Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  “The creature,” supplied James.

  Jazhara nodded her agreement. “Highness, the presence of that monstrous child and the quality of evil magic required for such an undertaking indicate that malignant forces of great power are involved.”

  “Indeed,” said the Prince. “Is there any reason you can imagine for someone to practice such horrific magic within the city itself? Certainly the chance of discovery was high, even in an abandoned corner of the sewers.”

  Jazhara said, “If the purpose was to create chaos in your city, Highness, then such a choice makes sense. For any other reason I can imagine, no; it is a choice that defies understanding.

  “So, assuming the intent was to create chaos, then the potential reward would have been worth the risk of early discovery.” Jazhara hesitated, then added, “The creature formed from the evil magic used upon those babies would no doubt have grown in power. The one we destroyed had killed or injured more than a dozen armed men in the course of a few days, by all reports. It was weakened when we fought it. Moreover, it was immature, still an infant by any measure. In a few more weeks, I suspect it would have been quite powerful. A host of those things loose in your city . . .”

  “You draw an unattractive picture,” said Arutha. “But your argument is persuasive.” He leaned forward. “Since the arrival of the moredhel renegade Gorath we have been wrestling with a series of seemingly inexplicable events, but throughout those events there has been one constant: someone who seeks to plunge Krondor into chaos.”

  “The Crawler,” said James.

  Arutha nodded. “I agree.”

  “Who is this Crawler, sire?” asked Jazhara.

  Arutha nodded to James, who said, “We don’t know. If we did, he would have been hanged long since. He first appeared over a year ago, running a gang that attempted to dislodge the Mockers in Krondor. But at the same time, he appears to be working the docks, interfering with commerce. Further, we’ve ascertained that he had a major relationship with the Nighthawks. In other words, he’s a thoroughly bad fellow.”

  Arutha said, “And potentially far more dangerous than we had thought initially. He seems to have had a hand in the attack on the Duke of Olasko and his family.”

  “The man moves in many circles,” said James.

  “And then there is the matter of the Ishapians,” said Arutha, pointing to the statuette Jazhara had carried to the palace. “I have sent word to the High Priest of the Temple here in Krondor and I expect we’ll be hearing from him soon.”

  “Does this have anything to do with that house across the square from the palace, Highness?” asked James.

  Arutha’s half-smile returned. “Not much gets past you, does it?”

  James merely smiled and made a half-bow.

  “Yes,” said Arutha, “but I will wait upon the presence of the High Priest or his agent before sharing that intelligence with you. Go and rest, both of you, but be ready to return here at a moment’s notice. I doubt the Ishapians will be long in answering my summons.”

  Arutha was correct. Jazhara and James were not even halfway back to their respective quarters when pages overtook them, informing them that the Prince required their immediate presence in the throne room.

  They returned to find the High Priest of Ishap, along with two other priests and a warrior monk in attendance. The High Priest was an elderly man, scholarly in demeanor with closely cropped snow-white hair. Like their superior, the two priests were also bareheaded, and wore their dark hair cut short. Unlike other orders, the Ishapians tended to favor plain fashion. The priests were dressed in brown-trimmed white robes; the monk wore armor and carried a helm under his left arm. A large warhammer hung at his belt.

  Prince Arutha sat on his throne, and while there were only two other officials of the court in attendance - Duke Gardan and his scribe - James realized that Arutha wanted to conduct this interview from a position of power.

  The Ishapians were long thought to be the most mysterious of Midkemia’s religious orders, not courting converts as the other temples did. James had encountered them before, at the old Abbey at Sarth, and knew there was a great deal more to the Ishapians than commonly believed. They held a kind of supremacy among the orders; other temples avoided conflicts with them.

  The High Priest said, “Highness, your message carried a note of the imperative and I came as soon as I received it.”

  “Thank you,” said the Prince. He motioned to Gardan and the old Duke’s scribe produced the statuette, handing it to the High Priest for inspection. “Where did you get this, Highness?” the High Priest asked, traces of surprise and worry in his voice.

