Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  Dazed, Owyn tried to concentrate and help, but he couldn’t focus. He went to where Pug still lay and helped him to his feet, saying, ‘‘I’m getting very tired of that. My back is killing me.’’

  Pug shook his head, and said, ‘‘What?’’

  Gorath was fighting Delekhan. The moredhel chieftain wore the black helm Pug had seen on Murmandamus and gaudy black armor with gems on the breastplate.

  Gorath lost his footing and stumbled, and Delekhan struck him hard across the face with his free hand, knocking the Chieftain of the Ardanien backwards. Gorath went sprawling across the floor.

  Delekhan saw the mangled body of Makala and actually smirked in satisfaction. Then he saw the Lifestone.

  Pug realized that he could not get there before the self-styled moredhel ruler. Makala had been dangerous because of what he knew; Delekhan was dangerous because of what he didn’t know. He saw the golden sword, and his eyes widened. ‘‘Valheru!’’ he cried. ‘‘It’s a sword for a king!’’

  He lunged for it, only to have Gorath leap on his back, closing his arm around Delekhan’s throat.

  Delekhan’s hand grasped the hilt of the sword and suddenly a thrumming sound filled the cavern. Delekhan’s eyes widened and he began to gurgle, but not from the choking Gorath was 363

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  inflicting on him. Rather a great power was trying to manifest itself within the moredhel.

  The sword began to rise, and Gorath abandoned his attempt to kill Delekhan and instead gripped the hilt and tried to push the sword back into the stone.

  Pug shook his head and saw that Locklear and James still struggled with their opponents. Owyn asked, ‘‘What do we do?’’

  ‘‘Gorath! Stand clear,’’ shouted Pug.

  ‘‘I cannot,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘If I do, he will pull the sword free.’’

  Both moredhel struggled, the muscles and cords on arms and shoulders bulging from effort. Delekhan’s eyes widened to impossible size, as if they were about to burst from his skull; his face was flushed, and perspiration poured off his skin.

  An alien cast came over his features, and it looked as if another person was now wearing his face. ‘‘He’s transforming!’’ shouted Pug.

  Owyn said, ‘‘We must stop him!’’

  ‘‘Do not touch him!’’ shouted Pug over the increasingly loud noise.

  ‘‘We must help him!’’

  ‘‘We cannot,’’ said Pug. ‘‘You must help me. We must destroy them both.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I can’t.’’

  Gorath shouted, ‘‘You must. Ancient powers are seeking to take my life! Save my people, Owyn. Save me.’’

  Owyn nodded, and with tears welling in his eyes, he quickly moved his hands in a complex pattern above his head. Pug duplicated the movements, and as one they pointed to the two moredhel locked in a death struggle before the Lifestone.

  A blast of heat erupted from the magicians’ hands, and a white-hot light struck both moredhel. For a moment they stood bathed in eye-searing brilliance, so bright that James’s opponent turned his head away, and James managed to step close and drive his dagger deep into the magician’s chest. James turned toward the light, and was forced to look away from the brilliance. Shielding his eyes with one hand, he moved and 364

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  struck the moredhel warrior Locklear was facing in the back of the head, causing him to falter, and Locklear finished him off.

  A low moan came from the two figures in the light, then they faded from view. A moment later, the light flickered out.

  Again the stone was untouched, and the sword remained in place.

  Silence descended on the chamber, and the four men in the room fell in place, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm them.

  Owyn wept, and Pug said, ‘‘I think I understand.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘What happened? I couldn’t see.’’

  James looked around the chamber, and said, ‘‘Gorath?’’

  Pug said, ‘‘He saved us all.’’

  James nodded, his expression bitter. ‘‘I will never think of the moredhel in the same fashion.’’

  Locklear sat, and said, ‘‘He was a difficult companion at times, but he was . . . a friend.’’

  Pug was too numb to move. ‘‘I think I’ll sleep a week,’’

  he said.

  James said, ‘‘Catch your breath, m’lord Duke of Stardock, for we have work left to do.’’

  Pug said, ‘‘Work?’’

