Krondor: The Betrayal

  ‘‘Not quite true,’’ said Gorath, pointing. ‘‘One pair of footprints. Heading that way.’’ He indicated the far end of the room.

  At the far end of the room stone stairs rose up the wall, to a hole in the ceiling. Next to the stairs was a bed left unmade, apart from the others. A huge wardrobe had been placed next to the bed, incongruous in its setting. It was made of highly polished wood with gilt trim, and when James opened it, clothing of expensive weave and boots of fine leather could be seen.

  ‘‘I’m willing to bet the leader of this band of cutthroats is the dandy who uses this bed.’’ He looked around. ‘‘See if there’s anything here that might identify this fashion plate. I’m going to check the next floor.’’

  James hurried up the steps and discovered a large wooden door barred the way. It was attached to the stones by heavy hinges and a hasp with a lock. Locks had rarely proven a problem to the former thief, but this one was of ingenious design, and James had fallen out of the habit of traveling with lockpicks. ‘‘Owyn, what’s up here?’’

  Owyn paused, as if searching his memory, then said, ‘‘It’s 173

  Raymond E. Feist

  another storage room, smaller, but similar to this one, and then there’s a long tunnel leading back into the mountain.’’

  James came down the stairs. ‘‘Either our quarry is hiding something up there from his own men, or he’s fearful of someone stumbling into this lair from above.’’

  ‘‘I doubt the second case,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Someone would have to get into the old keep, know how to activate the door from the armory to the first tunnel, and besides, most of the upper passages were buried in the collapse of the old wine cellar.’’

  ‘‘Then he’s keeping something under lock for his own reasons.’’

  ‘‘Perhaps gold,’’ suggested Gorath. ‘‘Assassins would have to be paid.’’

  James said, ‘‘There is that.’’ He came down the stairs.

  ‘‘Find anything?’’

  ‘‘Just this,’’ said Owyn. He held out a book.

  James took it and read the title on the first page. ‘‘The Abbot’s Journal,’’ he read aloud. He flipped a few pages, and said, ‘‘It’s a collection of stories about your uncle’s family, it seems.’’ He handed it back to Owyn. ‘‘How did it get here?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I have no idea. It may have gotten lost when my uncle evacuated the keep after the fire, and someone combing the rubble above might have found it.’’

  ‘‘Bring it along,’’ said James. ‘‘I think I’ll do some reading before bed tonight.’’

  James led them back the way they had come.

  James moved the beds, and Gorath asked, ‘‘Is this some human custom of which I’m not aware?’’

  James grinned. ‘‘Unless there were no other Nighthawks around, someone is going to find it odd that two of their lads went missing. My best guess is Nighthawks don’t usually go absent without permission. So it’s not unlikely that whoever discovers they are gone might decide to come see if we three had something to do with it.’’

  Once he had the beds crowded against the door, he said, ‘‘If they act as usual, one or more of them will come through that window while the rest come in that door. They’ll come fast, through the outer door and up the stairs before Peter the Grey 174

  KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

  can get out of bed to find out what’s causing all the noise. If they work as planned, by the time old Peter gets through the kitchen and up these stairs he’ll find three bodies here and an open window.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘If they come.’’

  James grinned. ‘‘Oh, they’ll come. We’re the only newcomers in the area who’ve been hanging around, visiting the Baron, asking questions. I just don’t know if they’ll come tonight or tomorrow night.’’ James turned the lamp low, enough so he could read, sat down next to the lamp on the floor, and opened the book he had Owyn carry back from Cavell Run.

  Owyn produced a second book, and said, ‘‘I might as well put this time to good use, as well. I’ve neglected this too long.’’

  ‘‘What is it?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘My book of magic.’’

  ‘‘You wrote a book?’’ asked the dark elf.

  ‘‘No, it’s a book each student keeps, recording thoughts, discoveries, and notations of things observed or learned.’’ He produced a quill and a tiny vial of ink. ‘‘When Nago almost hit me with that spell he threw, I sensed something, and, well, it’s hard to explain, but I’m puzzling out how he did it. I think with some more study I can do it.’’

