Krondor: The Betrayal

  He showed them where to stand. Then he said to Owyn,

  ‘‘This is perhaps the most difficult thing you have ever been asked to do. You have both the energy and knowledge, though the second is only recently within you.’’

  Owyn said, ‘‘I don’t understand.’’

  Pug nodded. ‘‘My powers are still weakened, because of my misuse of the cup. While my memory has returned, it may be some time—days perhaps—before I can recapture even part of my powers. But you have power, what you brought with you, as well as knowledge gained from me when we shared the cup.’’

  ‘‘But I don’t know anything about rifts,’’ Owyn objected.

  ‘‘Close your eyes and stop trying to think about what to do.

  Just relax and let things come to you.’’

  Owyn looked dubious, but he closed his eyes. Pug waited a few minutes, and said, ‘‘You’re still trying. Think of something else.’’

  ‘‘What?’’

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  ‘‘Think of something boring, perhaps a tome you read a long time ago that didn’t interest you, or one of Elgohar’s lectures at Stardock.’’

  Owyn laughed, and suddenly something entered his mind.

  ‘‘I . . . wait, something . . .’’ He opened his eyes. ‘‘I laughed and there, for a moment, I knew something about rifts.’’

  ‘‘Close your eyes and think of something else,’’ said Pug.

  Owyn took a deep breath and closed his eyes again. He let his mind drift, and memories came flooding back. He remembered his older brothers mocking him as he studied the few books his father possessed, and he remembered a girl in the town he liked but never spoke to, though she probably would have been flattered by the attention of the Baron’s son. Then he remembered meeting Patrus and that old scoundrel’s less-than-deferential attitude to his father, and his deep wisdom buried under that rough, country-bred exterior. He could see the old man in his mind’s eye and could even hear him, talking about the spells he could teach the boy.

  ‘‘I tell you, boy,’’ said the memory of Patrus, ‘‘the trick to making fire erupt from your fingers is nothing. You just have to want the air around the finger to get hot, and if you get it hot enough, if you want it enough, then the fire appears.’’

  Owyn remembered trying that skill for hours until suddenly it happened.

  Then in Owyn’s memory, Patrus was saying, ‘‘The structure of a rift is best understood if you ignore common references to three-dimensional location. The idea of being ‘here’ and then being ‘there’ is an impediment rather than a help. If you think of a rift as a ‘gate’ between two places that can be side by side at any moment, if you will . . .’’ Patrus’s voice droned on in Owyn’s mind, but the lesson was so obvious as Owyn listened.

  Suddenly Owyn’s eyes opened. ‘‘I know what to do!’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ said Pug. ‘‘I once had Macros guide me while I utilized my power to enter and destroy a rift, so now I’ll guide you. Gamina?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Father?’’

  ‘‘If you could link Owyn’s mind with mine, and then get ready to jump, please.’’

  She took Gorath’s hand, and said, ‘‘When you’re ready.’’

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  Pug nodded, and Owyn suddenly felt their minds linked by Gamina’s. Then Pug held out the Cup of Rlynn Skrr in one hand, and the crystal staff in the other. He put the staff firmly on the ground and said, ‘‘Ready?’’

  Owyn put his staff into the pile of mana, and said, ‘‘Ready!’’

  ‘‘One, two, three!’’

  Owyn took the energies given him by the staff in his hand and let them flow down the staff to the pile of mana that lay at the base of the rift machine. He willed it all to move back up the staff, through him, to Pug, to the cup he held. A blinding flash of energy erupted from the cup and filled the space between the poles.

  It was like reaching out and moving aside a curtain, thought Owyn. He even knew where he wanted the rift to form. He opened his eyes and saw a shimmering silver wall turn grey before him, then he saw Gamina and Gorath jump and vanish through it. ‘‘Now!’’ shouted Pug, and Owyn, still gripping Pug’s hand, jumped after his companions.

  He felt himself pass through a grey void, a moment of sensa-tionlessness, and then they were stumbling on a stone floor, trying to keep from falling over Gorath and Gamina.

