Ugyne introduced Owyn, James, and Gorath, and said, ‘‘This is my friend, Navon du Sandau.’’
James nodded, doing his best imitation of a man who had started drinking early. He nodded slightly to Owyn, who said,
‘‘I think I should resign.’’
With a smile, du Sandau said, ‘‘Don’t resign. Your position is difficult, but not hopeless.’’
Owyn looked at James, who again nodded slightly, and 181
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Owyn said, ‘‘Would you care to take over? I’m out of my depth.’’
Navon said, ‘‘If James doesn’t mind?’’
James shrugged. ‘‘By all means. It was simply a friendly game; no stakes.’’
Owyn stood up and stepped aside and Navon took his place.
He studied the board, and said, ‘‘My move?’’
James nodded. ‘‘It’s black’s move.’’
Navon studied the board and moved exactly as James had expected. James knew Navon was almost certainly a far better chess player than he was, but he had positioned the pieces as they had been during a game with the Keshian Ambassador, Lord Abdur Memo Hazara-Khan, only he had been in Navon’s position then. The ambassador had taken great pains to explain James’s mistake to him after the match, and the game was etched in James’s memory. Navon had moved exactly as Lord Hazara-Khan had told James he should have moved in that long-ago game.
Ugyne showed Owyn a silver locket with a tiny emerald in it. ‘‘See what Navon brought me?’’
Owyn nodded appreciatively and watched the match. Both men took great pains to consider every option before they moved. After three moves James was convinced that should this game run its course, Navon would eventually win. Only by starting from a position of dominance was he able to appear competent enough to keep Navon’s interest.
Gorath stood up, as if bored, and moved toward the door.
‘‘I’ll be back shortly,’’ he said to no one in particular.
This was Owyn’s cue, and he said, ‘‘Oh, Ugyne, do you remember that odd book on the family?’’
‘‘Which book?’’ asked the girl.
‘‘The one with all those strange stories in it. You showed it to me when we were little. It was written by some cleric.’’
‘‘Oh!’’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘‘You mean The Abbot’s Journal! Yes, I do. It’s funny, but I lent it to Navon here, a while ago, so he could learn about the family.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘Oh, I was hoping to read something in it I remembered from when I was a boy.’’
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the exchange behind him, he was a master of control. Not a twitch or flinch or even the slightest urge to turn and look at Owyn was evident. He was fixed upon the board before him.
Owyn asked, ‘‘Navon, do you have the book with you?’’
‘‘What?’’ he asked, looking over. ‘‘Book?’’
‘‘The family journal,’’ said Ugyne. ‘‘I lent it to you a month ago.’’
‘‘Oh, that,’’ he said offhandedly. ‘‘I left it at home. I’ll return it next week.’’
James nodded slightly, and Owyn returned the nod. He went to his backpack, which was on the floor behind Navon, and withdrew the journal from the pack. He put the book upon the table next to the board.
Suddenly Navon rose, overturning the table as he did so, knocking James on his back. He threw an elbow at Owyn’s chin, stunning the young magician.
Ugyne shrieked in alarm, and said, ‘‘Navon! What is it?’’
The man grabbed her by the wrist and turned her arm behind her back. He held her before him as he began backing toward the door. James came to his feet with his sword drawn, and saw Navon retreating. ‘‘Stand back or I’ll kill her,’’ he shouted, drawing his sword.
Ugyne shouted, ‘‘You bastard!’’ and stepped down as hard as she could on his instep. While he hopped backward, she twisted away.
James reached out, as quickly as possible, and yanked the girl free, sending her sprawling toward Owyn, who caught her.
Navon glanced backward, and said, ‘‘I suppose your elf friend is standing outside the door.’’ He circled away from the door, putting his back to the wall.
James advanced, sword at the ready. ‘‘Put that down, and we’ll have a chat. There are some questions that must be answered.’’
Navon said, ‘‘The instant I set eyes on you, I knew you were trouble. You look like that bastard Lysle Riggers down in Malac’s Cross.’’
