Krondor: The Assassins

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘‘What now?’’ whispered William.

  ‘‘We follow,’’ said James.

  Treggar said, ‘‘Remember our way back. One of us has to reach the Prince and tell him of this place.’’

  Neither James or William answered.

  They moved carefully to the intersection, then turned to the left to follow the two men.

  A hundred yards down the corridor, they could hear voices murmuring. As they neared the light, they saw men standing before the entrance to a large, well-lit gallery. Their backs were to the three invaders.

  James glanced around and then pointed to a portal with stairs leading upward. He moved quickly up the stairs and the others followed.

  They found themselves in a circular chamber, up in what might have been a small servants’ sleeping area, overlooking what must originally have been an armory. Ancient forges lay unused against the far wall.

  Clearly they had found the location of the ancient Keshian fortress, and were in basements that had been hollowed out of the rock upon which it had once stood. The murmur of voices from below masked James’s words as he whispered, ‘‘Those servants who worked in the armory must have slept up in this loft.’’

  ‘‘What’s going on down there?’’ asked William softly.

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  James hazarded a peep over the edge then quickly pulled back.

  Even in the indirect light from the chamber below, William and Treggar could see James go pale. ‘‘Take a breath before you look,’’ he whispered.

  William peered over and saw at least a hundred men, all wearing black robes or cloaks, all watching a ceremony directly across from where the three of them hid. The ancient armory was now a temple, and the brown stains upon the wall clearly showed it was a temple dedicated to dark powers.

  Four men who were obviously priests were in the midst of a sacrifice, and that sacrifice lay bent backwards across a large stone, hands and feet held tightly by four black-robed men.

  Upon the wall behind the priests was a mask, larger than a tall man, a hideous creature from a demented nightmare.

  Roughly the same shape as a horse’s head, the creature’s snout was pointed, like a fox’s, but two long tusks protruded downward. Twisted horns, like a goat’s, rose from behind pointed ears. And where the eyes should be, two flames burned.

  The lead priest began to chant and the assembled men responded as one.

  ‘‘What language is that?’’ asked Treggar.

  ‘‘Sounds Keshian,’’ said William, ‘‘but no dialect I’m familiar with.’’

  Suddenly a drum boomed and a horn blew, and the men below shouted a name. James felt a chill pass through him.

  The priests’ chanting grew louder and one opened a large tome, then moved to the side of the victim. Another priest retrieved a golden bowl from a man standing nearby. He moved to the victim’s head and knelt beside him.

  The chanting never stopped.

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  The three standing priests picked up the pace of the incantation, and the witnesses answered. The assembled voices rose and the chanting grew louder, more insistent.

  With a flourish, the chief priest revealed a black knife, which he held before the eyes of the victim. The man was naked save for a loincloth, and unable to move, but his eyes widened at the sight of the knife.

  Then with a deft move, the blade sliced the man’s neck, and blood fountained from the wound. The bowl was lifted to receive the blood, and as the first drops were caught, James felt a deeper cold pass through him.

  William spoke softly, though his voice wouldn’t be heard over the chanting by the men below. ‘‘Did you feel that chill?’’

  ‘‘I did,’’ said Treggar.

  William said, ‘‘Magic. And it’s big.’’

  Suddenly the room seemed to darken, though the torches in the wall-sconces burned no less brightly. A black cloud coalesced and took shape behind the altar upon which lay the now-twitching victim.

  ‘‘Back!’’ said William as the black cloud grew more solid by the second, and the voices of the priests rose in unison.

  Retreating to the back of the small servants’ loft, James said,

  ‘‘What was that?’’

  ‘‘A demon,’’ said William. ‘‘I’m almost certain. Keep low. The priests might not notice us in the shadows, but that demon might.’’ They ran along in a crouch, and started back down the stairs.

  Screams sounded from the makeshift temple and Treggar said, ‘‘What was that?’’

  ‘‘The blood was only used to bring the thing here,’’ suggested William. ‘‘Now it’s feeding from among the faithful.’’

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  Treggar’s battle-hardened expression couldn’t hide the fact that the blood had drained from his face. Through tight lips he said, ‘‘They willingly stand and die?’’

  ‘‘Fanatics,’’ said James. ‘‘We’ve seen them before, captain.

  Murmandamus?’’

  Treggar nodded. ‘‘The Black Slayers.’’

  ‘‘We must warn Arutha,’’ said William. ‘‘He’s got the men to crush this company, but not if they have a demon serving them. The Prince has no magicians or priests in his company.’’

  Remembering an attack upon the Prince at the Abbey of Sarth, James said, ‘‘It won’t be the first time Arutha’s faced a demon.’’

  More screams sounded. ‘‘Come on,’’ said Treggar. ‘‘We have to start back. They’re distracted now, but for how long?’’

  James nodded and led the way.

  Quickly they made their way down the steps and retraced their way up the corridor, heading toward the secret entrance.

  The entire way the sounds of men dying followed them. More than once they thought the murders had stopped, but just as quiet descended it was shattered by another scream.

  When they re-entered the darkened portion of the tunnels, James relit his taper.