  The room was dark, with a faint light entering the window.

  ‘‘Where are we?’’ asked Gorath.

  Pug laughed. ‘‘In my study, in Krondor.’’

  Gamina jumped to her feet, clapping her hands in delight.

  Even before she could speak, the door flew open, and Katala hurried in, wearing her nightdress. She clasped her daughter to her heart, then put her arm around her husband. ‘‘I knew you’d find her,’’ said Katala.

  Pug luxuriated for a moment in the presence of his wife and child, then said, ‘‘Makala has much to answer for.’’

  Katala said, ‘‘The Tsurani? He’s behind your disappearance?’’

  ‘‘It’s a long story, my love. Gamina will tell it to you when you’re both safely at Stardock.’’

  Katala looked at her husband, and said, ‘‘Where will you be, husband?’’

  Pug looked at Gorath and Owyn. ‘‘We must go to Sethanon.’’

  *

  *

  *

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  James looked at Patrus, and the old magician shouted,

  ‘‘Worry about yourself, boy. I can take care of myself.’’

  James was inclined to agree. Arutha’s healing priest had concocted a restorative. No matter how tired they were when they lay down to sleep, by sipping a tea made from the magic herbs, they were fully restored the next morning.

  They had ridden like madmen, running horses into the ground, trading mounts three or four times a day, commandeering mounts along the way. They had warned Baron Highcastle and allowed themselves one night of luxury, sleeping in a bed, and they left the next day with a new retinue and remounts, while the exhausted soldiers who hadn’t had the luxury of the magic restorative would follow after with Highcastle’s garrison as it force-marched to the Dimwood.

  They saw tents and banners in the distance as they crested a rise in the road and headed toward the northern boundary of the Dimwood. They slowed as Kingdom sentries flagged them down. They reined in before a sergeant of the Royal Krondorian garrison, who recognized both squires. ‘‘Where’s the Knight-Marshal?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘In the command tent with the Duke, sir.’’

  ‘‘Which Duke?’’

  ‘‘The Duke of Crydee, Squire,’’ said the sergeant.

  James asked, ‘‘Martin’s here? Good.’’ He motioned to the others to follow and headed toward the large pavilion tent which dominated the encampment.

  Reaching it, James reined in and dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to a lackey. The others were a step behind him, though Patrus looked as if the long ride was finally wearing him down.

  At the entrance to the pavilion, James said, ‘‘Tell the Knight-Marshal Squires James and Locklear are here.’’

  The guard disappeared inside, and a moment later motioned for them to enter. James and his companions went into the command pavilion and found Knight-Marshal Gardan studying the map on the table before him. Looking up, his dark, wrinkled face split into a grin, one that seemed to light up the tent. Yet his eyes looked troubled. ‘‘I hope your arrival means Arutha is coming right behind.’’

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  James said, ‘‘He’s on his way, as is Highcastle, and should be less than a week behind.’’

  ‘‘A week!’’ said Gardan.

  ‘‘We ruined some horses getting here,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘You’re to move at once to the Sethanon garrison,’’ said James. He looked around. ‘
‘I was told Martin was here.’’

  ‘‘He was,’’ said Gardan. ‘‘But he and his trackers are already heading into the woods.’’

  ‘‘What brought him here?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Tomas sent word to Crydee and suggested it might be a good idea for some special talents to appear here in the woods.’’ He pointed south. ‘‘Martin, his trackers, and a company of elves are out there skulking through the woods, looking for Dark Brothers.’’

  ‘‘So Delekhan’s on his way?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘He’s here,’’ said Gardan. His finger pointed out a point on the map, a ‘‘V’’ formed by two rivers that ran through the Dimwood. ‘‘He showed up behind us two days ago. I don’t know how he did it, but instead of being in front of us, he was behind us.’’

  ‘‘We think he’s using a rift machine,’’ said James.

  ‘‘Damn,’’ said Gardan. ‘‘If the Riftwar taught us anything, it was that once one of those damn gates is open, they can walk soldiers through as fast as they can get them lined up and on the march.’’

