Krondor: The Betrayal

  ‘‘Who are they, Squire?’’ asked the old sergeant.

  ‘‘True Nighthawks. Perhaps some left from the Great Uprising or others recruited since then, but willing to kill and die for dark powers.’’

  He looked at Locklear, who nodded. ‘‘Search them for any papers, then burn the bodies,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Now.’’

  ‘‘No priest?’’ asked the sergeant. ‘‘There’s a Temple Shrine to Lims-Kragma down in the village of Putney.’’

  ‘‘No,’’ said James. ‘‘Burn them within the hour. I want to make sure they stay dead.’’

  ‘‘Stay dead?’’ asked the sergeant.

  James didn’t answer. No sense alarming the men, but he all too vividly remembered those Nighthawks in the basement of a brothel in Krondor who rose to kill only minutes after dying themselves. He hoped he would never see anything like that again.

  ‘‘What do we do now?’’ asked Locklear as he overtook his friend.

  James said, ‘‘Sharpen our swords, oil our armor, and wait for Arutha.’’

  Owyn had never liked sea travel, and Gorath admitted it was an alien experience to him. Yet both managed to bear up under the swift voyage from Sarth to Ylith. Favorable winds 259

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  and no encounters with marauding Quegan war galleys had kept the journey to under four days.

  At Ylith they had purchased horses with the gold given them by Lady Katala and, after consulting with the local garrison commander, discovered that things had turned quiet in the West. Whatever attempts Delekhan had made to convince the Kingdom he was attacking in the West had failed, and the attempts had been abandoned. Owyn could only conclude that was because the enemy now were preparing to direct their attentions elsewhere.

  Gorath pointed, and said, ‘‘On the other side of those mountains lies the Green Heart. There hide some of my people opposed to Delekhan. They will aid us if we find them.’’

  ‘‘According to the Captain in Ylith,’’ replied Owyn, ‘‘we should find ourselves in dwarven territory, near a place called Caldara. The dwarves should be willing to help us get to Elvandar.’’ Gorath’s expression clearly showed he thought that an unlikely turn of events.

  They rode toward Zu¯n, where they would take a road into the mountains, which should be clearing of snow as spring approached. They had been given a clear warning that the short route to Elvandar was the most dangerous. If they wanted a safer way, they should go north to Yabon, insisted the garrison commander, then westward along the River Crydee from the Lake of the Sky, but that would add a month’s travel. Owyn and Gorath were both feeling that time was now their enemy.

  The attack would come soon, for any timetable that sought to put an army in Sethanon by summer would have to begin soon. No matter which route Delekhan’s forces took, they would have hundreds of miles to cover, and supplies would be a problem. Forage along the way would be best in spring and summer.

  Owyn knew that, even as they rode, the enemy might be launching his invasion of the Kingdom.

  ‘‘Where are they?’’ demanded James. He stood on the battlements of Northwarden, staring up the gap as if he could see 260

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  into the Northlands. He had expected the attack a week earlier, and still there was no sight of the enemy.

  ‘‘Should I ride up and take another look around?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘No. It will probably look the same as the last time, lots of warriors gathering and arming.’’ James tried not to let the frustration show, but it was difficult. ‘‘They will come when they do, and there’s little we can do but wait.’’

  ‘‘At least Arutha and the relief should be getting here sooner,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said James, ‘‘if Owyn and Gorath got through.’’ Then he looked down the road toward the enemy. ‘‘But if they had, I would have expected Arutha to be here by now. Something must have happened to them.’’

  ‘‘Then you think we’re not going to get help?’’ asked Locklear.

  James shook his head. ‘‘There’s no force of size in the East close enough to help. Other than the Border Barons, all our forces are in the South, near the Keshian border, or in the East, ready to deal with the eastern kingdoms.’’

  Locklear sighed. He looked at James, then he smiled. ‘‘Well, it’s not the first time we’ve found ourselves in a hopeless situation, is it?’’

  James said, ‘‘No, but it’s the first time we’ve been in charge of a hopeless situation.’’

  Locklear’s smile faded.

