Krondor: The Betrayal

  ‘‘Dull?’’ supplied James.

  ‘‘No, predictable. He’s a nice man, but I want something more.’’

  ‘‘Anyone else?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘Why? Did I say there was anyone else?’’ she asked with a glimmer in her eyes and a smile on her lips.

  ‘‘No,’’ said Owyn, ‘‘but your father did.’’

  ‘‘Navon du Sandau,’’ said Ugyne. ‘‘He makes Father furious.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘He’s a man of trade, not nobility, and even Myron, my father’s solicitor, is related to nobility: he’s the nephew of the late Earl of Silden, on his mother’s side.’’

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  ‘‘Are you in love with Navon?’’ asked Owyn.

  She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. ‘‘Not really. He’s interesting, if a little . . . strange.’’

  ‘‘Strange?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘How?’’

  ‘‘I find him staring at me in odd ways, when he thinks I’m not looking.’’

  Owyn laughed and tickled her. ‘‘That’s because you are odd-looking.’’

  She playfully slapped his hands away. ‘‘But he’s interesting.

  He’s very attractive, and intelligent, and he says he’s been everywhere. And he has a great deal of wealth, which is the only reason Father hasn’t ordered him whipped out of town by Father’s guards. If I can’t marry nobility, Father will settle for wealth.’’

  ‘‘Are you going to marry this Navon?’’

  ‘‘Probably not,’’ she said, jumping out of Owyn’s lap. ‘‘He’s too ardent and . . . dangerous.’’

  ‘‘Dangerous?’’ said Gorath, speaking for the first time to the girl. ‘‘I know little of your customs, but isn’t that an odd term to describe a suitor?’’

  She shrugged, and replied, ‘‘I don’t know. He’s fascinating, if a little odd at times, and he’s taught me a few things.’’

  ‘‘Oh?’’ asked Owyn, his voice registering both curiosity and disapproval.

  She punched him in the shoulder. ‘‘Not that, you evil boy!

  He’s taught me about things like poetry, music, and he’s taught me to play chess.’’

  ‘‘Chess?’’ asked Owyn, casting a glance at James.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she said. ‘‘He’s the finest chess player in Kenting Rush, probably in the entire area. He travels to Malac’s Cross regularly to play against the best in the Kingdom at the Queen’s Row Tavern and has played against nobles in Krondor and Great Kesh!’’ Her description indicated some pride in the claims.

  ‘‘Well,’’ said James. ‘‘Perhaps we can meet him sometime.’’

  ‘‘Come to supper on Sixthday and you can,’’ she said. ‘‘He’s coming to see me by the end of the week!’’

  With a laugh and a half twirl that set her skirt swirling around her knees, she turned and half skipped, half walked 165

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  to the door. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled at Owyn and left.

  Gorath said, ‘‘The women of your people are . . . interesting.’’

  James laughed. ‘‘She’s young. She’s working a little too hard at being vivacious.’’ He shook his head in appreciation. ‘‘But give her a couple of years and she won’t have to work. She’s quite the charmer.’’

  Owyn sighed as he leaned back in his chair. ‘‘She’s the only member of my family I ever really cared for around here.’’

  Peter the Grey arrived with their food, and as he set the table, Owyn said, ‘‘I never knew my cousin Neville, he died when I was but nine, and I had only seen him once before that.’’

  Peter interrupted, ‘‘Baron Corvallis’s Neville?

  ‘‘You said you were in to see him, young sir, but nothing about being his nephew.’’

  ‘‘Sorry,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘I wasn’t trying to hide the fact.’’

  ‘‘You’re young Owyn,’’ he said. ‘‘You don’t remember me, do you?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Sorry, but I don’t.’’

  ‘‘I was one of the cooks up in the keep, before that tragic day when young Neville died. You were only six or seven back then, and I only saw you once or twice when you visited.

  I bought this inn not long after, and you never stopped in before today. The old Baron, well, it changed him. He was a different man after that, but it killed his wife.’’