  Arutha signaled to James, who said, “It was discovered earlier today in a cache of stolen goods. Booty from a pirate raid.”

  “Booty?” said the High Priest.

  Arutha said, “We both know, Father, what is due to occur this year. I need to know if that item came from the ship due into Krondor this month.”

  The High Priest said, “These are matters which cannot be discussed in open court, Highness.”

  Arutha nodded to Gardan and the duke dismissed the scribe. The High Priest looked at Jazhara and James and Arutha said, “The squire is my personal agent, and Jazhara is my advisor on all things magical. The duke has my trust beyond question. You may speak freely.”

  The High Priest looked as if a burden had been placed upon him, for his shoulders sagged visibly. “Ishap’s Dawn was due in Krondor a week ago, Highness. We have sent ships out to search for her, all the way back to the Free Cities. Perhaps she is disabled or . . .” He looked at James. “A pirate raid? Is that possible?”

  James said, “Apparently. A madman named Bear, aided, it seems, by dark magic, appears to have taken your ship. Guards are bringing the rest of the booty to the palace so that you may reclaim it, Father.”

  A glimmer of hope sprang into the High Priest’s eyes. “Tell me . . . is there a large box . . .”

  James interrupted. “According to his first mate, whatever it is that Bear wanted sank with the ship. It was the cause of some considerable friction between them. Bear tore the man apart with his hands trying to learn the location of the sunken ship.”

  The warrior monk kept an impassive face, but the High Priest and his two other companions appeared to be on the verge of fainting.

  “Then all is lost,” whispered the High Priest.

  Arutha leaned forward. “The ship carried the Tear of the Gods?”

  The High Priest said, “Yes, and all the other treasure accumulated over the past ten years by every temple from the Far Coast to the Free Cities. But all the gold and gems” - he brandished the statuette - “are meaningless without the Tear.”

  James caught Arutha’s eye. The Prince said, “When I first came to this throne I was told something of the Tear’s importance, yet you have kept its secret from the Crown. Why is this artifact of such great value?”

  The High Priest said, “What I tell you, Highness, only your brother the King in Rillanon, and a very few of our order, know. I must have your vow that what I tell you here will not leave this room.”

  Arutha glanced at Gardan, who nodded, then to James and Jazhara, who also agreed. “We so vow,” said the Prince.

  “Once every ten years, a gem is formed in a secret location in the north of the Grey Tower Mountains. The origin of this gem is lost to us; even our most ancient tomes do not reveal how our order first came to know of the existence of the Tear of the Gods.

  “But this we do know: all power from the gods to men comes through this artifact. Without it, we would all fall deaf to the words of the gods, the gods would not hear our prayers.”

  Jazhara couldn’t help herself. She blurted, “You’d lose all contact with the gods!”

  “More than that, we fear,” said the High Priest. “We believe that all magic would fade, as well. For it is by the grace of the gods that man is allowed to practice the arts of magic, and without divine intervention, we soon would be just as other
men. Soon the existing Tear in our mother temple in Rillanon will fade, its shining blue light will go dark. If the new Tear is not in place before that happens, we will lose our link with the heavens.”

  “Won’t there be another Tear in ten years?” asked James.

  “Yes, but can you imagine ten years of darkness? Ten years in which man has no commune with the gods? Ten years in which no healing can be done? Ten years without prayers being answered? Ten years without any hope?”

  James nodded. “A grim picture, Father. What can we do?”

  Arutha said, “We do have the location of the sunken ship.”

  Once again, a spark of hope appeared in the High Priest’s eyes. “You do?”

  “Within a fairly confined area,” said James. “We have a map, and if the ship went straight down, we should be able to locate it.”

  “We have magic arts that can do many things, sire,” said the High Priest. “But to enable a man to breathe underwater and search out the wreck is beyond our gifts. Is there another way?” He looked pointedly at Jazhara.