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  Fifteen

  •

  Quest W INDS CUT THROUGH THE PASS.

  Gorath and Owyn pulled their cloaks tightly around them as they rode. It was spring, but the mountains still held firmly to winter.

  Gorath said, ‘‘We’re being watched.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know. But I’ve seen movement along the ridge above us for the last hour. If they meant us ill, they would have attacked by now.’’

  A few minutes later, a figure wrapped in a heavy cloak appeared on a rock ahead of them. He stood waiting.

  As they drew closer, Owyn saw it to be a single dwarf. He held up his hand in greeting. Gorath reined in, and said, ‘‘Talk to him first, Owyn.’’

  Owyn nodded and moved ahead of Gorath, letting the moredhel follow a few paces behind. When they reached a point near the dwarf, Owyn stopped, threw back his hood, and said, ‘‘Hello.’’

  The dwarf threw back his own hood, revealing a black beard of awe-inspiring thickness and hair that refused to be organized into anything remotely coherent; the moustache stood out like a huge bristle-brush. The dwarf’s eyes went from one rider to the other as he regarded both with suspicion. ‘‘Greetings,’’ he said calmly. ‘‘What brings you two up into the frosty passes of the Grey Towers?’’

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  Owyn said, ‘‘We carry a message from Lady Katala, wife of Pug the Magician, to Tomas, Warleader of Elvandar.’’

  The dwarf scratched his chin. ‘‘That’s a good one. I’ve not heard it before. In fact, I’m inclined to believe you.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Why wouldn’t you?’’

  The dwarf pointed at Gorath. ‘‘His kin have been coming down from the North for the last year or better, and we’d forgotten how irritating they could be as neighbors.’’

  Gorath pulled back his hood, and said, ‘‘I doubt they feel any more warmly toward your people, dwarf, but the problems between your people and mine are for another time. Right now we need safe passage to Elvandar.’’

  The dwarf squatted atop the rock, and said, ‘‘Elvandar?

  Well, if you say so. As I understand such things, you’re likely to get even less warm a welcome from your cousins up there than you will from my folks.’’ Looking at Owyn, he added,

  ‘‘You wouldn’t have any sort of warrant from someone in authority now, would you?’’

  Gorath nearly spat with contempt. ‘‘And what gives you the right to ask for such a thing, dwarf?’’

  ‘‘Well, to begin with, you’re on my land. Then there’s the twenty of my people who have surrounded you while we talked.’’ He whistled, and, seemingly out of nowhere, over a score of dwarves stood up. Owyn saw they all were heavily armed.

  ‘‘Point well taken,’’ said Owyn. He reached into his tunic and pulled out a message from Katala, bearing a ducal imprint and a countersignature from the Captain of the Royal Krondorian Guard.

  The dwarf glanced at it and handed it back. Then with a grin, he said, ‘‘I believed you from the first. Say what you will about the moredhel, they’ve never been demonstrably stupid, and riding in here in plain sight would be exactly that if you were planning mischief. Come along, we’ll escort you into the village.’’

  ‘‘Village?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘Are we near Caldara?’’

  ‘‘Another half hour. You can explain what it is that?
??s got you in such a hurry to reach Elvandar.’’

  ‘‘Explain to whom?’’ asked Gorath.

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  ‘‘King Dolgan,’’ said the dwarf. ‘‘Who else?’’

  Nothing more was said as they moved along the trail, and when the cutoff appeared, they followed it down into a small valley, in which nestled a pretty little village. All the buildings were whitewashed stone, with thatch roofs, save a large wooden hall with a heavy log roof which dominated the center of the village. They made for that building, and the dwarf who had led them said, ‘‘The lads will take care of your horses.

  The King is inside the long hall.’’

  They were at the narrow end of the long hall. Owyn and Gorath mounted stone steps into the building. As they reached the door, the dwarf halted. ‘‘Present yourself to the King. I will see you later.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Are you coming in?’’

  The dwarf shook his head. ‘‘No, I have other business. You’ll be able to find your way. Just follow the passage to the end of the corridor, and you’ll see the King.’’