James grinned. ‘‘I’ve been told that before.’’
Navon said, ‘‘I assume you are the bunch that killed my men.’’
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‘‘Sorry we couldn’t accommodate them in their mission,’’
said James, ‘‘but I have work yet unfinished.’’
Navon leaped forward and lashed out with his blade, and James parried. He knew he faced a master swordsman. The only comfort he took was that he had spent ten years practicing with the best swordsman in the Kingdom. The exchange was quick, parry, counter, thrust, and parry, and both men moved back.
‘‘Well-done,’’ said Navon, a note of honest appreciation in his voice. ‘‘I don’t suppose you could see your way clear to just back away and let me get to my horse.’’
‘‘Too many secrets, Navon. Or should I say Neville.’’
Ugyne screeched, ‘‘Neville!’’
Navon’s eyes widened slightly, and a look of concern crossed his face. ‘‘Say what you will, James of Krondor. Soon it won’t matter.’’ He launched another attack, a low, high, low combination that drove James back and almost got him killed as he tried to counter and Navon changed his line of attack.
But James did manage to avoid a lunge and got inside Navon’s extension and almost cut him in return. After the two furious exchanges, both men stood dripping in perspiration, and each knew he faced an accomplished opponent.
Owyn moved Ugyne away from the struggle, toward the kitchen, and said, ‘‘Stay out of the way.’’
‘‘But your friend called him Neville. What is he saying?’’
‘‘What he’s saying, dear sister,’’ said James’s opponent, ‘‘is you have been gulled into thinking I was dead.’’
‘‘Sister!’’ shrieked Ugyne, resisting Owyn’s attempts to get her out of the way. ‘‘My brother’s dead!’’
‘‘I’ll explain everything, after I kill your friend here.’’
The fight continued. Every move was met by a counter, and every riposte was parried. The two men fell into a rhythm, and each waited for the other to make a mistake. After another two minutes, James knew that’s what it would come down to: whoever made the first mistake would die.
Back and forth they fenced, as fine a display of swordsman-ship as had ever been seen in Cavell. Owyn tried to move to a place he might help James, but the movement of the two men 184
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was so precise and fluid, so quick and deadly, he hesitated lest he inadvertently cause his companion’s death.
James’s hair hung limply, drenched with sweat. He crouched low, sword ready, awaiting the next attack. The man known as Navon said, ‘‘You’re very good. Both chess and swordsman-ship. A rare combination.’’
‘‘I had good teachers,’’ said James, using the pause to catch his breath. He studied every move of his opponent, waiting for some hint of what was to come next.
Navon stood motionless, also catching his breath. James was tempted to press the attack, then realized that was his opponent’s tactic. As if to demonstrate the point, Navon let his sword point lower slightly, as if fatigue was making him sloppy. James calculated the odds of using this to his advantage. He said, ‘‘I learned chess from the Ambassador from Great Kesh.’’
Navon smiled. ‘‘Hazara-Khan! I would love to play him. I have heard he may be the best in the world
.’’
‘‘Put down your sword, and I’ll see if I can arrange a match.
Of course, you’ll have to play in the dungeon in Krondor,’’
and with that last word, James launched an intentionally bad attack, and as he suspected, Navon’s response was fast and deadly. Only James’s swift reflexes saved him.
Navon grinned. ‘‘Close.’’
‘‘I’ve had closer,’’ said James, now sure of his opponent’s abilities.
‘‘Who taught you the sword?’’
James started another bad attack, a high line with his sword hilt higher than the point, so it appeared he was attempting to stab downward. Navon responded exactly as James had expected, and had James leaped back as most men would in that position, Navon would have skewered him. Instead, James leaned forward, his left hand touching the floor, allowing Navon’s blade to pass over his back, actually cutting through the cloth of his tunic from shoulder down to mid-back. James rolled his wrist, bringing the point of his sword under, then up, and Navon ran onto the point.