  James looked up. ‘‘What does it do?’’

  ‘‘If I’m right, it should immobilize the person struck, maybe more.’’

  ‘‘More?’’ asked James, now very interested.

  ‘‘I think it might eventually kill the victim.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘If it immobilizes, what does it matter? You just pull out your dagger and walk up and cut his throat.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I guess. When I was at Stardock, the teachers didn’t delve too deeply into violent applications.’’

  James yawned. ‘‘Which is wise. It wouldn’t do to have a bunch of you youngsters wandering around that island tossing off fireballs and blasts of lightning at each other. The tavern brawls would be pretty impressive in the carnage they left behind.’’

  Owyn laughed. ‘‘Maybe you’re right. I’m but twenty and two summers, and some of the students were twice my age. I think magic takes a long time to master.’’

  175

  Raymond E. Feist

  James said, ‘‘If one ever does master it.’’

  ‘‘I heard Pug was a true master,’’ said Owyn.

  James yawned again. ‘‘I’ve seen him do some pretty impressive things,’’ he admitted through his yawn. ‘‘Mercy, but this waiting is trying on the nerves.’’

  ‘‘Then get some sleep,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I’ll watch.’’

  Owyn asked, ‘‘Do you know Pug well?’’

  ‘‘We met a few times,’’ said James. ‘‘Why? Didn’t you meet him at Stardock?’’

  ‘‘No, I saw him from time to time, with his family, but he spends most of his time in his tower or off away from Stardock. Most of the teaching is done by others. I met him only that one time in Krondor, briefly, when his daughter was trying to read Gorath’s mind.’’

  ‘‘I’ve never met the girl, though I hear she’s a nice kid,’’

  said James, as he thumbed through the book. ‘‘Her brother Willie’s a good lad. He’s training to be an officer in Arutha’s guard.’’

  ‘‘Hmmm,’’ said Owyn, and James glanced over to see the young magician lost in his notes.

  James looked through the book in his lap again for nearly a half hour. ‘‘This is the most improbable collection of accounts and . . . outright fabrications I’ve ever encountered.’’

  Owyn looked up. ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘There’s lists of births and deaths, as if someone sat down one day and told this Abbot Cafrel the Cavell family history in one sitting, then suddenly we’re talking about missing treasure, swords of incredible magic power, and curses.’’

  ‘‘Sounds interesting,’’ said Gorath, who was trying to be polite.

  James laughed. ‘‘I agree,’’ he said, putting aside the book.

  ‘‘You watch, and I’ll sleep. Wake me in two hours.’’

  James curled up and Owyn studied, and Gorath watched the window, his hand resting on his sword.

  They came the next night. James had again been reading the Cavell family history, and Owyn was meditating on the bed, his eyes closed as he was developing a method of casting the 176

  KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

  spell Nago had used on him. Gorath lay sleeping on the floor, having elected to sit the later watch.

  One moment James was reading, and the next he was moving, his sword coming out of his scabbard. Owyn was shot f
orward by two heavy bodies hitting the other side of the door as the window shutters exploded inward. An assassin had tied a rope to the roof beam and swung out, so he could crash feetfirst through the wooden shutters into the room.

  He caught James full in the chest, and the squire flew backwards into Gorath. Owyn came up on his knees, then fell back out of the way of a sword blow, while behind him someone was trying to force the door open.

  Owyn had been halfway through constructing the spell in his mind and suddenly letters of fire seemed to burn in his mind’s eye. He raised his hand and pointed it at the assassin, who was again raising his sword. An evil purple-grey sphere, black veins of energy dancing across its surface, leaped from his hand, striking the assassin in the face. The man froze as if suddenly transformed into purple stone, blue sparkles of energy dancing across the surface of his body. A faint moan of pain escaped his lips.

  James was up and ran to the window, thrusting his sword through it as another man tried to swing in. The second Nighthawk was impaled on the blade and fell into the stable yard below, striking the stones with a sickening wet thud.

