Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  The dagger struck the magician in the heart, knocking him backward as the demon gained solid form. The demon bellowed in rage and tried to attack, but the lines upon the floor seemed to form a mystic barrier, preventing him from reaching James and the others.

  James saw Means rush to Jazhara’s side, and concentrated upon his own foe. The man was an expert swordsman and James was conscious of the enraged demon he could see over the man’s shoulder. The assassin was also aware of the demon behind him, for he took a moment to glance back before focusing on James. James sought to press his advantage, but the swordsman anticipated it.

  James moved to one side, shouting, “Jazhara! Can you do something about that thing?”

  Jazhara was attempting to disentangle herself from the second swordsman, in order to allow the guardsman or Jonathan Means to engage with him, but the room was too crowded to allow an easy transition. “I’m occupied at the moment, James,” she called.

  Means cried, “Let me past!” and Jazhara instantly drew her staff toward her, holding it upright as she turned and suddenly Means was past her, lunging at the swordsman, who was forced to back away.

  Jazhara looked at the demon and said, “I know almost nothing of such creatures, James!”

  James beat back a high attack by the assassin he faced and attempted to back him into the demon’s reach. “I’m turning into something of a expert, I’m sorry to say,” he retorted. “This is the third of these creatures I’ve run into in my life.”

  “One thing I do know,” Jazhara shouted. “Don’t cross into that diagram and don’t break the lines.”

  “Thank you,” said James. He thrust out with his blade, managing to nick the assassin in the leg. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he added as he pulled back.

  Jazhara saw the stalemate between her companions and the two assassins, and stopped to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, recalling an incantation, then when she had it firmly in mind, she slowly began to cast her spell. When she was finished, a crimson bolt of energy flew from her outstretched hand and struck the face of the assassin attacking James. The man cried out and dropped his sword. Clawing at his eyes, he screamed in pain and staggered backward.

  Too late, he suddenly realized he had backed inside the inscribed design on the floor. He tried to retreat, but the demon seized him. Picking the assassin up from behind like a father might pick up a baby, the twelve-foot-tall demon tossed the man high into the air, literally bouncing him off the dirt and stone ceiling. Then as the assassin fell, the creature slashed with its bull-like horns, impaling him on the points. The man screamed once and died.

  James ignored the gore and turned his attention to the second swordsman, reaching over Means’s shoulder to slash at the man’s throat. A liquid gurgle sounded as the assassin dropped his blade, a stunned look in his eyes as the blood began to flow from his mouth and nose. He made a daubing motion with his left hand at his throat, as if trying to staunch the wound, then he fell forward and expired.

  James turned to confront the demon, which had finished tearing apart the assassin who had lain upon its horns. Body parts littered the room and the creature bellowed in rage as it confronted James and his companions.

  “What do we do?” asked Jonathan Means, shaking now that he realized the nature of the monster they faced.

  “It cannot cross out of that space,” said Jazhara, “unless he who summoned it gives leave. But it will remain there for a long time unless we banish it or kill it.”

  “Those things are hard to kill,” said James. “I know.”

  Jazhara turned to the guardsman. “Send word to the palace. Summon Father Belson and tell him we have a demon to banish.”

  The guardsman glanced at James, who nodded.

  James said, “Let us back out of here and wait for the good father to show up.”

  Time seemed to drag as they waited for the arrival of Prince Arutha’s religious advisor. James stood just the other side of the door, watching the evil creature as it raged and glared at him, full of malevolence. Several times it feigned an attack, but always it pulled up at the mystic barrier.

  “What’s this nonsense about a demon?” shouted a voice from above.

  James turned to see Father Belson appear. The slender, black-bearded cleric arrived in a hurry, minus his usual purple and scarlet robes. Instead he wore a woolen nightshirt over which a heavy cloak had been thrown. “This idiot,” he said, pointing back at the guard, “wouldn’t even grant me leave to dress - ” Then he glanced past James and caught sight of the demon. “Oh, my,” he said softly.

