Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  Makala was lying all the time. He tricked me; he gave me something to make me sleepy, and then I woke up here. He said he didn’t want to hurt me, but he wanted to get you away from Krondor!’’

  ‘‘I know, sweetheart,’’ said Pug softly. ‘‘It’s all right. We’re going home now.’’

  ‘‘How?’’ asked Gorath.

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  Owyn said, ‘‘There’s supposed to be a gate here, according to Dhatsavan. By that I suspect he meant a rift of some sort.’’

  Pug looked around the chamber, and said, ‘‘I see nothing here.’’ He turned to his daughter, and asked, ‘‘How do you feel?’’

  She stood, and assured him, ‘‘I’m all right, really.’’

  Owyn stared at the girl, barely into her teens, and was struck by what a beautiful woman she would become. She caught him staring and smiled, and he turned away, blushing.

  Pug smiled, and said, ‘‘You remember Owyn and Gorath from Krondor, I presume?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she said with a shy smile. ‘‘Thank you for helping my father find me.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘It is our honor.’’

  Owyn just smiled and nodded.

  They moved across the chamber and found another corridor on the other side of the hall. Another large door loomed before them, and Gorath opened it. It led them into a chamber in which a huge wooden device stood.

  Pug took one look at it, and said, ‘‘It’s a rift machine!’’

  ‘‘Are you certain?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘I did more research on rifts on Kelewan than any other Black Robe,’’ said Pug. ‘‘But even if I hadn’t, I’d have recognized that device. It’s Tsurani.’’

  ‘‘Can we use it?’’ asked Owyn.

  Pug went to it and examined it for a long time, then said,

  ‘‘It’s been deactivated.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Deactivated?’’

  Pug grimaced. ‘‘Turned off. It’s not working.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘You mean we’re stuck here?’’

  Pug sat down and said, ‘‘Unless I can come up with a way to get it working again, yes, we are stuck on this blasted world with no way to get home.’’

  Gamina put her arms around her father’s neck and Gorath and Owyn both sat down on the floor, for want of anything better to do.

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  Eighteen

  •

  Regroup S MOKE BLINDED THE DEFENDERS.

  James had managed to sleep for an hour, Locklear for two, and as ordered, soldiers had stood watch on the wall through the night, sleeping in shifts.

  James now squinted through the smoke, from his headquarter position on the gatehouse, as the smoldering ruins of the two siege towers filled the air with an acrid haze. Even the morning breeze wouldn’t help, since it would continue to blow the smoke at the wall. The night sky had lightened as the sun rose behind the defenders. Soon it would clear the top of the mountains. Sometime between now and then, James knew, the enemy would attack again.

  He looked down and saw bodies floating in the moat, both attackers and defenders. They looked thick enough to walk over to reach the drawbridge, he thought.

  Reports had been coming in from every position of defense in the castle, and James knew the sickening truth: they could not hold another day. Unless the attackers were criminally stupid or fate took a hand, the castle of Northwarden would fall before sundown.

  James had already conceived a half dozen ways he could take the castle, were he commanding the attackers, then had tried to imagine countering each of those offensives. Each time he came away realizing he just didn’t have enough men if they tried anything other than a single-front assault. Something as Raymond E. Feist

  basic as storming the gate road while sending goblin climbers up the north slope once more would overtax his defenders and make it impossible to stop one of the two fronts.

  Locklear came, and inquired, ‘‘What do we do?’’

  James said, ‘‘I’m thinking of abandoning the outer wall and moving all the soldiers into the inner keep.’’

  Locklear shook his head in an exhausted admission of defeat.

  ‘‘I can’t think of anything better to do. It will make them spend more lives and waste more time taking the castle.’’

  ‘‘But it will make it impossible for us to hold.’’

  ‘‘Do you think we have any hope of holding?’’

  ‘‘Right now I’m trying to come up with a brilliant plan to sneak around behind Delekhan’s lines and attack him from the rear.’’