  Gorath regained his footing and threw his weight against the door. He shouted, ‘‘Do we try to hold the door?’’

  James said, ‘‘When I yell, jump back and pull that last bed with you.’’

  Owyn was staring at the entranced assassin in wide-eyed wonder. ‘‘It worked!’’ he whispered.

  James struck the ensorcelled man as hard as he could across the back of the head with the flat of his sword, and he crum-pled to the ground, the energy around him vanishing. ‘‘Can you do it again?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’

  ‘‘Then get out of the way! Gorath, now!’’

  Gorath did as he was told, and Owyn grabbed the bed and 177

  Raymond E. Feist

  pulled it away as well. The other two beds began to slide away from the door.

  ‘‘If I know my Nighthawks,’’ said James, ‘‘I suggest you duck . . . now!’’

  Both men did so as James fell to the floor. The door burst open and two crossbow bolts flew into the room and vanished out the window. James instantly jumped atop the bed Gorath and Owyn had just moved. He bounced off the bed and crashed into the two men closest to the door, sending them through the railing of the stairs to the floor below. He slid over the edge of the landing, barely avoiding a fall by grabbing a part of a shattered post. His sword went clattering to the floor below, as an astonished and shocked Peter the Grey entered the room from behind the bar. ‘‘What?’’

  James looked up from where he hung to see a Nighthawk standing over him, sword raised high. The assassin’s eyes went round as Gorath ran him through with his sword. The last Nighthawk tumbled over James to the floor below, landing at Peter’s feet.

  ‘‘Oh, my word!’’ said the innkeeper. ‘‘My word!’’

  James hung by one hand, and said, ‘‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble . . .’’

  Gorath’s powerful hand seized him by the wrist and hauled him up to the landing. James said, ‘‘Thank you,’’ and hurried down the stairs, rubbing his sore shoulder. ‘‘I’m getting too old for that sort of thing,’’ he observed.

  ‘‘What is going on?’’ asked Peter.

  James knelt next to the last assassin and began searching the body. ‘‘These men tried to kill us,’’ he answered calmly. ‘‘We didn’t let them.’’

  ‘‘Well . . .’’ said the innkeeper. ‘‘Well . . . I . . .’’ After a moment, he said, ‘‘Well,’’ one more time.

  James said, ‘‘Get somebody in here to clean up the mess, Peter. Else your customers may be put off their meals.’’

  The innkeeper turned and hurried off to do as he was bid.

  Instructions like that he understood. To Owyn, James said,

  ‘‘You’d better go get your uncle and explain to him that we’ve just removed most of the Nighthawks who were stalking him.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I think he might not even object too much to 178

  KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

  being awakened in the middle of the night for that bit of news.’’

  After Owyn left, Gorath said, ‘‘I noticed you said, ‘most of the Nighthawks who were stalking him.’ ’’

  James stood up after having found nothing useful on the bodies. ‘‘We still have one Nighthawk to go, I think. At least one who matters.’’

  ‘‘The leader?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘And how do you propose to find him?’’

  ‘‘I don’t,’’ said James with a satisfied smile. ‘‘He will find us. And I think it will be this weekend when a certain chess player arrives to pay court to Owyn’s cousin.’’

  Gorath considered that, then nodded. ‘‘He’s a logical suspect, but how will you prove it? Accuse him in public?’’

  ‘‘Unlike your people, where I suspect an open challenge of honor carries some weight, this is a man whose honor is non-existent. He is one who lurks in shadows and kills from behind trees. He would only deny an accusation.’’

  ‘‘So then how do you get him to confess. Torture?’’

  James laughed. ‘‘I’ve always considered torture to be of dubious benefit. Fanatics will die with a lie on their lips, and an innocent man will condemn himself to stop the pain.’’

  ‘‘I have found that torture, applied judiciously, can yield interesting results.’’

  ‘‘No doubt,’’ said James, with a look of mixed amusement and alarm.