  With an evil grin, James said, ‘‘Have you forgotten that stone has to be shifted back where it belongs? And there’s a moredhel army still in the Dimwood? And Delekhan’s advance guards are all around us?’’

  Pug said, ‘‘I’m trying.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘If they show up now, I’m dead. I can’t lift a finger.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘Well, if we’re to survive all this, I’d rather not die because I’m too tired to defend myself. Can either of you magicians think of something?’’

  Pug said, ‘‘I can. Help me up.’’

  James pulled him to his feet, and asked, ‘‘What are you going to do?’’

  Pug said, ‘‘With whatever strength we have left, my friends, we are going to put on a show.’’

  Locklear stopped and blinked in confusion. ‘‘My mind is going. For a moment I thought I heard you say we were going to put on a show.’’

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  ‘‘That’s what I said,’’ Pug said. ‘‘Come with me.’’

  Three fatigued, confused men exchanged glances with one another, then followed the strange short man in the black robe.

  Moraeulf was furious. He had been in a running fight with Prince Calin and Longbow for two days, but had yet to close with them. In the mountains, the moredhel had the advantage, but here in the heavy woods, the eledhel and their demon human friends had the upper hand.

  The only good thing in this had been the course of the fight, which had taken them to the edge of the City of Sethanon.

  Moraeulf was waiting for his father’s orders, and word had reached them that somehow the rift machine had been disabled. Heads would sit on pikes over that, and Moraeulf was determined that his wouldn’t be among them.

  ‘‘Master, runners come.’’

  He expected to see his own scouts, who had been trailing the eledhel, but instead two of his father’s honor guards approached, dirty, tired, and obviously near panic. ‘‘What is it?’’

  he demanded.

  ‘‘Disaster! On the walls of Sethanon!’’

  ‘‘Tell me!’’ shouted Moraeulf.

  ‘‘Three days ago we found our way into the city, and our master left us near the rear gate of the castle. For most of a day he was gone. Then came a great sound from deep within the earth, and then we saw something terrible on the battlement of the castle.’’

  Moraeulf grabbed one of the guards by the shirtfront, and demanded, ‘‘Tell me what you saw!’’

  The other said, ‘‘On the battlement we saw your father, and with him was Murmandamus. I know it was he, for he was without shirt, and the dragon mark was on him. He was gaunt, as if he had been starved, and pale, as if kept underground, but it was he. There could be no doubt. He shouted, and we could hear his voice, carried to us by magic as we had heard him ten years ago, lord, and it was his voice.’’

  ‘‘Aye,’’ said the other guard. ‘‘It was Murmandamus. And between him and your father stood the human Prince, Arutha, in their thrall. Murmandamus said he would at last fulfill the 366

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  prophecy and end the life of the Lord of the West, but as he drew back his blade—’’

  ‘‘What?’’ shouted Moraeulf, striking the warrior, knocking him to the ground. ‘‘On your life tell me,’’ he demanded of the other one.

  ‘‘My lord, from behind rose a great dragon, a creature the like of which no living being has seen. It was afire with ligh
t and covered in rainbows, and on its back rode a magician in black. He cried out that Murmandamus was a false prophet and the prophecy was also false, and then the dragon unleashed a blast of fire so hot we could feel the heat of it on the ground below.

  ‘‘Lord, your father and Murmandamus were withered before our eyes, turned to ash and blown by the winds, while the Lord of the West, the human Prince Arutha, stood unharmed!’’

  Moraeulf howled his rage and struck the man. ‘‘Damn all magicians and prophets!’’

  There were a half dozen warriors of his own with the two from his father’s guard. ‘‘Pass word,’’ he ordered them. ‘‘We return to the North. This madness is over!’’

  The eight moredhel hurried off to spread the order.

  Moraeulf turned to find his way northward to his main camp. He was only a few yards along the trail when a shape stepped out of the gloom, and asked, ‘‘My lord?’’

  ‘‘What?’’ demanded Moraeulf. Too late he realized he knew the person who closed on him, and recognition came with pain, as Narab drove his dagger into the son of his enemy.