  ‘‘I don’t remember much about it,’’ admitted Owyn.

  Peter needed little prompting to gossip, and said, ‘‘Well, the story goes that there was some difficulty between the Baron and the master builder he hired to work on the lower caves and tunnels as he expanded his wine cellar. The odd thing was he was also named du Sandau, like Navon.’’

  James and Owyn exchanged glances.

  Peter went on. ‘‘Well, this Sandau was the finest stonemason in the region, but he was also a drunk and a womanizer; rumor is he had his way with many of the ladies of the court down in Rillanon before coming north.

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  keep, and usually the Baron was happy with the work. But this wine cellar, for some reason, had problems. They argued, and the Baron was always in a foul temper.

  ‘‘Then came that black day.’’

  ‘‘The day Neville died?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘Yes, it was the same accident that killed Sandau. The ceiling collapsed. No one knew why. All the men in the area struggled for days to remove the rubble, but it was to no avail; Neville and the workers in the room died.’’

  ‘‘What was the boy doing in the room?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘No one knows. He liked to watch the masons, and his father didn’t object.’’ Peter shrugged. ‘‘But the Baron’s never been quite the same since then. And the loss of the boy killed the Baroness, I will avow. She mourned for months, then got sick, and even the healing priests from the temples couldn’t keep her alive. She died a little more than a year after. Before the boy died, she was a woman of unusual steel. Ugyne’s like her; it’s what kept the girl sane, I think, losing a brother and mother within a year.’’ Peter shook his head in sympathy as he recalled the girl’s pain. ‘‘She’s managed to turn into quite a special person, by my lights.’’

  James nodded as Owyn said, ‘‘She is, no argument.’’

  Peter left, and James said, ‘‘This family of yours has had its share of tragedy.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I know. But Ugyne seems to have found some happiness.’’

  ‘‘Even if it’s only tormenting her father,’’ said James, and even Gorath laughed at that.

  ‘‘Well, then,’’ asked Owyn, ‘‘what are we to do?’’

  ‘‘I think we have dinner with your uncle on Sixthday and I think we see if someone here wants to play chess.’’

  Owyn nodded and sat back, content to rest a few days before the next conflict.

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  Ten

  •

  Nighthawks W ATER THUNDERED DOWN THE MOUNTAINSIDE.

  James, Gorath, and Owyn sat on their horses near the base of the falls. With a few days to fill in between their discussion with Ugyne and their coming supper with her father on Sixthday, James had decided to scout around. He had made sure the talkative Peter the Grey knew they were heading down the road on business, but as soon as they had cleared the precinct of Cavell Village, they had turned off the road to investigate Cavell Run.

  The spray struck James as the wind shifted. ‘‘You used to play here?’’ he asked Owyn.

  ‘‘No, not really.’’ He pointed up the side of the mountain.

  ‘‘We used to play up there, in a pool, near the spot the bolt-hole exits the hillside.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘My people’s children are not allowed to play unsupervised.’’ With a note of contempt, he added, ‘‘But then you humans breed like field mice; if a child dies, you j
ust have another.’’

  James threw him a black look. ‘‘It’s not quite that simple.’’

  Gorath asked, ‘‘So why are we here?’’

  James asked, ‘‘If you wanted to use the old run as a base of operations, would you want the Baron and his family up there?’’

  Owyn’s eyes widened. ‘‘You think the Nighthawks started the fire?’’

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  James shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know. But it’s pretty convenient, and by harassing him, they keep the Baron from starting his rebuilding.’’

  They rode along the banks of the river toward the cliffs, and Gorath said, ‘‘I have fought these Nighthawks at your side, and you have mentioned them before, but I still do not understand their part in all this.’’

  James said, ‘‘It isn’t difficult; they’re a brotherhood of assassins who work for whoever pays their way. Mercenaries. I faced one on the roofs of Krondor when I was a boy and have faced them many times since then.