  “I’ll get out of the way and let you go to work, Father,” James said.

  “Go to work?” Father Belson replied, blinking in confusion. “Work doing what?”

  “Getting rid of the demon. That’s why we summoned you.”

  “Get rid of the demon? I can’t do that,” said the priest of Prandur in horror.

  James blinked like an owl caught in a sudden light. “You cant?

  “Demons are creatures of the lower realms, and as such often consume fire energy. My service to the Lord of the Flames prevents me from having any skills with the sorts of magic that can possibly harm the creature.” Looking again at the demon, the priest added softly, “Best I can do is irritate him, and at worst make him stronger.”

  “What about exorcism?” asked Jazhara.

  Glancing at the Keshian magician, the priest said, “That’s not something my temple does. You’d have to find a priest of Sung, and a powerful one at that, or an Ishapian.”

  James sighed. He turned to the guard who had originally brought Father Belson and said, “Hurry to the Temple of Ishap and tell the High Priest we request the services of one who can banish a demon — and quickly. Use the Prince’s name. Go.”

  The guardsman saluted. “Squire.” He turned and hurried off.

  To Father Belson, James said, “Sorry to have awakened you.”

  Not taking his eyes off the creature, the priest said, “Oh, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

  “Good,” said James. “Then keep an eye on the thing just in case, while I go interview a prisoner.”

  James returned to the upper room. Pete was sitting in a chair with a guard at his side. James said, “Now, before we were so rudely interrupted . . .”

  Pete looked close to panic. “I tell you, Squire, I don’t know nothin‘. Just some lads throwin’ gold around for me to know nothin‘. So I looks the other way when they want to use the down-below, and the pass-me-through to the sewers. You know how it is.”

  James nodded. He knew all too well how it was. To the guardsman he said, “Take him to the palace. Lock him in the dungeon, and we’ll see what else he knows at our leisure.”

  The guard grabbed Pete roughly under the arm and said, “Come with me, little man.”

  The peg-legged former sailor squawked at being manhandled, but went along peacefully.

  It took almost an hour for the Ishapians to arrive, a gray-haired priest of some significant rank and two armed warrior monks. Once James acquainted them with the situation below they agreed it had been a wise move to summon them.

  They hurried down the steps to the basement and the Ishapian priest said to Father Belson, “You may depart now, Servant of Prandur.”

  Belson bowed slightly. “As you wish.”

  As he passed, James said, “You’re leaving?”

  With a wry smile, the priest said, “I know when I’m not wanted.”

  James was puzzled. There was a great deal about the politics of the Kingdom that James had come to understand during his tenure at Arutha’s court, but the relationships among the temples was a complex knot of intrigues he had scarcely been aware of before then, and one he had had little reason to investigate.

  The priest of Ishap turned to James and said, “How did this come to be?”

  “That man,” James said, pointing at the dead magician lying on the floor near the far wall. “He summoned the creature.”

/>   The priest looked across the room, then observed, “If he were alive it would be easier to return the creature to the plane of hell from which it was summoned.”

  Dryly, Jazhara said, “Unless, of course, he ordered it to attack first.”

  The priest glanced at the magician, but did not respond to her observation. Turning to James, he said, “So be it. Let us begin.”

  The two monks came to stand on either side of the Ishapian priest and began a low chant. After a moment, James felt a distinct cooling in the air, and heard the priest’s voice rising above the others. The language was tantalizingly familiar, but one he could not understand.

  The demon glared from behind the barrier erected by the mystic symbols on the floor, helpless. From time to time its bovine features would contort and it would bellow a challenge, but finally it was done. James blinked in astonishment as one moment the creature stood there, then an instant later it was gone, the only evidence of its passing a subtle shift in the pressure of the air around them and a slight sound, as if a door closed somewhere nearby.

