Krondor: The Betrayal

  ‘‘Your Highness is gracious,’’ said Gorath.

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  ‘‘Rest, and tomorrow go with the patrol I send to Malac’s Cross. It is faster than trying to go straight through the woods toward Sethanon, and around the mountains to Darkmoor. I’ll have documents drawn and you can commandeer an escort at Malac’s Cross and at Darkmoor. They should get you to Krondor safely. Once there, Pug will know what to do.’’

  Owyn and Gorath departed, and a soldier escorted them to a tent. He held aside the tent flap, and said, ‘‘The lads who sleep here are on patrol until tomorrow, so they won’t mind your sleeping here if you don’t steal nothing.’’ He smiled to show he was joking, but Gorath fixed him with a stare that caused the smile to fade.

  He hurried away, saying, ‘‘There’s food at the big fire near the Prince’s tent when you’re hungry.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘It will be good to eat hot food again.’’ He glanced over to one of the bedrolls to find Owyn already face-down and snoring.

  James cursed all petty Barons who answered only to the King as he negotiated his way along a frozen ridge, his breath forming clouds of white before him as he exhaled. The air stung each time he inhaled, his toes were numb, and his stomach reminded him he had not eaten yet.

  James had arrived within hours of Locklear at Baron Gabot’s fortress, a towering keep of stone which dominated one of the three major passes through the eastern half of the Teeth of the World. Unlike Highcastle, which had sat in the middle of the pass itself, providing a barrier that was a controlled gate, Northwarden rose up on a small peak, around which wound the pass known as Northland’s Door. A single road wound down the side of the large hill in a lazy S-curve, widening as it descended. Designed this way, the road gave the double benefit of allowing the Baron’s forces to spread out as they charged down to intercept any foe, while forcing any attackers to concentrate a smaller force in the van should they be foolish enough to attack up the road.

  What kept the road below in Baron Gabot’s control was a series of siege engines mounted on two walls, the north and west. The western defenses were the heaviest, while the north-217

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  ern were designed to harry any forces attempting to come down the pass and negotiate the turn up the road to the keep.

  Mangonels and catapults, as well as a trio of heavy ballistae over the main gate, ensured that any army attempting to pass would take critical casualties before they rounded the pass and got beyond the engines’ range. Some soldiers would get past, it was certain, but nothing resembling an organized force. And to deal with any who did win through, the Baron kept a small garrison of horse soldiers in a barracks near the small town of Dencamp-On-The-Teeth.

  Baron Gabot had felt confident that any threat coming through Northwarden could be dealt with by his command.

  That had been a welcome response to James, though he hoped fervently that Owyn and Gorath had reached Arutha in the Dimwood and help was on the way. He was beginning to worry. Had they reached Arutha and convinced him of the warning, the Prince’s army should have been arriving at Northwarden now.

  Instead, there was only silence. Gabot had sent another message to the Dimwood, at James’s urging, requesting support from the Prince, and had also sent word south via fast messenger to the King, his liege lord. At least, thought James, Gabot wasn’t as stiff-necked as old Baron Brian Highcastle, who had managed to get himself killed ignoring Arutha’s advice when Murmandamus had driven south over his position. With luck, Arutha would receive Gabot’s message even if Gorath and Owyn hadn’t survived.

  James found himself hoping that wasn’t the case; he had grown fond of the youth from Timons, and he was surprised to find he also had come to like something about the moredhel.

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something definite about the dark elf, a lack of uncertainty about who or what he was; few men had it, and James admired it. Even more, he admired the moredhel’s ability to put aside his own personal dislike for humans to seek their aid in opposing what he saw as a great wrong against his people.

  Locklear waved and pointed. As a favor for Baron Gabot, since dawn he and James had been scouting ahead to see if advance moredhel units were anywhere in the north end of 218

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  the pass. A patrol had headed out two days before, accompanied by a magician now in the Baron’s employ, and the Baron was concerned about their fate. It went unsaid that the two squires were no loss to the Baron should any harm befall them, while losing another patrol to the enemy would severely weaken Northwarden. James and Locklear couldn’t contrive a plausible reason to say no, so here on the second day of their trip they were working their way through the frozen dawn, with James silently cursing all Border Barons.

