Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  Kendaric nodded vigorously. “I hope to the gods that’s the last we see of them!”

  Solon said, “Someone doesn’t wish us to raise that ship.”

  “All the more reason to raise it before whoever set those guardians over the ship returns,” observed Jazhara.

  “But which ship?” asked Kendaric.

  Solon said, “You’re a slab-headed fool. That one!” He pointed.

  “How do you know?” asked Kendaric.

  James laughed. “Because that’s the one those elementals were guarding!”

  Solon closed his eyes for a moment. “And I sense something down there, as well.”

  “What?” asked the wrecker.

  “What we’ve come here to recover,” replied the monk.

  “Very well,” said Kendaric. “Let me have the scroll.”

  Jazhara set down her backpack, and opened it. She reached in and withdrew the scroll she had been carrying since finding it in Kendaric’s room and handed it to him. He took it, read it, then nodded. “I could do it alone, but with your help, magician, we should be able to do this quickly.” He pointed at two places in the spell and said, “Make this incantation with me, then this other passage here. For a spell-caster of your power, this should be easy.”

  “I’ve examined your spell,” Jazhara said judiciously. “I will do what I can to help.”

  Turning to face the sea, Kendaric pointed one hand at the mast of the ship in question and began to chant. Jazhara joined in at the passage Kendaric had indicated, and their voices filled the air with mystic words.

  A fog appeared where Kendaric had pointed. It coalesced above the water, and the sea began to roil with mystic energies. A keening sound filled the air and James saw the top of the mast start to vibrate.

  Abruptly, everything ceased. The fog vanished, the water calmed, and the ship stopped moving.

  “I think your spell needs work,” said James.

  “No,” contradicted Jazhara. “It wasn’t his spell. As we cast it, I felt something fighting against us. Someone else did this to us.”

  Kendaric glanced back up at the cliffs as if seeking sight of someone. “She’s right. I felt it, too.”

  Solon’s gaze also went to the cliffs behind them. “Then we’ll have to locate the source of the interference. For if we do not, the entire Order of Ishap may be in jeopardy and one of its deepest mysteries may fall into the hands of the enemy!”

  Kendaric looked at James as if questioning whether this was an exaggeration. James returned a grim expression.

  Kendaric nodded, and Jazhara led the way back toward the horses.

  Haldon Head was a small village, comprised of only a dozen or so buildings around a crossroads. The north-south route of the King’s Road ran from Miller’s Rest to Questor’s View. The east-west route led from Widow’s Point out to farms scattered between the village and the forested foothills.

  At the center of the village sat an inn, the Sailor’s Rest. As the travelers rode in, they saw two men standing in front of the inn, arguing loudly.

  One of them - a farmer, judging by his rough dress - was shouting. “This has gone on long enough! She must be stopped! You should have had those soldiers execute her when they were here!”

  The other man wore a well-made tunic with a sleeveless over-jacket. He was of middle years and rather portly. He shouted back, “You’ve no proof, Alton. With all the pain we’ve gone through, you want to cause more?”

  “You keep this up, Toddy, and you won’t be mayor much longer. Hell, you keep this up and there won’t be a village much longer. Lyle told me that - ”

  As James and his companions reined in, the man named Toddy interrupted, “Lyle is a drunk! If he thinks we are going to . . .” The arrival of strangers finally caught his attention.

  The farmer said, “Looks like we’ve got visitors.”

  “Welcome to Haldon Head, strangers. Will you be staying long?” the mayor asked.

  The farmer interjected, “Not if they know what’s good for them.”

  “Alton! There’s other business you’d best be attending.”

  The man named Alton replied, “We’ll talk about this later, Toddy. By the heavens, we will!”

  Farmer Alton turned and walked quickly away. The other man said, “I apologize for Farmer Alton’s rudeness. He’s a bit upset about some recent troubles.”

  “What was he saying about soldiers?” Jazhara asked.

  “A squad of Krondorian guardsmen came through here a few days ago, chasing a fugitive, I think.”