  The priest turned to James. “The Temple is pleased to help the Crown but it would be better for all of us if you returned to the critical task set before you, Squire.”

  “We were going to leave this morning, sir, but things have proved less convenient that I would have liked. We’ll go as soon as possible.”

  The priest nodded impassively. “Brother Solon will be waiting for you at the gate at dawn tomorrow.” He turned and left the room, followed by the two monks.

  James sighed. “Arutha won’t be pleased if we have to wait much longer.”

  Jazhara said, “We have but one task left before we can go.”

  “Find Kendaric,” James said. “And I think I know where to start.”

  The Golden Grimoire was a modest but well-appointed shop. It was an apothecary store of sorts, but Jazhara recognized at once the contents of many jars and boxes to be ingredients a magician might employ. A sleepy looking young woman had let them in only upon James’s insistence they were on the Prince’s business. “What do you wish?” she asked once they were inside, suspicion in her voice.

  James regarded her. This must be Morraine, he thought, the woman to whom Kendaric was engaged. She was slight in build, with a slender face, but pretty in a way. He thought that when fully dressed and awake, she probably looked a great deal more attractive.

  James produced the shell and said, “Can you tell us what this is?”

  Morraine raised her eyebrows. “Place it there, please.” She indicated a green felt cloth upon the counter next to which a lantern burned. James did so and she studied it closely for a bit. “This is a Shell of Eortis, I’m certain. It has powerful magic properties. There are only a few reputed to exist. It is an artifact of incalculable value to a sea captain or anyone else who must voyage across the ocean.” She looked at James. “Where did you get it?”

  James admired the woman’s ability to maintain a calm demeanor. She would be no mean gambler, he thought. “I’m certain you know where we found it, Morraine,” he said.

  Morraine held his gaze for a moment, then lowered her eyes. She betrayed no surprise at hearing her name. “Kendaric. We were lovers for a while, but my family forbade us to wed. I gave it to him as a gift. It was my dearest possession.” Then, almost defiantly, she added, “I haven’t seen him for a long time.”

  James smiled. “You can stop lying. You don’t do it well. Kendaric is innocent and we have proof. It was Journeyman Jorath who had the Guild Master killed to mask his embezzlement of Guild funds.”

  The woman said nothing, but her eyes flickered from face to face. Jazhara said, “You can believe us. I am Jazhara, the Prince’s court magician, and this is his personal squire, James. We require Kendaric’s presence for a most critical undertaking on behalf of the Crown.”

  Morraine said softly, “Come with me.” She picked up the lantern from the counter and led them to a far wall, where several volumes rested upon shelves.

  Jazhara glanced at the titles and saw that many of them were herbalist guides and primers on making remedies and potions, but that a few dealt with magical issues. “I shall have to return here when time permits,” she muttered.

  Morraine removed one large volume, and the shelf slid aside, revealing a stairway going up. “This goes to a secret room in the attic,” she said.

  She led them up the stairs and into a small room, barely able to hold a single bed and table. Upon the bed sat a man in a green tunic. He wore a goatee and mustache and had a golden ring in his left ear. “Who are these people?” he asked Morraine in a concerned tone, staring at James and Jazhara.

  “They are from the Prince,” said Morraine.

  “I didn’t do it!” exclaimed Kendaric.

  “Calm yourself,” said James. “We have proof it was Jorath who had the Guild Master killed.”

  “What about those men in black?” asked the journeyman of the Wreckers’ Guild. “They were trying to kill me! I barely escaped them.”

  Jazhara noticed a slight hint of a Keshian accent in his speech, from one of the northern cities. “They’ve been dealt with, as well,” she said.

  Kendaric sprang to his feet and hugged Morraine. “This is wonderful! I can return to the Guild. Thank you for this news.”

  Jazhara held her hands up. “A moment, Guildsman,” she said. “We have need of your services.”