  William said, ‘‘That man on the stone never cried out.’’

  Treggar said, ‘‘He wouldn’t. That was one of our Pathfinders.’’

  James said nothing.

  They reached the exit and James motioned for them to halt and handed the light to William.

  After a long moment of inspection, James put his hand against the hidden door and pushed to open it.

  Nothing happened.

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  AMES pushed again.

  Nothing happened, again.

  ‘‘What’s wrong?’’ asked Treggar.

  ‘‘It won’t open,’’ said James. He ran his fingers around the edge of the door, then up and down the wall on the right side.

  ‘‘Why won’t it open?’’ asked William.

  ‘‘If I knew that, I could open it,’’ snapped James.

  Treggar said, ‘‘If it slipped your notice, squire, we are at the end of a very long hall with no place to hide. If you can’t open that door in the next minute, we will have to return to one of the corridors we passed and seek another way out of here.’’

  James was focused, but there was urgency in his movement.

  ‘‘I don’t know . . .’

  He quickly moved to the left side of the door and continued his inspection. After a moment, he said, ‘‘Let’s go.’’

  He headed back down the hall and turned left at the first corridor. ‘‘Where are we going?’’ asked William.

  James said, ‘‘I don’t know, but I know in a fortress this big there are almost certainly some empty places where we can lie low.’’

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  ‘‘Why this way?’’ asked Treggar.

  ‘‘Because it’s in the opposite direction from where we were.’’

  Treggar said nothing, content with th
e answer.

  They left the sparsely-lit corridor and turned into one that was pitch dark, and again James lit his taper.

  ‘‘How do you do that?’’ asked William.

  James said, ‘‘If we find a place to hole up, I’ll show you.’’

  They moved along in silence for a while, turning a couple of times as James sought to move as far as he possibly could from the temple. Suddenly he stopped. He held the taper down close to the floor and said, ‘‘Dust. Not a lot of traffic through here in a few years.’’ He straightened up and they moved forward again.

  Before long they came to what appeared to be a room once used for storage. The door frame was rotting and the hinges had fallen off. Whatever had become of the door would remain a mystery.

  James entered the room and held the taper aloft. The flickering light illuminated the space: roughly twenty feet wide and half again as deep, the actual dimensions hidden by a fall of rock.

  James said, ‘‘Come over here,’’ and motioned for them to sit in a corner, as far from the door as possible. ‘‘No one may have come this way in a while, but Ruthia—’’ the Goddess of Luck ‘‘—is a fickle woman at times and I don’t want some passer-by to notice a light in an unused room.’’

  Treggar looked at the fall of rocks and said, ‘‘It’s unused because it’s unsafe. Look at those timbers.’’

  James moved his light a little closer to a fallen lintel and said, ‘‘Dry as paper.’’ He pushed aside a few pieces that had fallen so he could sit on a large rock.

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  ‘‘I thought old wood got harder,’’ said William.

  ‘‘Sometimes,’’ said Treggar. ‘‘I’ve seen old buildings where the timbers are as hard as steel.’’ He picked up a small piece and crumbled it between his fingers. ‘‘Sometimes it just gets old.’’

  ‘‘What do you judge the clock to be?’’ asked James.

  Treggar said, ‘‘Near dawn.’’

  ‘‘I wager our friends over there are likely to sleep during the day. Their trade is usually conducted at night. I’m going to slip out and look around. If I can’t find another way out, I’ll look at that door again. We can’t stay here long.’’

  ‘‘See if you can find some water,’’ said William. ‘‘I’m parched.’’

  James nodded. It had been hours since they had left their equipment and found the newly-carved entrance to this ancient place. ‘‘I’ll see what I can do.’’

  ‘‘Before you leave: what is that trick with the light?’’ asked William.

  James handed over the lit taper and said, ‘‘Watch.’’ He reached into his belt-pouch and pulled out another long taper; it looked like a thick punk of slow-burning wood, the kind used to light fires and torches. ‘‘These have a substance rubbed into them.’’ He then produced a small vial of liquid and poured a drop onto the punk. For a brief instant nothing happened, then a flame burst out on the tip. ‘‘I bought these from a street magician in Krondor a while back. Very handy and you don’t have to strike sparks with flint and steel—even works in high winds.’’

  William grinned. ‘‘I thought maybe old Kulgan taught you that finger-fire trick of his.’’

  ‘‘Hardly,’’ said James. ‘‘I’d leave these with you, but I may 248

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  need light more than you do. Sit tight.’’ James stood up, stepped through the doorway and was gone.

  William held the burning taper James had left behind, until Captain Treggar said, ‘‘Better put that out, lieutenant.’’

  William obeyed and plunged the room into darkness. ‘‘If you don’t mind, I’m getting flint, steel and tinder out, just in case.’’

  ‘‘I don’t mind at all.’’

  William could hear him moving in the dark, then Treggar said, ‘‘Here’s some of that wood. If you need to make a torch in a hurry, it should catch quickly.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, captain.’’

  A long silence followed.

  Treggar spoke. ‘‘That squire is an unusual fellow, ain’t he?’’