  Gorath said, ‘‘You’ve been hospitable, dwarf. I would know your name.’’

  The dwarf smiled. ‘‘I am Udell. I am the King’s younger son.’’

  Owyn opened the door and found himself looking down a long hallway with doors on either side, at the far end of which he could see a large room. He moved down the corridor, and when he and Gorath reached the end of the hall, they entered a common room dominated by a large square formed by four long tables. At the closest corner sat five dwarves. One of them stood, and announced, ‘‘I am Dolgan.’’

  Owyn awkwardly bowed, and replied, ‘‘Your Majesty.’’

  Dolgan waved away the title, and said, ‘‘Just Dolgan.’’ He tamped down a pipe and lit it with a smoldering taper. ‘‘Now, what brings you two to Caldara?’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Lady Katala, wife of Pug the magician, asked us to carry a message to Warleader Tomas in Elvandar.’’

  Dolgan raised an eyebrow. ‘‘Tomas is an old and dear friend.’’ With a smile he added, ‘‘An uncommon lad.’’ He glanced at Gorath, and observed, ‘‘You pick unusual companions, boy.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Gorath brought warning to the Prince that a 264

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  leader named Delekhan was mounting an invasion.’’ He went on to explain the entire situation to the dwarven King, who listened without interrupting.

  After Owyn was done, the old dwarf sat silently for a while, weighing what he had heard. Then he looked at Gorath. ‘‘Well, my old enemy, answer me one question. Why do you warn your enemies so that we may slaughter your kin?’’

  Gorath was silent a moment as he considered his reply, then he said, ‘‘I do not wish to see my kin die. I wish to see Delekhan overthrown. It has gone too far, and too few of us oppose him, but should the Kingdom defeat him, Delekhan will lose his hold upon my nation. Then many of us will rise up and depose him.’’

  ‘‘Then what?’’ asked Dolgan. ‘‘Another warlord to rally around? Will you take his place?’’

  Gorath looked at the old King, and said, ‘‘I think I will never again see the Northlands. Two wives, two sons, and a daughter have I lost. All who are blood kin are dead. I have nothing there. But whatever may occur in the future, well, I cannot speak to that; I can only say that Delekhan must be stopped.’’

  Dolgan nodded once, emphatically. ‘‘Well said. We shall help you. During the Riftwar my people would move to Elvandar to fight with Tomas and the elves every year. We have a safe route that will take you close to their border, and from there you can make your way safely to the Queen’s court. I’ll send along a few of the lads to ensure those of your kin and some goblins who’ve been pestering us lately don’t give you any trouble.’’ He stood up. ‘‘Now, rest and eat, and tomorrow we’ll have you on your way.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Thank you . . . Dolgan.’’

  The dwarven king smiled, and said, ‘‘That’s it!’’

  Another dwarf, a young woman if Owyn judged her appearance correctly, showed them to a room in the long hall. Gorath hesitated when he stepped inside. ‘‘Something . . .’’

  ‘‘What?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘A feeling of . . . call it a memory. Great power was once here.’’

  The young woman said, ‘‘Lord Tomas used to rest here when he wintered in Caldara. I can sometimes feel it, too. If 265

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  you need anything, just stick your head outside the door and call for me; my name is Bethlany.’’

  ‘‘Thank you,’’ said Owyn.

  Owyn sat on a bed while Gorath looked at the other in the room. ‘‘What they say of Tomas must be true, then, for me to sense the power of the Valheru ten years or more after he slept here.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘Anything is possible.’’ He lay down. ‘‘But right now I need sleep.’’

  Gorath watched as the boy quickly fell asleep, but sleep was not something Gorath felt in need of. He left the room after a minute and walked to the door, then stepped outside.

  Dolgan stood upon the porch of the long hall, looking out over the village. It was comprised of a dozen buildings of varying side, a few obviously dwellings, while the others appeared to be shops: a smith, a carpenter, a baker.

  ‘‘Pretty, isn’t it?’’ asked Dolgan.