  Moraeulf sank to his knees, his mouth open in disbelief, and he fell to the earth.

  From beyond the path, a voice said, ‘‘We have done our part.’’

  Narab turned. ‘‘I will do mine.’’

  Martin Longbow and his elves appeared, and Narab said,

  ‘‘My family is avenged, and I will take our people home.’’

  ‘‘We will not trouble any of you, as long as you’re moving north,’’ said the Duke of Crydee. ‘‘Never again return south.’’

  Narab said, ‘‘Liallan and her Snow Leopards and my own clan are now the power in the North. As long as we rule, we shall keep to our side of the mountain.’’ Then he pointed a 367

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  finger at Martin and the elves. ‘‘And you would do well to stay on your own side also.’’

  He turned and vanished, and Martin said to the elves, ‘‘Let us go to Sethanon and find out the mystery behind the wonder we just heard. I would like to find Pug and discover how Murmandamus came back from the grave long enough to be killed again.’’

  The elf to whom he spoke nodded, his expression conveying his own curiosity. Martin started walking south. ‘‘At least when my brother gets here, he’ll find his Kingdom still intact.

  I think that will please him.’’

  Martin Longbow, brother to princes and kings, shouldered the weapon which had given him his name and hummed a nameless tune. He didn’t know the details yet, but he knew they had won, and that, for the time being, a future existed for his wife and daughter. That was cause enough to hum a tune; the details would come later.

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  Epilogue

  Dedication

  A RUTHA RAISED HIS CUP.

  ‘‘Gorath!’’ he said.

  The others in the command tent raised their cups, said,

  ‘‘Gorath!’’ and drank to his memory.

  Pug had related the final hours of the struggle and how he and Owyn had fashioned the illusion to convince the moredhel that Murmandamus was at last dead. Over the meal he had explained about Gorath’s self-sacrifice, his nobility.

  Arutha reflected a moment on what he had been told, then said, ‘‘I find it very strange to consider any Brother of the Dark Path noble, but there is no other word for his deed. Even when I sent him off with Owyn and James, I harbored lingering doubts. I could not rid myself of the notion it was but another convoluted plan of the Pantathians. I was wrong.’’

  ‘‘You are supposed to be suspicious,’’ said Martin. ‘‘It is part of your duty to your Kingdom.’’

  Arutha sipped his wine and nodded at his brother’s remark.

  ‘‘Perhaps, but I am certainly never going to regard the Brotherhood of the Dark Path quite the same again.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘If I may, Your Highness?’’

  Arutha gave the young magician permission to speak. ‘‘I traveled with Gorath for a few weeks in his homeland, and it’s so very different than I could have imagined.’’ He told of Raymond E. Feist

  the human communities living side by side with the moredhel, and while the humans would be labeled renegades, it spoke that it was possible for peace to exist between the races. ‘‘They have a fierce way, it seemed to me, yet it was a way that is not so alien we can’t appreciate it. I met Delekhan’s and Gorath’s wives; Delekhan’s is a powerful leader in her own right, and she was beautiful and fierce herself, and strange. Yet there was only ambition to save her people, and she helped us.’’

  Owyn sighed. ‘‘When I first met Gorath, he said we would never understand his people or their ways. Maybe he was right, but I can accept them.’’

  Arutha said, ‘‘Would that all of them were like him. Life in our Kingdom would be far calmer in the North.’’ The Prince continued, ‘‘Those of us who have survived yet another attempt by dark forces to destroy us must again rededicate ourselves to protecting our nation. Else those who have died will have paid a great price in vain. Gorath will be remembered, not as a traitor to his people, but as one of our nation’s heroes as well as one of his own. He started out serving only the moredhel. He died to save us all.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I just wish he could have lived the rest of his life in Elvandar.’’

  Martin said, ‘‘That is something for anyone to desire. It is a good place to end one’s days. But Aglaranna was right; he wasn’t fully returned, and it was his hatred for Delekhan that prevented him from being one with the eledhel.’’

  Arutha said to Pug, ‘‘I wish I could have seen that little drama you concocted to deceive the moredhel.’’