  ‘‘Can’t be a big one, though,’’ said Patrus.

  ‘‘Who’s this?’’ asked Gardan.

  ‘‘Patrus is my name,’’ answered the old magician. ‘‘If it was big, he’d be on the march.’’ Patrus pointed to a place to the southwest of where Gardan had pointed. ‘‘Is there a ford or bridge around there?’’

  ‘‘We’re trying to find out,’’ answered the Knight-Marshal.

  ‘‘Come on, boys,’’ said Patrus.

  ‘‘Wait!’’ said James. ‘‘Where are we going?’’

  ‘‘If that pointy-eared devil is already here, then he’s getting ready to move out. If he’s not here yet, and we can close that damn machine down before he comes through, his boys’ll start running north like their tails was on fire, if they had tails.’’ He 333

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  grinned. ‘‘Those dark elves just don’t like being far from home.’’

  Gardan looked at James. ‘‘Who is he?’’

  ‘‘It’s a long story,’’ said James. ‘‘I’ll tell you after all this is over. But he’s the only magician we’ve got, and unless Pug shows up, we’ve got to make do.’’

  Patrus made a face. ‘‘Make do? I ought to go home and let you sort this out.’’

  ‘‘Sorry,’’ said James. ‘‘Tired, that’s all.’’

  ‘‘That’s all right, Jimmy. You get me to that damned machine, and I’ll shut it down.’’

  Locklear looked skeptical. ‘‘I was under the impression that it was a special sort of magic, rifts, I mean.’’

  Patrus said, ‘‘Special to make, no doubt. What little I’ve heard about rifts isn’t good; most of the time they show up because a magician made a mistake.’’ He winked. ‘‘But messing magic up, that’s easy.’’

  James said, ‘‘I hope so, because if we can cut off most of Delekhan’s army before they get here, we just might keep the lid on this boiling kettle until Arutha and the rest of the army get here.’’

  Gardan made a sweeping motion with his hands. ‘‘We have a very fluid front. They’re dug in here, here, and here,’’ he said, pointing at three different places along a river. ‘‘Lord Martin went this way.’’ He indicated a pass between the two closest points. ‘‘He thought he might be able to slip past the dark elves.’’

  James shook his head. ‘‘If there’s a human who might slip through the woods past dark elves, it would be Martin Longbow, but even that’s a little hard for me to imagine.’’

  Gardan smiled. ‘‘We’re providing him with some distractions.’’

  James returned the grin. ‘‘Well, then, if it’s loud and lively, we might be able to follow after him.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘Are we ever going to get any rest?’’

  Patrus looked at the younger man with an expression of contempt. ‘‘Get killed, boy, and you’ll get all the rest you’ll ever need. Now, come on and let’s get after it.’’

  Locklear nodded in resignation. James said, ‘‘We have a bet-334

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  ter chance if we travel light. Do you have any scouts still in camp?’’

  Gardan shook his head. ‘‘No, they’re working with Martin and the elves along that river. If you’re lucky, you’ll bump into them before you meet any of Delekhan’s forces.’’

  James said, ‘‘Well, we’ve got a good half day’s light left, so we should probably head out.’’

  ‘‘How are you fixed for stores?’’ asked the Knight-Marshal.

  ‘‘We have enough food for a week,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We loaded up before we left the last change of horses.’’

  Gardan said, ‘‘Then let me give you the current password,

  ‘Krondor’s Eagle,’ as we have some human renegades from Queg mixed in around here, too.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘After I got Gorath to Krondor, I was hoping I’d never see another bloody Quegan mercenary again.’’

  Gardan said, ‘‘You have my permission to kill as many as you like when you meet them, Squire, now get out of here.’’

  James laughed and led Patrus and Locklear out of the tent.

  He pointed to their horses, and asked a guard, ‘‘Any fresh remounts nearby?’’

  The guard said, ‘‘Over there, Squire. Captain Philip’s taking care of cavalry for the Marshal. He can set you up.’’

