Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Very clever,” James said, as he removed what appeared to be a box. “But not clever enough.”

  The box was roughly a foot wide, half as deep, and three inches thick. There was no apparent lock or latch, and the top was inlaid with a mosaic of stones. James tried the simple approach and thumbed back the lid. It lifted without difficulty, but the box was empty. “Nothing,” he said.

  Jazhara said, “No, there is something. Close the lid and open it again.”

  James complied and Jazhara said, “It’s a Scathian Puzzle. It’s a lock.”

  “To what? The box is empty. And the sides are too thin to contain another secret compartment.”

  “It’s an enchantment. Its nature is to camouflage whatever is inside until it is unlocked.”

  “Can you unlock it?”

  “I can try.” Jazhara took the box and closed the lid, then set it down upon the desk.

  She studied the mosaic on top of the box, then put her finger upon a tile. Its color changed from red to green to blue, and for a brief instant James thought he saw a blurred image wavering upon the tile’s surface. Jazhara repeated the gesture quickly, touching a neighboring tile; again, the tile’s colors mutated, and another image appeared on the tile.

  Working deftly she moved the tiles around, for they slid where she directed. James was fascinated, for disarming traps and locks had been a career necessity in his days as a thief, but he had never encountered one quite like this. After a while, his eyes widened, for he realized that the tiles would fade back to their original pattern if she hesitated too long in moving one. And the closer she got to the end of the puzzle, the quicker they faded.

  Jazhara’s fingers were flying now, rapidly moving the tiles until at last a picture of a ship at sea was formed. Then there was an almost inaudible click, and up came the lid.

  The box was no longer empty. Lying flat within the box was a single parchment. James reached in and retrieved the document. He glanced at it, and said, “Nothing I can read.”

  Jazhara took the parchment and studied it. “I believe this is the spell they use to raise the ships.”

  “How does it work?”

  Jazhara scrutinized it even more closely. Then she whispered, “Incredible.” In her normal speaking voice she added, “With this scroll and some other components, a single guildsman can raise a ship on a mystic fog!”

  “What’s so amazing about that?”

  “Guilds like the Wreckers, who practice limited magic, usually possess only a few minor spells that are passed from generation to generation, and it usually requires several guildsmen to accomplish anything. Whoever wrote this knows a lot more about magic than the rest of the Guild.” She paused, then added, “I’ll wager this Kendaric never realized he was a Lesser Path Magician!”

  “Then this spell must be worth a fortune to the Guild.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Jazhara. “Any Lesser Path Magician with an affinity for water-magic could eventually utilize it. I suspect Kendaric is the only one who can use it as written.”

  “Then we must find Kendaric.” Pointing to the scroll, he said, “Hide that.” He turned and left the room. Jazhara secreted the parchment within a compartment in the pouch at her waist, and followed James a moment later.

  Glancing down at the dead Nighthawk, James said to the guard, “Keep an eye on this corpse, and if it starts to move, call me.” To Jazhara he said, “Let’s investigate the alley.”

  As they sped down the stairs, Jazhara said, “If it starts to move}”

  With a rueful smile James glanced back over his shoulder and said, “The Nighthawks used to have an irritating habit of not staying dead.”

  He led her outside the building and around to the back, where, behind the building, they found a long, dark, twisting alley. While still early in the day, the gloom of the place provided a dozen shadows in which anything could hide. Reflexively, James drew his rapier. Jazhara clutched her staff and made herself ready as well.

  They moved through the alley until they reached a position below the open window through which the magician had leapt. James pointed. “He must have landed here, and then run” -he glanced in both directions - “that way.” He indicated the way they had just come. “I’m almost certain the other end is blocked.”

  “If he reached the street and simply started walking he would just be another citizen out on his morning’s business.”

  James nodded. “It’s why I love cities and hate being alone in the wilderness. So many more places to hide in a city.”

  Glancing into the darkness as they continued, Jazhara said, “I know many of my countrymen would disagree; they find hiding in the desert easy.”