  Arutha appreciated the gravity of the question; the temples, more than other institutions, were wary of magic they didn’t control. Jazhara would be an object of suspicion at the best of times; and this was hardly the best of times. The Prince said, “Do you know another way, Jazhara?”

  She shook her head. “Regretfully, Highness, I do not. I know of those in Stardock who are capable of such feats, but few of them are what you might call robust men. For such a task you’d need a strong swimmer, and a source of light.”

  James said, “That won’t work.”

  Arutha raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  James grinned. “Highness, I’ve lived my life near the sea. I’ve heard what sailors say. Once you go below a certain depth the water weighs down upon you and even with a magic spell to help you breathe, withstanding such pressures would likely prove impossible. No, there’s another way.”

  “Tell us,” said the High Priest.

  “The Wreckers’ Guild,” said James. “It’s their trade to raise sunken ships. They can bring them up long enough to be salvaged. In some cases they can repair a breach and tow a once-sunken ship safely to port for refitting. I’ve seen it done more than once.”

  “But they would have to be told of the Tear,” said the High Priest. “And we cannot tell anyone of this.”

  James shook his head. “No, Father. All we need tell them is to raise the ship. Then someone trusted by the Crown goes into the ship, finds this artifact, and returns it here to Krondor.”

  The High Priest indicated the silent warrior monk to his left. “Brother Solon here should be that person. There are mystic safeguards around the Tear, so even had this creature Bear reached the Tear, he might not have been able to retrieve it. Brother Solon will be able to remove the safeguards so that the Tear can be recovered.”

  James looked at Arutha. “Sire, if this man Bear doesn’t know the exact whereabouts of the Tear, wouldn’t it be likely he’d be close by, looking for an Ishapian expedition heading for the wreck site? Logically he would wait until the artifact was recovered, then strike.”

  The High Priest said, “We have means of defending the Tear.”

  “No offense intended, Father, but from what Lucas told us of the pirate Knute’s account of things, Bear has some sort of powerful protection against your magic. Otherwise how could he have taken the ship to begin with?”

  The High Priest looked troubled as Jazhara said, “An amulet, I believe he said, something with the power to shield the wearer against priestly magic.”

  Arutha looked at James. “You advise stealth?”

  “Yes, sire,” said James. “We must find a way to divert Bear’s attention. If we can distract him enough to keep him away from the site while we raise the ship, retrieve the artifact, then return here before he realizes he’s being distracted . . .” He shrugged. “We might have a chance.”

  The High Priest said, “Highness, I would prefer a large armed force -”

  The Prince held up his hand. “I realize the care of the Tear is the province of the Temple of Ishap, Father, but it was my jail that was destroyed, my wife’s orphanage that was burned to the ground, my constables who were slaughtered; that makes it the Crown’s business to ensure nothing like this occurs again.

  “If, as is reported, Bear and his mercenaries are immune to your magic, it would seem force of arms may be needed to recover the Tear. How many fighting monks can you muster within a day?”

  The High Priest looked defeated. “Only three, Highness. The majority of our warrior brothers were on Ishap’s Dawn, guarding the Tear of the Gods.”

  James ventured, “Father, given how many were slaughtered here in Krondor, my best advice is to retrieve the Tear and get it safely on its way to Rillanon before Bear realizes it’s not still at the bottom of the sea.”

  Arutha was silent for a moment, then said, “I will accede to James’s plan.” To James he said, “As for that ‘distraction’: order the Pathfinders out immediately, to find Bear’s trail. Have William muster a full patrol of Household Guards to follow swiftly after them. From what you report, William has ample motivation to press Bear and harry him through the wilderness. Bear may be resistant to magic, but I warrant he might be troubled enough by two dozen swords to keep moving. And tell William that should he overtake Bear, the death mark is on this man and he may deal with him as he sees fit. That should be ‘distraction’ enough.”

  “And the Tear?” asked James.