  Jazhara glanced at James. “William’s company?”

  James nodded. “Could be.”

  Solon dismounted. “What were the troubles the farmer was referring to?” he asked.

  Toddy glanced down at the ground, then looked up again. “We . . . uh . . . We’ve had some problems with wolves lately. What with the long winter and all. . . Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to the inn. You’d do well to join me, as I only keep the doors open for an hour or two after sunset, and I’d hate to see you trapped outside . . .” He hurried inside the inn and closed the door.

  “That was odd,” observed Kendaric.

  James indicated that they should ride to the rear of the inn, and by the time they had reached the stabling yard, a boy was hurrying to take their horses. James instructed the boy on the care they required, then they walked back to the front of the inn and entered through the main door.

  The inn was pleasant enough, if small. The lower floor was occupied by a taproom and kitchen, with a single flight of stairs running up the rear wall leading to the second floor. A fireplace off to the left contained a roaring blaze. A savory-smelling broth simmered in a huge copper kettle that hung before the fire. To one side a large spit stood ready for whatever meat was to be that evening’s fare.

  Toddy appeared a moment later carrying a large, spitted haunch of beef, which he put into the spit cradle. “Maureen!” he bellowed. “Come turn the beef!”

  An older woman hurried out of the kitchen and nodded as she passed the innkeeper. Toddy turned to James and his companions. “I’m glad you decided to spend the night here. It may not be as fancy as you’re used to, but I’d like you to consider it a home away from home. I can serve you an ale, if you like.”

  “That would be a start,” said Kendaric.

  “Well, then,” said the innkeeper. “Seatyourselves and I’ll fetch the ale.”

  He was back in a few minutes with four ceramic mugs full of frothy ale. “My name is Aganathos Toddhunter. Folks around here call me ‘Toddy.’ I’m both innkeeper and mayor of this small village. Hold the Prince’s writ to act as justice in misdemeanor and justice of the peace in civil issues,” he noted with some pride.

  “Quite a bit of responsibility,” said James, dryly.

  “Not really,” Toddy said, looking a bit deflated. “Truth is, the worst is usually a pig who wanders onto a neighbor’s property and having to decide who pays damages or who keeps the pig.” The attempt at humor was forced.

  Jazhara said, “Why don’t you join us for a drink?”

  “Ah, you’re being kind to spread so much cheer on this cheerless night,” Toddy said. He retreated to the bar and poured himself a mug of ale, then returned and remained standing next to the table. “My thanks.” He took a long pull on his ale. Jazhara asked, “Why so cheerless?”

  “Well, with the . . . wolves and all . . . we’ve lost several villagers already.”

  Solon looked hard at Toddy and said, “Wolves this near the coast are unusual. They tend to stay away from populated areas. Is there no one who will hunt them?”

  Toddy took another drink of his ale. Then he said, “Please, I’m sorry I mentioned it. It’s not your concern. Simply enjoy yourselves tonight. But I beg you not to go outside tonight.”

  James studied the innkeeper and saw a man trying his mightiest to hide a deep fear. Changing the subject, James asked, “You mentioned some guardsmen earlier. Do you know an
ything else about them?”

  “They stayed here a single night, two days ago, and then moved on.”

  Jazhara asked, “Do you recall who led them?”

  “A rather young officer. William, I think his name was. One of his trackers found the trail of their fugitive somewhere east of here.” He drained the last of his ale and said, “Now, please excuse me while I take care of my duties. When you’re ready to turn in, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  The only other customer in the inn was a man sitting by himself in the corner, staring deeply into his cup.

  James leaned forward, so as not to be overheard by the lone drinker, and said, “Well, does anyone have any bright notions of what we should do next?”

  Kendaric said, “I can’t understand why my spell failed. It should have worked, but some other force. . . balked me. There is something in this area that is working against us.”

  Jazhara said, “It is possible that some other enchantment is in place keeping the ship under the waves until such time as Bear or whoever is employing him is ready to raise the ship himself. If that’s the case, when that spell is removed, your spell will work.”