  “You may have noticed I’m not a desert man,” James observed.

  They came to a pile of boxes, and James pushed one aside. The stench that arose from it caused Jazhara to step back. Inside were a dirty blanket, some rotting food and a few personal items - a woolen cap, a broken comb, and a dirty tunic. “Nobody home,” said James. He glanced around. “Old Thom must be out begging or thieving. We won’t find anybody here until after dark.”

  “I find it hard to believe that people actually sleep like that.”

  “It’s not hard once you get used to it. The trick is to use the trash to keep the guards away.” He looked around the alley once more. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to the palace. Let’s get some rest, then after sundown we’ll come back and have a chat with Thom. I think he’s seen something that someone else doesn’t want him talking about, and if we can find out what that is, we might make some sense out of all this.”

  “It’s obvious someone doesn’t want us raising that ship.”

  “Yes,” said James. “And while William is chasing Bear around the wilderness, there’s someone else arranging for the murder of Guild Masters and beggars.”

  “The Crawler?” asked Jazhara.

  James said, “That’s my guess. Come on, let’s return to the palace and get some rest.” They walked quickly out of the darkness into the daylight of the busy street.

  William signaled for his patrol to halt, while a lone rider hurried down the trail toward him. They were less than an hour out of the city and following marks left by a pair of Royal Pathfinders .The rider reined in and saluted. It was Marie, one of the Pathfinders. “Lieutenant.”

  “What have you found?” William asked.

  “A half-dozen men left the city on foot through the fields to the northeast of the North Gate. They took no pains to hide their passage. One of them was a big man, a heavy man, probably the one called Bear. His prints are wide and deep. At the edge of the fields they had horses waiting for them and rode hard up that trail. Jackson is following them. He’ll leave signs.”

  William signaled for the men to ride on. Marie fell in beside the lieutenant. The Pathfinders were legendary, men who were descended from the first foresters and wardens of the earliest Princes of Krondor. They knew the surrounding wilderness as a mother knows the features of her children and they tended to be an insular lot who only grudgingly took command from officers outside their company. Their own captain was rarely seen in the palace, save by the Prince’s orders, and they didn’t socialize with the garrison’s regulars. But they were among the finest trackers in the West and no man in the Armies of the West doubted their skills.

  After a few moments of silence, William asked, “What else?”

  “What do you mean, Lieutenant?” replied the Pathfinder.

  “What is it you’re not telling me?”

  The Pathfinder glanced at the young officer and gave him a small smile and a nod. “These men take no pains to hide their passage. They are not afraid of being found. They hurry for another reason.”

  “They need to get somewhere fast,” William observed.

  “Or need to meet someone,” suggested Marie.

  “Ambush?” asked William.

  “Possibly,” replied the Pathfinder. “If they appear
to be anxious to get down the trail, then suddenly turn . . .” He shrugged.

  “Jackson would warn us.”

  Without emotion, Marie said, “If he’s alive.”

  They rode on in silence.

  If the alley had been gloomy in the daytime, it was inky at night. James uncovered a lantern he had secured at the palace.

  After sleeping through the late morning and early afternoon, James and Jazhara had dined with the Prince and his family. It had been Jazhara’s first dinner with the royal family, a privilege of her new position, and she had enjoyed the opportunity to meet and chat with Princess Anita, the Princess Elena, and the twin princes, Borric and Erland. James had apprised the Prince of their progress thus far, and Arutha had approved of James’s investigation of the missing journeyman, Kendaric.

  Once again dressed in her practical travel garb, Jazhara walked a step behind James as they traversed the dark alley. As they neared the crates, James signaled for silence and Jazhara touched him on the shoulder to indicate that she understood.

  As they approached the crates, they heard a voice shout out, “No! No! Old Thom didn’t tell a soul!”

  “Thom, I’m not going to hurt you,” James called out. He turned the lantern on the crate and the light revealed an old man, dressed in rags, huddling inside. His nose was misshapen and red, from repeated breaks in his youth and hard drinking in his later years. His front teeth were missing, and what little hair remained was almost white, spreading around his head like a faint nimbus.