  A noise ahead had alerted them to a possible enemy position. Locklear was holding his horse while James climbed above the floor of the pass to a high ridge to get a look ahead.

  A single figure scampered along the trail, holding the hem of his ivory-colored robe with one hand, exposing spindly legs as he hurried. In his other hand he held a large staff, shod at either end with iron caps.

  Every hundred feet or so, he would turn and pause, and when a pursuing figure would come into view, he’d unleash a bolt of energy, a blast of flame the size of a melon, a tactic that was producing little real damage, but which served to keep the pursuer from closing. James began scrambling down the hillside, while Locklear shouted, ‘‘What is it?’’

  Sliding the last dozen yards, James hit the ground running, and said, ‘‘I think we’ve found Gabot’s magician.’’ He pulled a crossbow off the back of his horse and quickly cranked it up and placed a bolt in it, while Locklear drew his sword and waited.

  The old man rounded a corner and hesitated when he saw the two squires. Locklear signed for him to come on, and shouted, ‘‘This way!’’

  The old man hurried, and when the moredhel who was chasing him rounded the same corner, James drew a bead on him, then let fly with his crossbow. The bolt sped across the gap and took the moredhel right off his feet, propelling him backward.

  Locklear said, ‘‘You’ve been practicing. I’m impressed.’’

  ‘‘I’ll never learn to use the bow, but this thing is pretty easy,’’ said James, putting away the crossbow.

  ‘‘Not very accurate, though.’’

  James nodded. ‘‘Find a good one, then keep it. Some of them 219

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  shoot all over the place; this one usually hits what I’m aiming at.’’

  The old man was puffing a bit, and when he reached them, he put his staff down and leaned on it. ‘‘Thanks, lads. That was a little closer than I care to think about.’’

  ‘‘Are you Master Patrus?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Just Patrus,’’ said the old man. ‘‘Yes, I’m he. Why, you looking for me?’’

  James said, ‘‘And a company of Baron Gabot’s soldiers.’’

  The old man was slender and had a silly hat the same color as his robe, which looked more like a nightcap than any sort of proper hat. Along with the ivory-colored robe, the old man appeared to be walking about in his nightclothes. He sported a wispy grey moustache and goatee. He pointed back the way he had come. ‘‘We got jumped a half day back, by a mixed company of those damned Dark Brothers and trolls. Those trolls were a handful, I can tell you.’’

  James said, ‘‘I’ve fought them. You’re the only one to get away?’’

  ‘‘One or another of the lads may have found a way through.

  Some of them got up into the ridges. I’m an old man; best I could do was hurry along the road and keep them ducking behind me.’’

  ‘‘Where did they jump you?’’

  ‘‘About two miles ahead,’’ said the old magician.

  ‘‘That staff of yours is handy,’’ observed Locklear.

  ‘‘Well, lad, the truth is
it’s a little bit of fire, not much more than a scorch mark if it hits you, but it’s just hot enough to make you duck if you see the fireball coming at you. I made the thing years ago to impress some pesky townspeople down south who were trying to run me off. A few little fireballs tossed their way, and they left me alone.’’

  James laughed. ‘‘Owyn didn’t tell me you were such a character.’’

  ‘‘Owyn Belefote? Where do you know that rascal from?’’

  asked Patrus.

  ‘‘It’s a long story. I’ll tell you while we walk. If you’re up to it, I want to check out the place those trolls jumped you.

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  Otherwise, you can continue back to Northwarden. It should be safe between here and there.’’

  ‘‘I think I’ll stick close to you, lads. Who are you?’’

  ‘‘I’m Squire James of Krondor, and this is Squire Locklear.

  We’re members of the Prince’s court.’’ They started walking their horses rather than ride while the old man walked.

  ‘‘Prince Arutha’s lads? You wouldn’t happen to know Pug of Stardock, would you?’’