  Kendaric said, “Certainly, but perhaps it can wait for a day or so? I have much to do. If Jorath is guilty of murder, I must return to take charge of the apprentices. It will take a while before order is restored to the Wreckers.”

  James said, “Ah, unfortunately we need your help now. The Prince needs your help. And considering it might have been the Nighthawks that found you first, but didn’t because of our efforts, you owe us.”

  “I didn’t ask for your help, did I? I’m must get back to the Guild! All those debts to pay!”

  “Kendaric!” Morraine said, sharply.

  “Yes, Morraine?” he answered, meekly.

  “You are being ungrateful and rude to people who have saved your life.”

  “But the expenses, my love - ”

  “We’ll work something out. We always have.” She turned to James. “He’ll help you, Squire. He’s a good man at heart, but sometimes he lets his personal desires lead him astray.”

  “Morraine!”

  “I’m sorry, dear, but it’s true. That’s why you have me to set you straight.”

  Jazhara said, “You plan to defy your parents, then?”

  With a tilt of her chin and a brave smile, Morraine said, “We shall have a wedding as soon as Kendaric has returned from whatever mission you have for him.”

  Looking defeated, the guildsman said, “Very well.”

  “Please watch out for him. Kendaric sometimes overreaches himself.”

  Jazhara smiled. “We’ll take care of him.”

  “Thank you for restoring his good name.”

  They walked down the steps to the door. James and Jazhara went out into the street and waited as Kendaric bid Morraine good-bye. When the journeyman emerged from the shop, Jazhara said, “You should count yourself lucky to be so well loved.”

  Kendaric said, “Luckier than you know. I shudder to remember the bastard I was before I met Morraine. Her kindness saved my life, but her love saved my soul.”

  James glanced at the starlit sky. “We have three hours to first light. Time enough to get back to the palace, report to the Prince, and meet Brother Solon at the gate.”

  As they walked toward the palace, James said, “Do you ride?”

  “Badly, I fear,” said the journeyman.

  Laughing, James said, “By the time we reach our destination, you’ll be an expert.”

  NINE

  Diversion

  William waited patiently.

  His horse pawed the ground, anxious to be moving again, or to find something to graze on. Either way William had to keep a firm leg and s
hort reins on the animal.

  The day had turned cold and he could see his own breath before him as night fell. The patrol had halted in a small clearing in the woods, large enough for a camp. The men behind him were silent, avoiding the casual small talk and muttering that was common during a standstill in the ranks. They knew the enemy was close.

  As evening approached and the gloom of the woods deepened, everyone was on edge. They could almost feel a fight approaching. Swords were loose in their scabbards and bows near to hand as the men kept their eyes moving, watching for any sign of trouble.

  Then from ahead two figures appeared on the trail, emerging from the murk. Marie and Jackson rode at a slow canter, and instantly William relaxed. If the enemy were near, they would more likely be coming back at a gallop.

  Without waiting for their report, William spun his horse around and said, “We’ll camp here.”

  The sergeant in charge of the patrol, an old veteran named Hartag, nodded and said, “I’ll post the sentries first, Lieutenant.”

  As the sergeant barked his orders, the two Pathfinders reined in. Marie said, “We lost them.”

  “What?” William swore.

  The other Pathfinder, Jackson, an older man with almost no hair remaining above his ears, but with a long flow of gray hair down to his shoulders from what fringe remained, nodded. “They suddenly turned among some rocks and we lost the trail. We’ll find it again in the morning, but not in this light.”

  William could barely hide his frustration. “So they know we are following.”

  “They know someone follows,” said Marie. “But we can’t be certain they know who and how many.”

  “How far ahead?”

  “Two, maybe three hours. If they press on later today than we do, it’ll be half a day before we find their trail.”

  William nodded. “Get something to eat and go to sleep early. I’ll want you out as soon as you think it’s light enough to pick up that trail again.”

  The two Pathfinders nodded and dismounted.