  They took their horses and led them toward the cavalry command, and Patrus said, ‘‘Oh, joy! Another horse to ride!’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘Would you rather walk?’’

  ‘‘Right now, boy, you bet I would,’’ was his answer, followed by his signature nasty laugh.

  James shook his head. He was trying to like the crusty old magician, but he was finding that as time wore on, it was getting harder to find reasons not to strangle him.

  James motioned the others forward, and they rode within sight of a recent skirmish. Three renegade humans and one moredhel lay dead in a clearing, and from the number of arrows in the corpses, it was apparent they had been taken by surprise. Only elves would be able to ambush a moredhel scout, James was certain, so hopefully that meant Duke Martin and his companions were in the area.

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  to Elvandar, or mistake us for Quegan renegades and start shooting?’’ Locklear asked.

  ‘‘Why don’t you ask them?’’ replied a voice from behind a tree to his right, before James could speak.

  Locklear and James reined in as a tall man dressed in brown-and-green leather stepped out from behind a tree.

  ‘‘Martin!’’ said James. ‘‘I’m pleased to see you, Your Grace.’’

  Martin, Duke of Crydee, once known as Longbow, stood holding the weapon that had given him his name. ‘‘Well met, James, Locklear. Who is your friend?’’

  Patrus looked around as a group of elves seemed to materialize out from behind a tree. ‘‘Patrus is my name.’’

  ‘‘He’s a magician, and he’s here to help us shut down the rift machine,’’ answered Locklear.

  ‘‘This is Lord Martin, Duke of Crydee.’’

  Patrus nodded. ‘‘Odd-looking Duke, if you ask me.’’

  Martin smiled a half smile very similar to his brother Arutha’s. ‘‘Court dress isn’t particularly useful when running through the woods, I have found.’’

  ‘‘Well, there is that,’’ said the old man, scratching his neck.

  ‘‘We’re looking for that machine. You have any idea where it is?’’

  ‘‘I know exactly where it is,’’ said Martin. ‘‘A large company of moredhel left for the south this morning, and we slipped in behind their lines and came back upriver. I didn’t see the machine, but I saw enough guards in a small area to be pretty sure where it is. Besides, there’s an odd feeling in the air, and it puts me in mind of that Tsurani machine in the Grey T
owers back during that war. I’m sending word to Gardan so he can bring up the forces with Arutha when they get here.’’

  ‘‘Too late,’’ said James. ‘‘Patrus is of the opinion—’’

  ‘‘Patrus doesn’t need anyone to tell his opinion for him, boy,’’ said the old man. To Martin he said, ‘‘Duke, that pointy-eared bastard has probably only managed to get a few companies through with him, else they’d be cleaning up the woods with the Kingdom forces already here. He’s almost certainly on his way to Sethanon, which is where these boys say he wants to go, so you’re probably facing some rear guards. But, if that machine stays open until the Prince gets here, well, 336

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  there’s no telling how many more goblins and trolls and other bloodsuckers you’re going to be looking at before you can battle your way down to Sethanon.’’

  Martin was too concerned about what the old magician said to worry much about his lack of protocol. ‘‘What do you propose?’’

  ‘‘Get us close to that damn machine, then set up a diversion and draw as many off as you can, say fake a major attack then fall back slowly, and if we can slip in, I can disable that machine.’’

  Martin glanced at James, who shrugged.

  Martin said, ‘‘Very well, follow us, but you’ll have to come on foot.’’

  The three riders dismounted, and one of the elves took the horses. ‘‘Lead them back to the Knight-Marshal and tell him what you heard here. Tell him also that I expect we could use some relief to the west of the old stone bridge.’’

  The elf nodded, took the horses, and left. Martin glanced at the sky through the branches. ‘‘Good, this will bring us to the bridge at sundown, and you should be able to slip across the river in the dark while we distract them at the bridge.’’

  ‘‘Slip across the river?’’ said Patrus. ‘‘You mean as in get wet?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ said Martin with a smile. ‘‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wade. There’s a shallow ford about a mile upriver, and I doubt the goblins know of it.’’