  ‘‘We’ve had the pleasure,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘I’d like to meet him sometime. I’ve heard a thing or two about his academy. Told Owyn he ought to get himself down there; I’d taught him everything he could learn.’’

  James said, ‘‘Locklear here met Owyn on his way back from Stardock; he was visiting his aunt in Yabon. I think Stardock didn’t work out too well for him.’’

  ‘‘Bah!’’ said the old magician, picking his way along the road with his staff. ‘‘The boy has talent, a fair amount from what I can tell, but I think he’s one of those Greater Paths, whatever that is, because a lot of what I tried to teach him just didn’t work. But the things that did, why, he was fierce with it, he was.’’ The old country magician looked up the pass, and said,

  ‘‘Company’s coming.’’

  Locklear drew his sword, and James unlimbered his crossbow again. But rather than trolls or dark elves, two dusty members of Baron Gabot’s company came into view. One was obviously wounded, and the other looked very tired.

  ‘‘Patrus!’’ said the wounded soldier. ‘‘We thought they’d gotten you.’’

  ‘‘Not even close,’’ said the old man with a grin. ‘‘These lads lent a hand.’’

  ‘‘I’m Squire James. What did you see?’’

  The senior-most soldier reported, indicating a squad of twenty Dark Brothers and an equal number of trolls had ambushed their patrol, and only a falling-out between the two factions had kept them from killing all of Gabot’s men.

  ‘‘That’s interesting,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘Very,’’ agreed James. ‘‘If they’re fighting, it’s over pay.’’

  Patrus nodded. ‘‘Troll mercenaries don’t wait to get paid.

  They go back home or take it out of your hide.’’

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  ‘‘I don’t know what caused the row,’’ said the wounded soldier, ‘‘but we were running and one of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path yelled something at a troll, and instead of chasing us, the troll turned and tried to slice up the brother. It was a fair me´leé by the time we got away.’’

  The other soldier nodded. ‘‘They had their blood up, the trolls did, and they seemed just as satisfied killing Dark Brothers as they did us.’’

  ‘‘Great,’’ said James. ‘‘Confusion to the enemy. Now, you boys all right to get back to the Baron alone?’’

  ‘‘If there’s no one waiting between here and there to jump us, we’ll be okay,’’ said the wounded soldier.

  ‘‘Good. Go and report to the Baron and when you’re done telling him what you’ve seen, tell him we’re going to go snoop around and see what else we can find.’’

  ‘‘Very well, Squire,’’ said the unwounded soldier, saluting.

  The soldiers continued on, and Locklear said, ‘‘What do you have in mind?’’

  ‘‘If those soldiers got jumped by trolls, there’s a camp nearby.’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Patrus. ‘‘The town of Raglam’s ahead. It’s sort of an open town. Not quite Kingdom, but enough humans living there that it’s not particularly Northlands, either. Lots of weapons runners, slavers, other no-accounts visit there all the time.’’

  ‘‘Sounds like my kind of place,’’ said James with a grin.

  ‘‘You going to get us killed?’’

  James’s grin widened. ‘‘Never, Locklear, my old friend; you’re going to get killed someday over a woman, not because of anything I’m planning.’’

  Locklear returned the grin. ‘‘Well, if she’s beautiful enough.’’

  They laughed, and Patrus said, ‘‘You boys got something you’d like to tell an old conjurer like me about?’’

  ‘‘I thought we might take a ride into Raglam and have a look around.’’

  Patrus shook his head. ‘‘Crazy, that’s what you two are.

  Sounds like fun.’’

  The old magician started marching up the draw, and James and Locklear exchanged glances, then laughter.

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  *

  *

  *

  The patrol leader signaled for his men to halt, and said to Gorath and Owyn, ‘‘Malac’s Cross.’’ They were arrayed before the Queen’s Row Tavern, which was obviously crowded, and Owyn said, ‘‘Why don’t we try the abbey?’’

  Gorath nodded. They bid their escort good-bye and rode on, and Gorath said, ‘‘I would have thought you’d prefer an ale and the company of others than the monks of Ishap.’’