  Red-shot, watery blue eyes regarded them as he said, “You’re not here to hurt old Thom?”

  “No,” said James, kneeling and putting up the light so that his own face would be revealed. “I’m not here to hurt you. Just to ask some questions . . .”

  “Ah, a Prince’s man, are you?” said the old beggar. “Fate is kind. I thought it was them murderers come back to finish Old Thom.”

  “Why would they want to finish you?” asked Jazhara, coming up behind James.

  Thom glanced at Jazhara, then answered. “I ‘spect it’s ’cause I was here the other night when they broke into the Guild House.”

  “When was that?” asked James.

  “The night the Guild Master died. A pair of ‘em, all in dark cloaks, climbed right up the wall and into his room, they did.”

  “Nighthawks,” James said. “They were going to come back, Thom, but we got to them before they could find you.”

  “You’re a good lad, then. My thanks to ya.”

  “You’re welcome,” said James with a smile. “Did you see anything else?”

  “Well, before them dark cloaks went inside, they was talkin‘ to somebody down the street a ways.”

  “Did you see who?” asked Jazhara.

  “Old Thom couldn’t rightly see, ‘cept he was wearing Guild colors.”

  James said, “He had a torque?”

  “Yes, that colored thing some of ‘em wear around their neck.”

  “Could it have been Kendaric?” asked Jazhara.

  Old Thom said, “Aye, the fella what was always arguin‘ with the old Guild Master? I seen him the night of the killin’, I did. He left the Guild House early that night; never did come back.”

  “Could it have been Kendaric who was with the Night-hawks?” asked James.

  “Coulda been,” replied Old Thom. “Or maybe not. He wasn’t wearin‘ colors when he left.”

  James sat back on his heels. “There are only two other men who would wear colors: the master and Jorath. The Guild is closed for the night, but tomorrow we will return to visit Journeyman Jorath.”

  James fished in his pouch and came up with two gold coins. He handed them to Old Thom and said, “Get yourself a decent meal and a warm blanket, my old friend.”

  “Thanks, son,” said the old fisherman. “Old Thom thanks you.”

  James and Jazhara left the old man in his crate and returned to the city streets.

  Morning found James and Jazhara once again at the Wreckers’ Guild office, but this time they entered to a much quieter scene than they had the previous day. When they came in they found Jorath in the main office, reading documents. Looking up, he said, “Again?”

  “We have a few more questions, Journeyman,” said James.

  “Very well.”

  “We have uncovered a few things, but obviously this case will not be put to rest until we’ve located Journeyman Kendaric. What can you tell us about him?”

  Jorath said, “He was the oldest journeyman in the Guild, the only one senior to myself. There are two others, both out of the city at present. Kendaric was a man of unusual talents, and had the potential to be prime among us, perhaps even the next Guild Master. Unfortunately he was also greedy and arrogant, probably because of his half-Keshian ancestry.”

  Jazhara kept a straight face, but James saw her knuckles turn white as she tightened the grip on her staff.

  James asked calmly, “Do you really think his ancestry matters?”

  “Without a doubt,” replied Jorath. “He’s always been arrogant, but ever since he had to give up his engagement to a Kingdom girl, he’s had it in for us. Her parents didn’t want a Keshian marrying their daughter, and who can blame them?”

  Jazhara said, “I take offense at your obvious prejudice toward Keshians, Guildsman.”

  Jorath inclined his head slightly. “Lady, I am no bigot, but as a scholar of some skill, I can tell you that Keshians, and half-breeds in particular, are generally unable to control their emotions.”

  Jazhara leaned forward and with an icy smile said, “As the newly-appointed court magician of Krondor, and as a great-niece of Abdur Rachman Memo Hazara-Khan, Ambassador of Great Kesh to the Prince’s court, I can tell you that you are gravely mistaken. Were I not able to control my emotions, you would now be a slithering worm.”

