pug?’’

  Gorath replied, ‘‘That is what I said.’’

  ‘‘I am the Sheriff of Krondor. Is there someone at the palace who can vouch for you?’’

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  Gorath glanced at Owyn. Owyn said, ‘‘We met a lot of people, but most of them are out in the field with Prince Arutha.

  If Pug is at the palace, he’ll vouch for us.’’

  The Sheriff spent a moment casting a baleful eye on the three of them, then said, ‘‘Come along.’’

  He started toward the palace, and Graves said, ‘‘I have to get to the Temple of Ishap.’’

  Over his shoulder, the Sheriff said, ‘‘You can visit the temple after I leave you at the palace. We’ve got orders concerning the comings and goings of suspicious-looking individuals, and you fit the description. If the Captain of the Royal Guard turns you loose, that’s his decision.’’

  ‘‘I am a member of the Order of Ishap, and I am under their protection,’’ said Graves.

  ‘‘Then they can come and fetch you out if the Captain has any problems with your story,’’ said the Sheriff in a no-nonsense tone.

  They reached the palace without any further conversation, and at the gate the Sheriff turned them over to the Royal Guard. A sergeant came, and said, ‘‘You lot look familiar enough, but I’ve no orders, so let me send word inside about what to do with you.’’

  Again they waited, and after a while a message came telling the sergeant to admit the three men. The sergeant ordered palace grooms to come take the horses and palace porters to carry their bundles inside. Then he led the three of them to the office of the Knight-Marshal.

  A captain sat alone and looked up when they entered. Owyn didn’t know his name, but he had been present when last they had spoken with the Prince, and would know they were who they claimed to be. ‘‘Owyn,’’ he said in greeting. ‘‘You have a message for the magician Pug?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘From Prince Arutha. He wishes the magician to join him, as he fears magic will come into play soon in the coming invasion.’’

  The Captain, a veteran of long years of service, looked openly frustrated. ‘‘I would prefer nothing more than to oblige my liege lord, but at present, the magician Pug is absent.’’

  ‘‘Has he returned to Stardock?’’ asked Owyn.

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  gone. His wife came to us a few days ago with the news he had vanished in the night, leaving only a cryptic note. More than this, no one knows.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘Could he have been abducted?’’

  The Captain shook his head. ‘‘I know little of magic, but my understanding of Duke Pug’s talents leads me to believe had he not left of his own will, much of this palace would be smoking rubble.’’

  ‘‘May we see this note?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘You’ll have to take that up with the Lady Katala. I’ll send word and see if she wishes to speak with you.’’

  A page returned quickly, with word the Lady Katala indeed wished to speak with them. They hurried after the page to the private apartment set aside for Pug and his family when visiting the palace, and found Katala waiting.

  She was a striking woman, despite her diminutive size, dark-complected and showing a slight dusting of grey in her otherwise dark hair. While small, there was a strength about her that made her distress all the more apparent. She was close to being frantic, yet her emotions were under control.

  Her accent was strange to Owyn, something akin to that of Sumani and the other Tsurani he had met in Yabon, but not quite the same. She said, ‘‘I understand you come seeking my husband?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Lady,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘We carry word from the Prince that Pug is needed.’’

  ‘‘Where is he?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘I don’t know. You remember our daughter, of course.’’

  Gorath nodded.

  ‘‘She went missing a few days ago, and I went seeking my husband in his tower. He also was missing.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps they went someplace together,’’ suggested Graves.

  Katala looked at the stranger, and asked, ‘‘Have we met?’’

  Owyn introduced them, and Katala said, ‘‘Abbot, my husband would never have left this message had that been the case.’’

  She held out a parchment, upon which was written, ‘‘To Tomas! The Book of Macros!’’

  ‘‘What does this mean?’’ asked Owyn.

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  ‘‘Tomas is Pug’s childhood friend,’’ said Katala. ‘‘He is now living in Elvandar.’’

  Gorath asked, ‘‘The wearer of the white and gold?’’

  Katala said, ‘‘Those are his colors.�
�’

  Gorath said, ‘‘There have been stories among my people, that when those who travel from the Lake of the Sky to the Green Heart come too close to the borders of the land of the eledhel, occasionally one garbed in the raiment of the Valheru appears. His powers are terrible.’’

  ‘‘Those are not stories,’’ said Katala. ‘‘Tomas exists, and he may be the only one on Midkemia with enough power to find my husband and daughter.’’

  ‘‘Did you send anyone to carry word to him?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘Not yet. The Prince took most of the army with him; those left in charge, like the Captain of the Royal Guard and the Sheriff of Krondor, are unwilling to exercise discretion beyond what they see as the clear requirements of their offices. Most of the other nobles are with the Prince or upon other business here in the West.’’ She looked very distressed. ‘‘There really isn’t anyone to send, and I’m not even sure if this message is intended for Tomas.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘Perhaps Pug is instructing someone to take this Book of Macros to Tomas?’’

  Katala said, ‘‘I helped my husband catalog the entire collection at Sorcerer’s Isle, including those left behind there and those sent to Stardock. There was no single volume I’m aware of called ‘The Book of Macros,’ so it may mean something else.’’

  Owyn looked at Graves and Gorath. ‘‘Perhaps we should take this parchment to Elvandar?’’

  Graves said, ‘‘As much as I am in debt to you, Owyn, and your friends, my life is held by a short thread. I must make my way to the Temple of Ishap and face my punishment.’’ He glanced around, as if fearful of being overheard. ‘‘If those here who have authority know a tenth of what I have done, I would be in the dungeon below, I am certain.’’

  Katala looked confused. ‘‘Perhaps we can help?’’

  Owyn held up his hand. ‘‘Lady, he speaks true. He was 250

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  moved by his love for another, but he has betrayed his nation and his temple.’’

  Graves said, ‘‘I must go to the temple and make my confession. If you will excuse me, I will leave.’’ Taking Owyn by the elbow, he led him aside, and said, ‘‘On your way north, stop at the Abbey of Sarth. They will have knowledge of this Book of Macros if anyone other than Pug does. Besides, they should know of what we have seen.’’