  ‘‘They were pawns of Murmandamus for a while and served with his Black Slayers.’’

  Gorath almost spat. ‘‘The Black Slayers were an obscenity!

  Men of no honor who gave over life and spirit to Murmandamus for promises of eternal power and glory! It is said by our lore keepers that those who did so will never join the Mothers and Fathers in the Life After.’’

  James turned his horse to follow around a small knoll, and said, ‘‘I must admit, I know little of you or your elven kin, Gorath, though I’ve fought the moredhel and spent time with the glamredhel and elves.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘We dislike one another enough that we don’t like to talk about one another, it’s true, so I have no doubt you heard little good of us from the eledhel. The glamredhel are the mad ones, those without purpose and without magic.

  They lived by their wits and held strong in the Edder Woods in the Northlands until they were hunted down and destroyed.’’

  James shook his head. ‘‘Destroyed? They’ve gone to Elvandar and now reside there.’’

  Gorath reined in his horse. ‘‘Delekhan!’’

  ‘‘What?’’ asked James, turning to look at the dark elf.

  ‘‘He let it be known that he had destroyed Earnon and his tribe in the Edder.’’

  ‘‘Well, Old King Redtree is alive and well, living up in Elvandar. Last I heard they were involved in some sort of discussion as to who was in charge.’’

  Gorath tilted his head, as if listening to something. ‘‘In charge? I do not understand.’’

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  ‘‘I don’t pretend I do, either,’’ said James as they followed another bend in the road and began approaching the waterfall.

  ‘‘Duke Martin is a regular visitor to Elvandar and sends reports to Krondor. As I understand it, Redtree and his people are trying to decide if they’re going to be part of Aglaranna’s people, or separate, but living among them. Something like that.’’

  ‘‘It’s passing strange,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I would assume Aglaranna would enslave them had they come begging for refuge.’’

  James laughed.

  ‘‘You find that funny?’’

  ‘‘I’ve met old Redtree, and he doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to beg or to accept slavery without killing a couple hundred people first.’’

  Gorath nodded. ‘‘He is a warrior of great skill and power.’’

  They could again feel the spray off the waterfall, and James asked, ‘‘Owyn, where is the entrance?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘We’ll have to tie the horses and walk from here.’’

  They did so, and as they reached a place beside the waterfall, where the spray was heavy enough to soak them in minutes, James said, ‘‘How many people knew of this entrance?’’

  ‘‘A few, in my family, and among the staff. Ugyne and I, along with Neville, used to play there. We got beaten when we were caught, and I don’t think the Baron ever found out that we knew the entire route from the keep to the bolt-hole.’’

  He pointed to a rock a few feet above his head. ‘‘This is why no one in the village ever found their way into the keep. I need a leg up.’’

  James made a cup with his hand and gave Owyn a boost, and the young magician pulled himself to the ledge. He said,

  ‘‘Hand me my staff.’’ They did, and he said, ‘‘Now, stand back.’’

  They stood away, and Owyn used his staff to move a rock.

  A rumbling caused James to move even farther back. A large rock face moved aside. Owyn jumped down with an ‘‘oof’’

  and stood up. ‘‘Getting out’s easy. There’s a lever just inside.

  Getting in is impossible if you don’t know the trick.’’

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  James moved just inside the entrance, and said, ‘‘Someone found the trick. Look.’’

  Dust had coated the entire length of the tunnel, but there were clear footprints running down the middle of the tunnel; many feet had trodden the floor recently. Gorath said, ‘‘As we move along this tunnel, we will soon lose the masking noise of the waterfall. Tread softly.’’

  James said, ‘‘We need a torch.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘No, we don’t. I’ll make us some light.’’

  Owyn closed his eyes, then held out his hand. A sphere of soft light surrounded him, less than would have come from a torch, but enough for them to see by. ‘‘That’s handy,’’ said James.