  The blood drained from Jorath’s face and he stammered, “I apologize most sincerely, milady. Please forgive me.”

  Hiding his amusement, James said, “Tell us about this woman Kendaric was engaged to.”

  Jorath appeared glad to change the subject. “A local shopkeeper, if I remember. I don’t know the girl’s name.”

  James looked hard at the journeyman, and said, “Thank you. If we have more questions, we’ll return.”

  As they left the office, James glanced up the stairs. He motioned for Jazhara to be quiet and they crept up the stairway. At the top of the stairs, James indicated the third door: Jorath’s room.

  “What are you doing?” Jazhara asked.

  “Our friend downstairs is a little too sanguine about all that’s gone on. He’s hiding something.”

  “I agree. Given that his world seems to have been turned upside down, he seems almost . . . relieved.”

  James deftly picked the lock of the room and they entered. The chamber was neat, with nothing obviously misplaced. “Tidy fellow, our Journeyman Jorath, isn’t he?” James observed.

  “Indeed.”

  James went to the desk while Jazhara investigated the contents of a chest at the foot of the journeyman’s bed. In the desk, James found some documents and a ledger. He took them out and had started reading them when Jazhara exclaimed, “Look!”

  James glanced over. Jazhara was holding up a ledger identical to the one James had in his lap. “This was hidden under some clothing.”

  James took the second ledger and put it beside the first. After a few moments, he said, “Well, there it is. Our friend Jorath has been embezzling funds from the Guild. With the Guild Master dead, no one would inspect the records.”

  “And if he could find Kendaric’s spell-scroll, he could restart the Guild with himself installed as master, with a clean record,” said the magician.

  James nodded. He continued his reading, tossing aside scroll after scroll, then he stopped. “Look at what we have here,” he whispered. He handed the parchment to Jazhara.

  She read aloud. “Guildsman. You’ve made the right decision in coming to us with your plans. We’
ve received the gold you promised. Show the bartender this letter and you’ll find him very cooperative. My people, who will be waiting for you at the dog, will deal with final details and future payments. Orin.”

  “At the dog.” James said.

  “A place?”

  James put the other scrolls away. “Yes, Ye Bitten Dog.”

  Jazhara said, “Ah, of course. The bartender. Lucky Pete.”

  “Things are now. starting to come together,” said James, taking the two ledgers and the scrolls. “I think we need to have another chat with Journeyman Jorath.” He wrapped the ledgers and scroll in a tunic he pulled from the chest.

  They hurried down the stairs and entered the office, where Jorath was still reviewing documents. “Yes?” he said looking up. “Again?”

  James said, “You know who killed the Guild Master.”

  Jorath stood up slowly, and arranged the scrolls on the desk in an orderly fashion. “Amazing. I would have credited the Prince’s servants with far more intelligence than you’re currently evidencing.”

  Jazhara said, “We know you’ve been dealing with the Night-hawks.”

  Jorath seemed untroubled by the accusation. “Even had I the inclination to consort with criminals, who I meet with outside the Guild is my own business, unless you can prove I conspired in a crime.

  “Besides, my entire life is wrapped up in this Guild. Why would I choose to jeopardize it all by killing the Guild Master?”

  James unwrapped the ledgers and the scroll and said, “To prevent being caught out as an embezzler.”

  Jazhara added, “And there was Kendaric’s new spell. With him out of the way, you could claim it as your own.”

  “If you could have found it,” James went on. “Obviously, you needed the Nighthawks for both tasks.”

  “An interesting theory,” said Jorath, slowly backing away. “Well thought out and complete. Tell me, if you had not interfered, do you think I could have gotten away with it?”

  Before James or Jazhara could answer, the Guildsman pulled an item from the sleeve of his robe and cast it into the air. A brilliant light erupted and James found himself momentarily blinded. Reflexes took over and he instantly stepped back, knowing that he was likely to be attacked while he couldn’t see.