  James was silent for a moment. Then he said, “So what we have to do is find the source of this blocking magic and remove it?”

  Solon nodded. “Easier said than done, laddie. While my knowledge of the mystic arts is far different than Jazhara’s, I know such a spell is not fashioned by a dabbler. Whoever put the charm on that ship to keep it below the waves is no mean practitioner of the magician’s arts.”

  Kendaric nodded in agreement. “This must be true. For no known force should have kept my spell from working.”

  James sighed. “Just once I’d like a plan to go as originally designed.” With only slightly feigned frustration he added, “Wouldn’t it be lovely to be back in Krondor tomorrow and say, ‘Why, no, Highness, no troubles at all. We just strolled up to Widow’s Point, raised the ship, got the Tear, wandered back down the coast, and here we are.’ Wouldn’t that be fine?” He sighed again. They fell silent.

  After a few minutes of quiet drinking, the party was approached by the innkeeper. “Will you be eating?”

  Noting the dearth of customers at the tables, James said, “Anywhere else around here to eat?”

  “No,” said Toddy with a pained smile. “It’s just that some travelers are trying to keep expenses down and bring their own, that’s all.”

  “We’ll be eating,” said James, nodding to where the woman was turning the side of beef.

  “Food should be ready in an hour,” said the innkeeper.

  As he was about to depart, Jazhara asked, “Sir, a moment.”

  The innkeeper paused. “Milady?”

  Jazhara said, “There seems to be some trouble here, or am I mistaken?”

  Solon added, “We couldn’t help but notice that the town seems almost deserted. What vexes this place?”

  Toddy looked concerned, but he forced a smile and said, “Oh. . .well. . . just a little slow this time of year. No harvests in yet, no grain caravans . . . you know how small villages can be.”

  James looked directly at the mayor. “Frankly, sir, we’ve heard some strange things about this area. What truth is there to these rumors?”

  The mayor glanced around, as if someone might be listening. “Well. . . some folks say that Widow’s Point is haunted by the souls of the drowned, kept from Lims-Kragma’s Hall by an ancient and horrible evil . . .” He lowered his voice. “Others claim that witchcraft has cursed our town, but I think it’s all superstitious nonsense.”

  “This ‘witchcraft’ has been mentioned several times,” said Jazhara.

  James studied the man’s face and said, “Sir, I am on the Prince’s business. You are not free to repeat that to anyone, but I am on a mission of some urgency and the situation around here may prove difficult for the completion of my mission. Now, I urge you to be forthright with me or Haldon Head will have a new mayor as soon as I return to Krondor. What is going on around here? Why are the streets deserted during the day?”

  The man looked defeated. At last, he nodded. “People are frightened, sir. They hurry from one place to another, and dare spend as little time outdoors as they can, even during the day. At night they bar their doors and cling close to their hearths. There is evil afoot.”

  “What sort of evil?” asked Solon.

  Letting out his breath slowly, Toddy said, “Well, I guess I need to tell someone. This town is beset by some creature — or creatures - that stalk the night, killing good townsfolk, and stealing their souls. Even Father Rowland has been powerless to stop them.”

  “Who is Father Rowland?” Solon asked.

  “The good father is a devotee of Sung. He’s been in the area for a number of years, but he’s recently decided that the witch is responsible for our troubles.” At the mention of the word “witch” Jazhara stiffened her posture, but kept silent. Toddy continued.

  “Now, I’d expect that kind of thinking from someone like Farmer Alton, but not a priest of Sung the Merciful and Pure.”

  Jazhara nodded. “‘Witchcraft’ does not exist. Either someone is a natural healer, and uses true magic, or simply knows the medicinal value of certain herbs and roots. ‘Witchcraft’ is an ignorant belief.”