  Owyn shrugged. ‘‘Until recently I didn’t know if I’d ever use it for anything more significant than finding my way to the jakes in the middle of the night.’’

  James grinned. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

  He pulled his sword as did Gorath, and without a word they set off down the tunnel.

  A soft tread of boot leather on stone was all Gorath needed to warn them. He held up his hand and listened, his more-than-human hearing announcing the approach of someone. He turned and held up two fingers.

  James nodded and motioned for Owyn to move back down the tunnel, taking his faint light with him, while he and Gorath waited in the gloom for whoever came toward them. A moment later a light could be seen down the hall, approaching rapidly. Voices echoed off the rock.

  ‘‘I don’t like it,’’ said one.

  ‘‘You don’t have to like it. You only have to follow orders.’’

  ‘‘There used to be a lot more of us, if you remember.’’

  ‘‘I remember, but the fewer of us, the more gold—’’

  The two men turned the corner and Gorath and James leaped upon them. Catching them unexpectedly, James and Gorath had them down before they knew they were under attack.

  But surprise didn’t mean surrender, and the two assassins fought like cornered animals, forcing Owyn to run forward 171

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  with his staff and lay one low with a crushing blow to the head.

  The other died upon his own knife, as James fell heavily atop the man.

  James slowly rose, saying, ‘‘Damn. I wanted a prisoner.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘We are in their nest. It would be wise for us to leave now that we know where they are and return with soldiers.’’

  ‘‘Wise, perhaps, but my experience with these birds is they will have flown by the time we return. They are never abundant in number, and quite a few have died recently. I doubt there are more than a half dozen left between here and the Teeth of the World.’’ James pointed a finger down the hall from where the two had come. ‘‘But if we identify or trap their leader, we may finally be done with this bunch.

  ‘‘I thought them dead and buried ten years ago, but obviously I was wrong. At the least one or two of them fled to start this murderous brotherhood again. Only fanatics kill themselves like that. I must find out if these are but hired blades working for whoever pays the most, or if they are willing allies of your Delekhan.’’

  ‘‘What difference does it make
when it’s Kingdom throats being cut?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘Men who work for gold are one thing. Men pledged to dark causes are another. If these are men working for gold, we can deal with them at leisure, for they will know little beyond where to pick up their gold and whom to kill. But if they are involved in these dark plots, perhaps we will learn something’’—he pointed down the hall—‘‘down there.’’

  Gorath and Owyn exchanged glances, and Owyn said,

  ‘‘Well, I’d get bored out there waiting for you to come back.’’

  He held up his glowing ring. ‘‘Besides, I have the light.’’

  Gorath gave a grunt that might have passed for a chuckle.

  For nearly half an hour they walked through a long tunnel, then Owyn said, ‘‘There’s a storage room ahead, if I remember.’’

  They found a large wooden door, still intact and well oiled, behind which was a barracks. A score of beds were lined up, ten against each wall, and racks of weapons occupied the far 172

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  end of the room. Most of the beds hadn’t been slept in, but four showed recent occupation. Owyn pointed, and whispered,

  ‘‘Those two we killed may have friends close by.’’

  ‘‘Or they could have left already,’’ said James.

  They moved to the racks and saw the weapons were polished and ready. A variety of lethal-looking blades were stored in orderly fashion, as well as daggers, throwing knives, darts, and strangling cords. A shelf full of jars was attached to the wall above the rack. ‘‘Poisons, I’m willing to bet,’’ said James.

  He looked at Owyn. ‘‘How much farther do these tunnels go?’’

  ‘‘Miles if you mean all the levels. This is the lowest gallery, and there are three between this one and the basement of the old keep. Though I don’t think we could get there because of the caved-in wine cellar.’’ He pointed to a door at the opposite end of the room. ‘‘Through there is another room like this one, and then stairs up.’’

  James went to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he opened it and found another barracks, with twenty well-made empty beds. ‘‘No one has been here for a while,’’ he observed.