  A sergeant, still covered in blood from the day before, approached. ‘‘Report,’’ said James.

  ‘‘Three more men died during the night, Squire. We have one hundred and fifty able-bodied men on the walls, another seventy walking wounded who can still fight, and some of the more mobile injured are helping out in the Great Hall.’’ The Great Hall had been converted to an infirmary, where nearly a hundred soldiers of Northwarden lay dying for lack of the skills of a healer.

  James shook his head. ‘‘Let the men rest until the enemy attacks again. Get as much food and water to the men on the walls as you can. The only way we get another hot meal is to win this battle.’’

  The sergeant said, ‘‘Yes, Squire,’’ and hurried off.

  Patrus came walking up the steps that led up the wall to the gatehouse, looking very tired. The old magician said, ‘‘I’ve done all I can with the wounded. What can I do here?’’

  James said, ‘‘Figure out a way to keep the enemy away from one of two places, the north wall or the east gate, either one, I don’t care.’’

  ‘‘Too much wall and not enough soldiers?’’ asked the old man.

  ‘‘Something like that,’’ said Locklear.

  Patrus said, ‘‘Well, if they don’t clear away all those bodies down there on the road before they attack again, I can help 314

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  you out on that front. The more metal down there touching the ground, the better. Move some of your boys to the north wall.’’

  ‘‘What can you do?’’ asked James.

  With an evil grin, the old man said, ‘‘What, and spoil the surprise? No, you just wait, sonny, and when the time comes, I’ll give you a show.’’

  ‘‘I’m not interested in a show. How much time can you buy us?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘A few hours, depending on how much courage those moss troopers can muster after I smack them around a bit.’’

  ‘‘Give me two hours to defend the north wall before I have to turn my attention to the east gate, and we may buy ourselves another day.’’

  ‘‘You just watch me,’’ said Patrus. ‘‘Now, I’ve got to go to my room and get a few things.’’ He hurried off.

  Locklear turned to James, and, despite his exhaustion, said,

  ‘‘Isn’t he about the most evil old man you’ve ever met?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said James. Then he smiled, and added, ‘‘But he does get close.’’

  Drums sounded in the distance, and James announced,

  ‘‘They’re on their way.’’

  Shouts from the north wall alerted James that goblin climbers were again trying to work their way up the face of the cliff. They had exhausted their supply of stones to scrape the climbers off the cliff, as well as every piece of furniture, crock-ery, kitchen utensil and tool they could spare, and most of the water they didn’t need for drinking had been boiled and spilled. Now they were forced to spend valuable arrows trying to pick them off one at a time, exposing their own archers to fire from below.

  Patrus returned, and said, ‘‘Give me room.’’ He sat down on the stones, cross-legged, and put a small bowl in front of him. ‘‘It’s taken me a week to get everything ready for this.

  Now, shut up and don’t disturb me unless the world’s about to end.’’

  He dumped the contents of a small pouch, a lumpy mass of powders and what seeme
d to be small stones or rocks, into the bowl, then closed his eyes. He chanted a short phrase, opened his eyes, and extended his index finger. A small flame 315

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  erupted from the end of it, and he lit the contents of the bowl.

  Instantly the flame transferred to the contents of the bowl. A green-and-blue cloud of smoke, far thicker and more abundant than either James or Locklear would have thought possible, billowed up out of the bowl and reached the stone ceiling of the gatehouse. The smoke seemed to recoil from the stones, and Patrus waved his hand over his head, palm toward the eastern road, as if blowing the smoke in that direction.

  Obedient to his gesture, the smoke rolled out the front windows of the gatehouse, thinning as it expanded, and looking more and more like clouds as it hung above the road. James looked and saw a tightly packed formation of hide-covered shields in the van, a company of goblins marching with trolls behind them. The apelike trolls had massive shoulders on which they easily carried scaling ladders, and each had a shield on the outside arm, with a warhammer or ax dangling by a leather thong.