  ‘‘That was Owyn’s doing as much as mine. I have never been an adept at illusion, but he had learned some of those skills at Stardock. He fashioned the images of Murmandamus—from my description of him, and he had seen Arutha and Delekhan personally—and the Oracle had revived enough to rise up with me on her neck and spout an impressive flame.

  We just hoped it would be effective enough.’’

  Martin said, ‘‘Certainly it was that. I was a dozen feet away when I heard two of Delekhan’s guards tell Moraeulf of his father’s death and the end of Murmandamus. They were be-lievers. Even Narab likely believes the tale. Even if he doesn’t, 370

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  it serves his purposes to let others believe. I think we are done with the moredhel seeking Sethanon again.’’ Martin put aside his wine, and said, ‘‘I must leave. I have a long journey back to Elvandar before me, and then on to Crydee. My elven friends and I will depart at first light tomorrow, so I am to bed.’’

  Arutha stood and embraced his brother. ‘‘We see you too rarely,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Come to Crydee. You and Anita. Bring Borric, Erland, and Eliena. Spend a month.’’

  ‘‘Two weeks, perhaps, and not until after the baby’s here.’’

  ‘‘Another baby!’’ said Martin with a grin. ‘‘When were you getting around to telling me?’’

  Arutha smiled, and said, ‘‘I expect there’s a message with the royal seal of Krondor waiting for you in Crydee, where you’d have already read it if you were acting the part of a proper duke and not running around in the woods like your elf friends.’’

  ‘‘If I hadn’t been running around, those two‘‘—he pointed to James and Locklear, who had unceremoniously fallen asleep on cushions in the corner of Arutha’s pavilion—’’would never have made it to destroy that machine, and these woods would be full of Delekhan’s warriors.’’ He lowered his voice. ‘‘And I would not have been able to find Narab and help him get to Moraeulf.’’ Turning to happier matters, he asked, ‘‘Have you picked out names?’’

  Arutha nodded. ‘‘If a girl, we shall name her Alicia, after Anita’s mother. If a boy, Nicholas, after Great-grandfather.’’

  Martin said, ‘‘I look forward to the news of the birth.’’

  Arutha hugged his brother agai
n, and replied, ‘‘I know. Be well and give my love to Briana.’’

  Martin departed and Arutha looked at his sleeping squires.

  ‘‘I think this constitutes lèse majeste´. What do you think, Pug?’’

  ‘‘I think the magic herbs your healer gave them wore off. I think your threatening the hangman’s noose wouldn’t waken them.’’

  ‘‘I’m glad to hear that,’’ said Arutha. ‘‘They are forgiven.’’

  Looking at Owyn, Arutha asked, ‘‘What shall we do with you?’’

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  Owyn said, ‘‘Highness, I am overdue at home, and really must return to face my father. Not that I can imagine his wrath being any greater, but the longer I tarry, the worse will be my punishment for disobeying him.’’

  Arutha rubbed his chin, and said, ‘‘Well, then, perhaps a good horse and some gold for a better inn or two along the way. And I think I’ll send a personal note to your father proclaiming my personal indebtedness to the son of the Baron of Timons for his great service to the Crown. I will recommend that if your father can’t find a place for you in his servce, he consider commending you to the King, so that you might serve the Crown in Rillanon. I’ll also send a note to my brother telling him of your service. If you really do wish to, I’m sure he’ll find service for a bright lad such as you.’’

  Owyn smiled. Whatever anger his father had felt at Owyn’s decision to disobey and run off to Stardock would evaporate before a personal letter of commendation from the Prince of Krondor. Not to mention a commendation to the King. His homecoming had just become a great deal more attractive. ‘‘I thank the Prince.’’

  Pug said, ‘‘We need to speak some more about things at Sethanon, Arutha, and about what we must do to ensure nothing like this happens again.’’ He fought back a yawn. ‘‘But right now we need our sleep, too.’’

  The Prince inclined his head. ‘‘Then you are excused, my friend, and we’ll speak again in the morning. Good night.’’

  They bid Arutha good night and left the Prince’s pavilion.