  William said, ‘‘From everything I’ve ever heard. I’ve only spent time with him occasionally when my father brought me to Krondor on visits. You’ve been in Krondor for years. I would have thought you knew him better than I do.’’

  ‘‘Hardly,’’ said Treggar. Another long silence followed, then he said, ‘‘He’s the Prince’s squire. ‘Pet Squire,’ a few call him, but not to his face. Lots of special privileges.’’

  ‘‘From what I know, he’s earned them.’’

  ‘‘Seems that way, don’t it?’’

  William said, ‘‘Captain?’’

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Just want to say I plan on pulling my duty. Not being around the first week . . . well, it wasn’t my idea.’’

  ‘‘I’m getting that impression.’’

  Again silence.

  William said, ‘‘Well, I really didn’t want duty in Krondor, actually.’’

  ‘‘Really? Why not?’’

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  ‘‘I’m not really related to the Prince. My father was adopted into his house by Lord Boric, years ago.’’

  ‘‘Makes you a member of the royal house, boy.’’

  ‘‘So I’ve been told. But I just want to soldier, captain. I want to earn my way.’’

  ‘‘Soldiering is a hard life,’’ said Treggar after a moment.

  ‘‘Lots of noble boys come to the palace and train with the swordmaster and then take their commissions and go home to their families. They show up on state occasions, in shining armor, riding a horse the like of which I’ll never sit on in my life, and they get . . .’’ He fell into silence.

  ‘‘And you feel overlooked?’’

  ‘‘You could say that. I started off as a soldier, enlisted during the first years of the Riftwar. I was with Dulanic’s garrison and got run up to the front in Yabon when Duke Guy came to the city.’’

  William had been a baby when that had occurred, but he had heard the story before.

  ‘‘Your Squire James was a brat thief in those days, and I was a scared soldier, holding a pike and standing next to other scared soldiers watching those Tsurani maniacs charging us with no fear in their eyes.’’

  William said nothing.

  ‘‘Anyway, it was a long war and a lot of lads didn’t make it. By the second winter up there in the mountains I was a sergeant. By the third I was a lieutenant, and because I was in the Prince of Krondor’s garrison, that made me a ‘knight-lieu-tenant.’ He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘‘Talking about myself. I don’t do that much.’’

  ‘‘I’m glad for the sound of your voice, captain. It makes the darkness less oppressive.’’

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  ‘‘I’m the oldest bachelor officer in the garrison, Will.’’

  William took note of the use of his given name. It was the first time Treggar hadn’t addressed him by rank. ‘‘That must be hard, captain.’’

  ‘‘I’m the officer who doesn’t get invited to the dances, to meet the young girls. I’m the officer who isn’t connected by birth to anyone. My father was a dockman.’’

  Suddenly William realized the captain was afraid. Revealing that there was something beneath the mask of bully was his way of sharing that fear. William didn’t know what to say, save,

  ‘‘My father started off as a kitchen boy.’’

  Treggar laughed. ‘‘But he didn’t stay one, did he?’’

  William chuckled. ‘‘That’s the truth. If you had your choice, what would you do?’’

  ‘‘I’d like to meet a woman. She doesn’t have to be someone of rank. Just a nice woman. I’d like a post where I’m in charge.

  Where I’m not always looking over my shoulder to see if the swordmaster or knight-marshal, or a duke or anyone else, is wat
ching to see if I’m going to lose my temper and beat some young cadet over the head. I just want to do my job. Even somewhere like that little outpost we refit near Shandon Bay.

  Fifty men, a sergeant, chasing smugglers, thumping bandits, home for dinner.’’

  William laughed. ‘‘If we get out of here, I’ll be happy to go with you and just be left to do my job. I just found out last week the Prince expects things from me.’’

  ‘‘That’s a burden. Being royal family, I mean.’’

  ‘‘So they tell me.’’

  They lapsed into silence.

  Finally, William said, ‘‘I wonder what James is doing?’’

  *

  *

  *

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  James was crawling on his stomach, as silently as he could. He had found one route past the perimeter of the closest population of assassins, but he knew William and Treggar would never be able to win past it undetected; it had taxed his considerable skills to avoid being seen. Now he was trying to find another route, and a broken sewer pipe was providing the way, as long as it got no smaller.

  The structure was ancient. Kesh had abandoned the fortress centuries ago, for reasons lost in history. A revolt in the interior of the Empire, or down in the subject nations of the Keshian Confederacy. Perhaps a power struggle in the heart of the Empire itself.

  In the scant light from the taper he lit from time to time, James had seen enough to wish he had more leisure time in which to investigate fully. He had found a room full of ancient bones, many obviously dumped there recently. James assumed the present occupants of the fortress had moved them there.

  He had also found stones from above, weathered and sun-bleached, piled in several larger rooms—one he judged an officer’s mess, and three barracks rooms—which surprised him. He deduced that the assassins had found some remaining structure from the ancient fortress above ground and had labored to remove traces of their lair.

  James saw light ahead and moved even more cautiously. He inched his way until he was directly under the light. The upper portion of the pipe was broken below a large hole in the floor.