  ‘‘Troll assault troops?’’ Locklear asked.

  ‘‘So it seems,’’ said James. ‘‘I’ve not heard of any such before, but if they’re serious about coming up those ladders, we have a problem.’’ Trolls were not significantly better fighters than goblins or moredhel, but they were a great deal more difficult to kill. Whoever led the opposing forces must have correctly guessed the defenders bordered on exhaustion.

  In the smoke from torches and the smoldering towers, Patrus’s mystic smoke was hardly noticed. As they watched, James and Locklear both saw the smoke becoming thicker.

  As the attackers came within bow range, archers on the walls began firing. James was appalled by how few arrows were flying from the defenders. He could taste defeat.

  Then a low rumbling started below the castle, and James touched the wall. He felt the low thrum of energy coming from the earth.

  The attackers took no notice of it until the level of the vibration became obvious to marching feet, even to those running forward with the heavy ladders. The attack faltered.

  Then Patrus let out a cackle, and shouted, ‘‘Hang on, boys!’’

  The castle seemed to heave.

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  A full half of the attackers were knocked off their feet. The sound of the earthquake drowned out the noise of battle.

  And then the sky exploded.

  A bolt of lightning struck the armor of an attacker on the ground, knocking down a full dozen comrades around him. It was followed the barest instant later by an explosion of thunder, which made the ears ring. The air reeked of the acrid lightning smell and the stench of burning flesh. Moredhel, goblins, and trolls lay writhing in agony, their skin smoking from the flash.

  Then another bolt struck the ground a few feet away, killing another dozen. An instant later, a bolt struck a moredhel with an upraised sword, illuminating him in a blinding white flash for an instant before he exploded in a fireball, killing most of those standing near him.

  James ducked behind the wall and yanked Locklear by the tunic, pulling him down. ‘‘Get behind the wall!’’ he shouted to the men atop the gatehouse, and the order was relayed along the eastern wall. Bolt after bolt erupted from Patrus’s mystic cloud, and each was accompanied by a monstrous peal of thunder. Men clutched their ears lest they grow deaf from the sound of them.

  James wished he could somehow crawl down the stairs and reach the haven offered by the lowest basement of the castle, then wondered if that would be deep enough. He could barely imagine what it was like for those exposed on the road below.

  Over and over the lightning blasted, until suddenly there was silence. The instant the noise stopped, the vibration of the earthquake ceased as well.

  James leaped up and looked over the wall to see the army that had only minutes before been attacking now in total rout as it fled down the hill. At least a thousand attackers lay dead on the road leading to the castle, many trampled to death by their own comrades.

  James knelt down next to Patrus, who blinked his eyes and said, ‘‘How’d that do?’’

  ‘‘It did the trick. They’re in total flight.’’

  Locklear leaned over behind his friend. ‘‘What do you call that?’’

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  ‘‘Don’t have a proper name. It was taught me by a fellow down in Salador, who had learned it from a Priest of Killian, but he had to change it. I think of it as ‘Killian’s Rage.’ ’’ He stood up. ‘‘Always wanted to try it out, but never had anyone I was mad enough at to risk it.’’ He moved to the wall and looked between two merlons. Noting the number of bodies, he said, ‘‘Worked better than I thought.’’

  James shouted, ‘‘How’s the north wall?’’

  A voice called back, ‘‘They fell off with the earthquake.’’

  James put his hand on Patrus’s shoulder. ‘‘You bought us some time.’’

  Locklear sank down next to where they stood and leaned back against the stones. ‘‘I can’t move.’’

  James reached down and hauled him back to his feet. ‘‘You must. They will be back. Unless Patrus can duplicate that little surprise again?’’

  Patrus shook his head. ‘‘If I had the makin’s, but it would take a while to put it together, and I’d have to get out in the woods and look around a bit.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘One thing bothers me.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘Where are their magicians?’’

  James’s eyes widened. ‘‘Gods! If that little display didn’t bring them running, they’re nowhere near here.’’