  Peter the Grey returned with his stable man and two workers, all of whom lost their sleepy slowness when they saw the bodies. ‘‘Take them out back and burn the bodies,’’ instructed the innkeeper. As they complied, he looked at the shattered balcony railing, and asked, ‘‘Who will pay for this?’’

  James dug out a gold coin, and said, ‘‘I will. If I find the man behind this, I’ll recover my gold from him. No need for you to bear the burden of cost.’’

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ said Peter, greatly relieved.

  Owyn returned with his uncle behind him, dressed in his nightclothes with a large cloak around his shoulders. He was still barefoot. ‘‘You’ve killed the Nighthawks?’’ he asked.

  179

  Raymond E. Feist

  James said, ‘‘I’m certain we’ve stamped out most of them in the area.’’

  Baron Corvallis was almost beside himself with glee. Then his mood turned darker. ‘‘Most?’’

  ‘‘There’s some business I think needs to be finished by Sixthday, then I think you’ll be safe from the Guild of Assassins, m’lord.’’

  Corvallis said, ‘‘Owyn, you couldn’t have awakened me for better cause.’’ To James he said, ‘‘I must pen a missive to Arutha, commending you to him for your good works this day.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, sir,’’ said James, ‘‘but I’ll be sending my own report to the Prince.’’

  ‘‘No false modesty, my boy.’’ He put a fatherly hand on James’s shoulder. ‘‘You must take praise where it comes. You might not be a squire all your life. Who knows, with a friend in court, and with recommendations such as mine, why someday you might rise to the rank of Baronet or even Baron!’’

  James grinned. ‘‘One never knows.’’

  ‘‘Well, then,’’ said the Baron, turning toward the door. To Peter he said, ‘‘Provide these gentlemen with whatever they need.’’ To Owyn he said, ‘‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am.

  I look forward to your company on Sixthday.’’

  He hurried out, and Owyn asked, ‘‘What now?’’

  James looked at the mess, and said, ‘‘I think some sleep is in order.’’

  He retrieved his sword from where it had landed, cleaned it off on the tunic of the last dead Nighthawk, and as Peter the Grey returned to the commons, said, ‘‘Master Grey, there’s another dead one up in our room. Please remove it as well.’’

  ‘‘Oh, my word!’’ said the innkeeper.

  ‘
‘He’s here,’’ said Owyn, hurrying into the room. Gorath and James had been resting on their beds, trying to relax after the fury of the night before.

  James said, ‘‘You’re certain it’s him?’’

  ‘‘Dandy, wearing fine clothing, and Ugyne is riding behind him with her head on his shoulder, just to annoy her father.’’

  ‘‘That’s our man,’’ said James. ‘‘Let him find us already half-drunk.’’

  180

  KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

  They hurried downstairs to an empty commons, and found things ready as James had requested. A chessboard had been set up, and James had positioned the men as he wanted. Several empty tankards had been left nearby, and he signaled for Peter to bring over three half-filled.

  Owyn sat opposite James, and said, ‘‘I hope you don’t expect me to comment on this game. I have no idea what I’m looking at.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ said James, ‘‘because your part is to do nothing but look confused.’’

  Owyn’s brow furrowed as he said, ‘‘Well, I can do that with conviction.’’

  The door opened a short while later and Ugyne came in, almost skipping, leading by the hand a person who could only be Navon du Sandau. He was what James expected: tall, dressed in black with a white scarf around his neck. He wore a neatly trimmed pointed beard, a golden earring with a large diamond, and several golden chains which hung down his chest. He walked easily, with his left hand upon his sword hilt. James noted that while the hilt of the sword was decorative, too, it was well worn, and the blade was almost certainly sharp and well oiled. It was a rapier, and the only other man James knew who preferred the rapier as a weapon of choice was the Prince of Krondor. Light and agile, the rapier was a deadly weapon in the hands of a master, but in the hands of a novice, it was an easy way to get killed.

  James had no doubt that Navon was a master. As Ugyne approached, she said, ‘‘Owyn, I have someone I want you to meet.’’

  Owyn looked up, and said, ‘‘Good. You can save me from humiliation.’’