  “You and Jazhara go to the Wreckers’ Guild and secure enough members to raise a ship. Gather them quietly at some point outside the city, leaving the city in twos and threes, then meet at one of the villages on the way to Sarth. Then ride quickly to . . .”

  “Widow’s Point,” supplied James.

  “Widow’s Point,” repeated Arutha, “and get on with recovering the Tear.”

  James bowed and said, “How many shall we take with us?”

  “I want you, Jazhara, and whoever you get from the Guild, along with Brother Solon, to depart at first light tomorrow. I will send a patrol the next day, and have them go to . . .” He looked at Gardan. “What’s the nearest town to Widow’s Point?”

  Without looking at a map, Duke Gardan said, “Haldon’s Head. It lies upon the bluffs overlooking the Point. It’s a refuge for scavengers who pick over the wrecks there, but for the most part is a sleepy village.”

  ‘Too close, sire,“ said James. ”If Bear has agents near the wreck, they will almost certainly be in Haldon’s Head. Our arrival alone will cause a stir, unless we depart within a day or so. It’s certain the appearance of an unscheduled patrol will alert Bear’s men.“

  “What is the next village to the south?” asked Arutha.

  “Miller’s Rest,” said the duke.

  “Then station them there. As soon as you get the Tear, James, hurry south to Miller’s Rest and the patrol will escort you back to Krondor. If you encounter more than you can handle, send someone down to Miller’s Rest and the patrol will ride to your relief. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sire,” said James, bowing.

  To the High Priest, Arutha said, “Father, go and make whatever arrangements you must and have your man meet James outside the gates two hours after first light, at the first crossroads.

  “James, you take those men from the Wreckers’ Guild, and leave with half of them at first light. Jazhara and the others from the Guild will leave one hour after that. You should all blend in with the normal traffic leaving the city at dawn.” Looking at James, the Prince added, “Need I stress caution?”

  With his almost insolent grin, James said, “Caution it is, Highness.”

  Arutha pointed an accusing finger. “We have seen much together, James - more than most men in a dozen lifetimes - but this task is equal to any set before you. Acquit yourself well, for the fate of us all rests in your hands.”

  James bowed. “I will, Highness.”

  To Jazhar
a, Arutha said, “I trust you will remind our young adventurer of the gravity of this task.”

  She bowed as well. “If need be, Highness.”

  “Then go, all of you, and may the gods smile upon your efforts.”

  Outside the throne room, James held Jazhara back until at last Duke Gardan emerged from the room. “Your Grace?” James said.

  The duke turned, his dark features creased like old leather, but his eyes still bright and alert. “What is it, Squire?”

  “Could I prevail upon you to send word to the Officer of Stores that we’ll be down to equip ourselves for this journey?”

  “Some problem?” asked the duke.

  James grinned sheepishly. “My credibility of late has suffered, as I have used the Prince’s name a little too often - ”

  “Without Arutha’s knowledge,” finished Gardan. He returned the smile. “Very well, I’ll send word at once.”

  James said, “When do you finally retire? I thought your departure was agreed upon.”

  “I was due to leave for Crydee in a month; now I do not know,” he answered with an almost theatrical sigh. “When you stop bringing crises to the Prince, I think.”

  With an impish grin, James said, “I think if that’s the case, you’ll still be here in another ten years.”

  “I hope not,” the duke said, “but I will most certainly be here when you return. No one is spared duty until this crisis is resolved. Now, go about your business.” To Jazhara he bowed, and said, “Milady.”

  “Your Grace,” they said in unison.

  After the old duke had departed, Jazhara said, “What now?”

  James said, “To the Sea Gate and the Wreckers’ Guild.”

  At mid-morning, the Sea Gate was bustling. Cargoes being unloaded in the harbor and transported into the city spawned dozens of carts and wagons that moved slowly down the street toward the Old Market and beyond. Sailors just arrived from long journeys hurried off-ship to find inns and women. Above the docks, sea birds squawked and wheeled in flight, seeking out the debris from dropped cargo that comprised a major part of their diet.