  ‘‘What’s that mean?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘It means we’ve been duped.’’

  ‘‘I don’t understand,’’ said Locklear, sinking back down to sit on the stones.

  ‘‘If they’re not here, they’re somewhere else!’’ said Patrus.

  ‘‘I know you’re tired, but that’s no excuse for stupidity!’’

  ‘‘Leave me alone,’’ said Locklear in feigned self-pity. ‘‘I’m enjoying my delusion. Even now I just imagined I heard a Kingdom trumpet blowing in the distance.’’

  James halted, and listened. ‘‘You’re not deluded. I hear it, too.’’

  James climbed up on the wall, his youth as a thief giving him the keen balance and steel nerves needed to step atop the merlons of the wall and stare into the distance. The smoke was still making it difficult to see, but after a moment, James 318

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  shouted, ‘‘I see Arutha’s banner!’’ He jumped down, and said,

  ‘‘Lower the drawbridge!’’

  James hurried down the steps, rejuvenated, with Locklear and Patrus following. By the time they reached the marshaling yard, the portcullis had risen high enough for James to duck under. He did so and ran to the end of the lowering drawbridge, jumping off before it touched ground.

  He had his sword in hand in case one of the bodies wasn’t as dead as it looked, but by the time he reached the bottom of the road, Arutha and his personal guards were riding to meet him. Stopping before the monarch of the Western Realm, he said, ‘‘I was beginning to believe you were going to miss all the fun!’’

  ‘‘I wouldn’t have you think I was impolite,’’ said Arutha.

  ‘‘How are the men?’’

  ‘‘Doing badly. Baron Gabot and his officers were murdered.

  Most of the men are dead or wounded, the few that aren’t are exhausted. Another day and you would have found us all dead. Not to sound impolite, but what took you so long?’’

  ‘‘We came as soon as we got word. Your messengers were ambushed and abducted and it took them a little while to escape and reach me. They arrived only three weeks ago. What of support from the south?’’

  ‘‘None. I sent word to Romney, Dolth, even to Rillanon.’’
/>
  ‘‘Others may be coming,’’ said Arutha, ‘‘or those messengers were also ambushed. Owyn told me that you killed the head of the Nighthawks, but they still must have had agents in place before that.’’

  James said, ‘‘I fear we may never truly see that nest of murderers obliterated. They are like the legendary snake of the Keshian Underworld: cut off its head, and it grows back.

  ‘‘But more to the point, we think all this may have been a ploy.’’

  Looking at the evidence of destruction all around him, Arutha said, ‘‘An expensive ploy.’’

  ‘‘But a ploy nonetheless. When Patrus, the old magician we met up here, used his magic, there was no answering magic.’’

  Arutha said, ‘‘What of those who are called The Six?’’

  ‘‘When we last heard they were still in the West.’’

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  ‘‘The West!’’ Arutha swore. ‘‘This may have been a terrible ploy, one sold convincingly on the lives of thousands of soldiers to get us to move from the Dimwood.’’

  ‘‘Have you moved all your forces?’’

  ‘‘No, the garrison near Sethanon was left in place, but I brought the rest of my companies with me. I will send patrols up into the passes to see how many of the enemy are arrayed against us.’’

  Arutha looked worried, an expression James had seen on many occasions, and rarely without justification. ‘‘Let’s get to the castle, relieve your command, Seigneur, and sort this out.’’

  Arutha turned and passed orders to a young officer, then said, ‘‘I’ve left Gardan near Highcastle, and Captain Philip at the Sethanon garrison. I think between the two of them we can hope they’ll keep Delekhan from achieving an easy strike by this ploy.’’ Then he looked at James. ‘‘But after you’ve eaten, slept, and eaten again, I want you and Locklear and a fast patrol heading back to Sethanon.’’

  James grimaced. ‘‘Those long rides, again?’’

  ‘‘I’ve got a healing priest with us; I’ll ask if he has anything to ease your pain.’’