  Even without the flowers of spring yet apparent, the valley was a lovely place, nestled in pine and aspen. The people living there were industrious, and everything in sight spoke of bounty. High enough up the hillside to be visible, cattle grazed in a meadow on the other side of a stand of trees. Chickens and ducks squawked as they hurried across the town’s square, while a pair of dogs tried to herd them.

  ‘‘It’s a good place,’’ agreed Gorath.

  ‘‘I’ve only seen a few moredhel villages, empty after the Tsurani drove your people from the high pastures. I remember them as not that different from here.’’

  ‘‘We build in a different fashion,’’ said Gorath, ‘‘but shelter is shelter, and we bake and work the forge, much as you and the humans do.’’

  ‘‘I’m five hundred and twenty-eight years old next Midsummer’s Day, and I’ve fought for my people for most of those years.’’ Dolgan looked up at the tall dark elf. ‘‘Do you know that you’re the first of your kind I’ve ever had a civil word with?’’

  Gorath sat on the steps. ‘‘And I with a dwarf. Or a human until a few months ago.’’ He leaned back against a supporting post, and said, ‘‘I find the world a very different place than I 266

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  thought it was when I was a boy. I was but twelve summers when the safety of my band fell to me, and I was thirty-seven summers when I avenged my father and became clan chieftain.

  For more than a hundred years, the Ardanien tribes lived in the ice caves in the far North, where the sun never shines in winter and never sets in summer. We hunted seal and walrus, traded with tribes to the south of us, and lived apart even from most of our kinsmen.

  ‘‘Then we returned, and I fought to preserve my clan, and we rose and became a force within our nation. We had respect, we were feared, and when I spoke in council, the Ardanien were heeded.’’

  ‘‘What happened?’’

  ‘‘Murmandamus.’’

  ‘‘Which, the first or second?’’

  Gorath smiled. ‘‘Both, you could say. The first was a remarkable creature. He spoke words that were compelling and insistent, and my people listened. I heard stories from those who had known him. We rose and struck south and overran the humans in Yabon.

  ‘‘But Murmandamus died and yet his legend lived, and when the second Murmandamus appeared, we were ready to follow without question.’’

  ‘‘Blind obedience is a dangerous thing.’’

  Gorath nodded. ‘‘Before the second Murmandamus, some of my race were dislodged from the Northlands by
more powerful clans, and they came south of the Teeth of the World. Others, like my clan, lived in the ice caves in the far North. We had one such upheaval a hundred years ago.’’

  ‘‘I remember,’’ said Dolgan. ‘‘Some of your lads got a little bold and made free to come this way.’’

  ‘‘I have never before ventured so far south on this side of the Bitter Sea. When a lad I fished the sea near what the humans call Sarth.’’ He sat back and closed his eyes. ‘‘I never thought I’d live to see the Grey Towers.’’ He looked at Dolgan.

  ‘‘Some of my kinsmen, especially those who followed my cousin Obkhar, may be coming this way to live again in the Green Heart.’’

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  trouble their passing. We never had much trouble with the Green Heart moredhel, but your clans up here in the mountains were not gracious neighbors.’’

  Gorath studied the dwarf and laughed. ‘‘You sound like your son. As I told him, I suspect my people would have little charity in their description of you as neighbors.’’

  ‘‘Aye, that’s true, I’m sure.’’ Dolgan chuckled. ‘‘But what has long puzzled me is why that is so. We dwarves, despite our skills in warcraft, are a peaceful enough folk when left alone. We trouble no one who doesn’t trouble us. We love our children, tend our herds, and winter in our long hall singing and drinking ale. It’s a good life.

  ‘‘But you’re the first of your kind I’ve spoken with in peace since I was born, Gorath, so I must ask you this: why do you moredhel hate us dwarves and the humans so?’’

  Gorath considered the question for a long while, then said,

  ‘‘When I fled south from my homeland, chased by my own cousin who sought to kill me, I would have answered you one way. I would have said, ‘When the Valheru left, they made us a free people, and gave to us this world, and you and the humans are invaders. You take what is ours.’

  ‘‘Now, I don’t have an answer.’’

  ‘‘What’s changed?’’ asked Dolgan, genuinely curious.