As the leader of the Nighthawks stood stunned, in aston-185
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ished silence, James said, ‘‘I learned the sword from Prince Arutha.’’
James pulled free the point of his sword, and Navon collapsed to his knees. For a moment he stared at James with eyes full of questions, but then life fled from them, and he fell forward to strike the floor.
James put up his sword and knelt to examine Navon. ‘‘He’s dead,’’ said the squire.
Ugyne stood behind the bar, next to Peter the Grey, and demanded shrilly, ‘‘What is going on?’’
James stood up, and said, ‘‘We’ll explain everything, but right now, I need Owyn to go get your father. There’s a mystery still to be unraveled.’’
As Owyn ran to the door, James shouted, ‘‘And watch out—’’
Owyn opened the door, and Gorath unloaded a blow to the face that sent the young magician flying back into the room.
‘‘—for Gorath,’’ finished James. He rose and crossed to where Owyn lay unconscious. Shaking his head, James turned to Ugyne and said, ‘‘Could you please get your father, miss?’’
The girl ran off to do as bid, and Peter the Grey came over and said, ‘‘Pardon me, sir, but . . . well, I don’t know any other way to say this: I really must ask you to leave.’’
James looked at the mild-mannered innkeeper and laughed.
‘‘I understand.’’
A pale-faced Baron Corvallis arrived as they were hauling away the body of the man named Navon. James said, ‘‘M’lord, we have a mystery to unravel.’’
The Baron Cavell said, ‘‘What is all this?’’
Ugyne said, ‘‘He called Navon ‘Neville,’ Father.’’
If the Baron had looked wan when he arrived, what remaining color had been in his face drained, and he looked as if he might faint. ‘‘Neville?’’
James indicated the Baron should sit, and said, ‘‘My lord, there’s been murder done, not just recently, but years ago. Tell me about du Sandau and the wine cellar.’’
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he pulled his hand away at last, James saw mostly relief in his eyes. ‘‘He was your brother, Ugyne. That is why I was so adamant about your not seeing him. He was courting you to enrage me.’’
‘‘I don’t understand,’’ said the girl.
James said, ‘‘Neville was your brother.’’ He looked at the Baron. ‘‘But he was not your father’s son.’’
The Baron’s color rose, and he nodded, looking as if he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
James said to the girl, ‘‘I did some snooping around. There are always those willing to gossip. It seems the man your father hired, Sandau, was a sculptor as well as a mason. He was reputed to have a way with the ladies. According to one of the old women I talked with, he was a big, handsome man, with a flamboyant nature, the type who appeals to some women.’’
The Baron’s face flushed.
Ugyne said, ‘‘My mother was unfaithful?’’
James said, ‘‘It has been known to happen.’’
She looked at her father as if he was a stranger. ‘‘You had Sandau killed?’’
‘‘I arranged for an accident,’’ he said weakly. ‘‘I didn’t know it would get so out of hand. The cave-in killed a half dozen men. And, I thought, Neville.’’ Looking as if he was growing angry, the Baron said, ‘‘I didn’t know the boy was going to be down there!’’ He slapped the table. ‘‘I tried to treat him fairly.’’
Looking at Ugyne, he said, ‘‘Your mother and I never talked about it after I found out. I tried to raise the boy as my own.’’
She stood up, and said, ‘‘I don’t know you.’’ She backed away a few steps. ‘‘I don’t know you at all.’’ She turned and ran from the inn.
James said, ‘‘Baron, we have pressing business, but this will all be mentioned in my report to the Prince of Krondor. I suggest you take a trip to see your liege lord in Romney, and perhaps the King as well. To both of them you own a complete confession, and I think you need to put your affairs in order.
I doubt the King will permit you back as Baron. I might also suggest you send Ugyne to stay with Owyn’s family for a while.’’
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Owyn regained consciousness, and said, ‘‘What happened?’’
Gorath helped him to his feet. ‘‘I was expecting someone else. Sorry.’’ The last actually sounded sincere.