  ‘‘I would, had I means to pay for that ale,’’ said Owyn.

  ‘‘Unless you’ve secreted away some booty you failed to mention to me, I’m without a copper to my name, thanks to Delekhan’s guards. In all the preparation for heading off to Northwarden, the Prince was so busy . . . I forgot to ask for funds.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘So we beg?’’

  ‘‘We ask for hospitality. I suspect Abbot Graves a more likely source for such than an overworked innkeeper.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘Perhaps you’re right.’’

  ‘‘Besides, we might even convince the Abbot to lend us the price of a meal or two between here and Krondor.’’

  ‘‘We should have thought of that before leaving Prince Arutha.’’

  ‘‘I didn’t think of it,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘You didn’t think of it.

  We didn’t think of it. So, there’s no ‘should,’ is there?’’

  Gorath grumbled that this was so.

  They reached the abbey and saw the gate was closed. ‘‘Hello, the abbey!’’ called Owyn.

  ‘‘Who is it?’’ came a voice from within.

  ‘‘Owyn Belefote. We came to see the Abbot.’’

  ‘‘Wait,’’ was the terse reply. And they waited.

  Nearly a quarter hour passed before the gate opened, and a very worried-looking monk admitted them. As soon as they had passed through the gate, it slammed behind them. Dismounting, Owyn asked, ‘‘What is this?’’

  A monk took their horses, and said, ‘‘The Abbot waits for you within.’’

  They went inside and found Abbot Graves overseeing a pair of monks who appeared to be packing things up.

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  ‘‘Are you leaving?’’ asked Gorath.

  Looking at the two, Graves said, ‘‘Where is James?’’

  ‘‘Last we saw him he was on his way to Northwarden,’’

  replied Owyn. ‘‘Why?’’

  ‘‘Damn!’’ swore the Abbot. ‘‘I was hoping he could do me a service.’’

  Owyn repeated Gorath. ‘‘Are you leaving?’’

  ‘‘I must,’’ said Graves. ‘‘Twice in the last week, Nighthawks have tried to kill me.’’

  Owyn and Gorath exchanged q
uestioning looks. Owyn said,

  ‘‘But Abbot, James killed the leader of the Nighthawks.’’

  ‘‘Navon is dead?’’ asked Graves.

  Before anyone could react, Gorath had his sword drawn and the point leveled at the Abbot’s throat. Two monks leaped to their feet, one trying to put as much distance between himself and the moredhel as possible, while the other assumed a fighting stance, as if ready to defend the abbey’s leader. ‘‘Wait!’’

  shouted Owyn, putting his hands out.

  ‘‘How did you know du Sandau was the leader of the Nighthawks?’’ demanded Gorath. ‘‘We could have been killed for lack of that knowledge.’’

  Graves held up his hands. ‘‘Because he was extorting me.’’

  Owyn put his hand on Gorath’s sword and slowly forced the point down. ‘‘Let’s talk,’’ he said calmly.

  Graves motioned for the monk who was ready to attack to withdraw, and the young cleric nodded and departed, the other monk a step behind him.

  Gorath said, ‘‘Explain this ‘extorting’ before I kill you.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Sandau was forcing Graves to do something against his will by threatening him with something. Isn’t that right?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Graves replied. ‘‘He found out something about me and used it to gain my help in whatever he was plotting.’’

  Owyn sat on the table where the monks had been working and said, ‘‘How can anyone force a priest of Ishap to do anything? You have magic and a powerful church to call on. What did he do?’’

  Graves said, ‘‘As I told Jimmy—James, I have ties from my old life that aren’t completely severed.’’ Graves sat, and Gorath 224

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  put his sword away. ‘‘I used to be a thief, a basher, for the Mockers in Krondor. I provided protection for cargo we were running in and out of the city, and kept anyone else from setting up a gang, and I protected our girls, so no one roughed them up.’’

  He looked down, and his expression was one of regret.

  ‘‘When I felt the call and went to the Temple of Ishap, I tried to put that life behind me. The church trained me for two years, and I took vows. But I wasn’t honest in my vow.’’