  “You’re right, of course,” agreed Toddy. “The old woman has helped some of the townsfolk with poultices and brews in the past, and has been kind to most people who ask for help, but you know how people are: with the troubles now, they’ve come to fear what they don’t understand. She lives up near the promontory above Widow’s Point, if you’d care to speak with her yourself.” He scratched his head, and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know she’s not involved with these horrors, but she may know something that will help you decide if our troubles are a danger to your mission for the Prince.”

  “Have you reported these troubles to the Prince?” asked James.

  “Only to that patrol that went through here a few days ago, and they seemed intent upon another mission. Alan, the Prince’s factor in the area, was due here last week, but he never showed up. That happens from time to time if he’s on special business for the Crown. I was thinking of sending a boy with a message south, but no parent is willing to risk a child on the road . . . given the horrors we’ve seen.”

  “How did they begin?” asked James.

  “I wish I knew,” answered the mayor. “One day things were as they always were, the next . . . It began over a month ago. A woodcutter and his family who live a few miles to the east of the village disappeared. We don’t know when exactly, but the woodcutter missed his usual delivery of wood for the village, so we began to worry. Six men went to his shack the next day, but only two returned.”

  “What did the two who returned tell you?” asked an alarmed Kendaric.

  “Nathan and Malcolm? Malcolm, Lims-Kragma guide him, was killed last night by . . . whatever creature is responsible for this terrible situation. Nathan boarded himself up in his house and hasn’t come out since. He has my stable-boy bring him food every day.”

  “Will he speak with us?” asked James.

  “You can try. His house is less than a ten-minute walk from here. I would wait until the morning, though, sir, as he will almost certainly refuse to speak to anyone after dark.” Pointing to the solitary drinker in the corner, Toddy said, “Lyle over there was a close friend of Malcolm.” Leaning toward them, he added, “But I’d weigh his words carefully, his love of the spirits” - he made a drinking motion - “often clouds his judgment.”

  James stood up and Jazhara followed. Kendaric started to rise, but Solon reached out with one of his massive hands, firmly gripped the guildsman’s arm, and pushed him back into his seat, shaking his head gently. Then the cleric rose and followed James and Jazhara. Kendaric opened his mouth to object, but Solon silenced him merely by pointing at the man’s ale, indicating that he should continue to drink.

  James, Jazhara, and Solon cross
ed to where the solitary figure sat staring into an empty mug. “Buy you a drink?” asked James.

  The man looked up and said, “Never one to say no to that, stranger.”

  James motioned for Toddy to bring over a fresh tankard of ale, and when it was placed before the man, James pulled out a chair and sat down. “Your name is Lyle?”

  “That’s me,” the man agreed.

  “I understand you’re friends with one of the men who survived some sort of attack here.”

  “Malcolm, he was my friend,” agreed the man. “Died last night.” He hoisted the ale flagon and said, “To Malcolm!” Then he drained it.

  James waved for another and when it was placed before him, Lyle asked, “What do you want?”

  “We want information,” James replied.

  “Tell us about this ‘witch,’” added Jazhara.

  Lyle said, “Everyone thinks she’s in league with dark powers, but I don’t believe it! She’s a kind old woman. You can go see for yourself. Take the trail to the point and when it cuts down to the beach, stay on the small path up to the point. You’ll find her in her hut most times when she’s not out gathering herbs.” He sighed deeply. “No, the real source of this evil is something else.”

  “What?” asked James.

  Lowering his voice, Lyle said, “Blood-drinkers.”

  James’s gaze narrowed and he looked at Jazhara before returning his attention to Lyle and repeating, “Blood-drinkers?”

  “Night creatures. The dead returned to life.”

  Jazhara gasped. “Vampires!”

  James looked at her. “Vampires?”

  “Creatures of legend. Created by the foulest necromancy,” she replied.

  Remembering the dead bodies being arrayed by the goblins and the creatures in the sewers of Krondor, James said, “We’ve encountered a lot of that lately.”

  Jazhara said, “They drink the blood of the living to slake their unholy thirst, and those whose blood they take rise to join their number.”

  James dosed his eyes for a moment, then said, “And I suppose because they’re already dead, they’re very difficult to kill again?”