Owyn rubbed his swelling jaw. ‘‘I’ll be all right.’’ He looked around. ‘‘What happened?’’
‘‘I’ll tell you on the way.’’
‘‘On the way where?’’ asked Owyn.
James produced a key he had taken off of Navon. ‘‘Back to Cavell Run.’’
When the door was again open, James said, ‘‘I knew that only a family member would be able to know how to trigger that door from the outside,’’ as Owyn jumped down from the ledge. ‘‘If the other children in the village couldn’t find it, Navon du Sandau from Kenting Rush wasn’t going to blunder up here and find his way into the run.
‘‘So, I asked a few questions and got the clues I needed,’’ he said as they walked back into the dark tunnel. Owyn produced another light with his magic, and James continued. ‘‘We’ve met the Baron. It doesn’t take much imagination to see the Baroness attracted to a flamboyant, handsome man, even if he’s a common mason. So Neville is conceived.
‘‘The Baron finds out he’s not the father, and he and his wife agree not to discuss it, but every day he sees the boy and is reminded of the betrayal.
‘‘So, after a decade of daily insult to his manhood, he decides to lure the betrayer up to the run, rig an accident, and extract his revenge. Unfortunately, the boy was watching the work being done when the accident happened.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘And I wasn’t here, and Ugyne couldn’t open the entrance by herself from outside.’’
‘‘And perhaps the Baron himself didn’t realize there was an outside trigger. I don’t know, and mostly, I don’t care. He killed at least four men and will have to be tried for that.’’
They reached the barracks and headed for the stairs to the door with the lock. ‘‘Neville somehow found his way out of the run. I suspect he was either injured, terrified, or both. We will never know how or why, but somehow he got out and lived. Someone found him, and he survived. It might have 188
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been the Nighthawks, or he might have come to them later. It may be that a bright young and talented lad like Neville might have seized the opportunity to take control of the Nighthawks when Arutha all but stamped them out in Krondor, ten years ago. It would have been the right time for survivors of that destruction to have been seeking sanctuary in an out-of-the-way place like the run.
>
‘‘They changed his appearance enough so it wasn’t apparent to those who knew the boy that he was the same person. Some people change dramatically between eleven summers and twenty-two. Or maybe they used some magic. As I’ve said, we’ll never know. But we do know there were relationships that Neville inherited, between the Nighthawks, the moredhel, and the Pantathians.’’
Gorath almost spat at the last. ‘‘Damn snakes and their hot-land magic. I can’t abide them.’’
‘‘But Murmandamus counted them useful.’’ James didn’t share the secret that Murmandamus had actually been a Pantathian in disguise, magically altered to look like a moredhel.
He reached the lock and used the key he had taken from Navon. The key turned and the lock opened, and James pushed up on the trapdoor.
It swung away and he mounted the steps and found himself in private quarters. He quickly glanced through the single door and found another barracks, empty and unused for years. But the small room contained chests with gold, gems, and documents.
James ignored the gems and gold, and quickly read through documents.
After a moment, he said, ‘‘Damn me!’’
‘‘What?’’ asked Owyn.
‘‘Northwarden. Delekhan is attacking through Northwarden.’’
Gorath said, ‘‘Why?’’
James was silent a moment, holding up his hand to fend off questions while he thought. ‘‘It makes sense. That’s why all this murderous insanity has been under way.
‘‘If Delekhan overruns Northwarden, he can come down the River Vosna; it runs along the northern foothills of the Calara Mountains, and runs through Mastak Gorge. From there it’s 189
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only a short portage to the headwaters of the River Rom. After that, he’s only days from Romney. Romney!’’ He looked at Owyn and Gorath. ‘‘That’s why all the troubles in Romney.
He needs a city in chaos so it can’t mount resistance.’’
‘‘Why Romney?’’ asked Owyn.
‘‘Because from there he takes the River Rom south, and where it turns back toward the southeast he lands and marches overland to Sethanon. There’s nothing but open plain and light woodlands by that route.’’