Krondor the Betrayal (5 page)

The Captain motioned for the three of them to sit. Owyn was left standing when Gorath and Locklear took the only two free chairs in the office. ‘‘I wish it was only rumors,’’ said Belford. ‘‘You know that Tsurani magician, Makala?’’

‘‘By reputation only,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘He was due to arrive in Krondor a few weeks after I departed some months ago. The other Tsurani Great Ones spoke of him, but as they weren’t the most sociable bunch, I only gathered a few things about him.

He’s very influential in their Assembly of Magicians, is keen to foster trade and what I believe the Prince is calling ‘cultural exchanges’ between the Empire of Tsuranuanni and the Kingdom, and he was personally coming for a visit.’’

‘‘Well, he did that,’’ said the Captain. ‘‘He arrived here a few days ago and called on the Earl. Every Tsurani of any rank does that, as the Earl’s father is very important on the Tsurani homeworld. So it’s a duty thing.’’ The old Captain rubbed his beard-stubbled chin with a gloved hand. ‘‘The Tsurani are very deep into ‘duty’ I have learned in my time with the Earl. Anyway, they were here for a couple of days—Ma-kala, some other Black Robes, and honor guards and bearers and the bunch—and it seems some of the bearers weren’t really bearers, but were some kind of dishonored warriors from the Empire.’’

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‘‘Grey warriors,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘I heard.’’ That would explain how the grey warriors got through the rift, thought Locklear, disguised as bearers.

‘‘That’s who my lads are looking for. Rumor is they fled east. If they get over the mountains and into the Dimwood, we’ll never find them.’’

‘‘Why the fuss?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘Are they slaves or inden-tured?’’

‘‘Squire?’’ said the Captain pointedly.

‘‘He’s the son of the Baron of Timons,’’ explained Locklear.

‘‘Well, young sir,’’ said the Captain, ‘‘these men are something like outlaws on their own world, which by itself isn’t enough to have me chasing after them, but here they stole something of value to this Makala—a ruby of some rarity, I gather—and he’s making enough of a fuss about it that you’d think the gods themselves lent it to him, and he’s got to take it back in a week. So the Earl, some because he’s polite, and some because he’s Tsurani and used to jumping whenever one of those Black Robes barks, he’s got us combing the hills looking for those bastards.’’

Locklear smiled at Owyn, as if asking if that was explanation enough. The Captain looked at Gorath, as if expecting him to say something. Gorath remained silent. Locklear didn’t know if the Captain recognized the moredhel for what he was or thought him an elf, and didn’t see the need to explain things to him. The Captain said, ‘‘What would you need an escort for, if I may make so bold as to ask?’’

‘‘We’ve had some problems,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Someone’s hired Quegan swords to keep us from reaching Krondor.’’

The Captain stroked his chin again and remained silent a long moment as he thought. ‘‘Here’s one thing I can do,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve got to run a patrol out to the border with the Free Cities. I can have you travel with it until it turns westward, almost halfway between LaMut and Zu¯n. That’ll get you part of the way in safety.’’

Locklear was silent a moment, then said, ‘‘I have a better idea.’’

‘‘What?’’ asked Captain Belford.

‘‘If you can pick three men to play our parts, and ride con-28

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spicuously out the south city gate, we’ll head east and slip over the mountain and head south to Krondor along the east mountain highway, where we won’t be expected.’’

‘‘A ruse?’’ asked the Captain.

‘‘One I learned from the Prince,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘He used it to good effect in the Riftwar. If you can lead away those looking for us, long enough for us to reach the farside of the mountains, we should be safe.’’

‘‘I can arrange that.’’ He glanced at Owyn and Gorath. ‘‘I’ve got some men who can pass for you, if we keep the hood up on the one playing your elf friend, here.’’ He stood up. ‘‘Let me arrange to have the evening patrol stop by your lodgings . . . ?’’ He looked at them questioningly.

‘‘The Inn of the Blue Wheel.’’

Belford smiled. ‘‘Sumani’s place. Don’t let his smiling countenance fool you; he’s a tough boot. If you get the time, have him show you some of his fighting tricks. He’ll make time for a few coins. His decision not to stay in service was our loss.’’

The Captain left and returned a short time later. ‘‘It’s taken care of. Head back to the city and let anyone who might be following you see you return. Lie low in the inn until tonight, and I’ll have three horses waiting for you in the inn’s stable.’’

He handed Locklear a piece of parchment. ‘‘Here’s a pass. If one of our lads on the road to the east stops you, this will set him right.’’

Locklear rose. ‘‘Thank you, Captain. You’ve been a great help. If there’s anything I can do for you when you’re next in Krondor, please tell me.’’

The old Captain smiled. Rubbing his chin once more, he said, ‘‘Well, you could introduce me to that merchant’s young wife I hear got you run up this way in the first place.’’

Owyn grinned, and Gorath remained impassive as Locklear blushed and grimaced. ‘‘I’ll see what I can do.’’ They rose and departed the office.

Owyn said, ‘‘We walk?’’

‘‘We walk,’’ said Locklear, as they headed for the main gate of the castle. ‘‘But at least it’s downhill.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘That is actually more tiring.’’

Locklear swore. ‘‘It was a joke.’’

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Gorath said, ‘‘Really?’’ His tone was so dry it took a moment for Owyn to realize he was twitting Locklear. Owyn kept his own mirth in check, and they started back toward the city.

Locklear slipped through the door into their room. Gorath looked up without alarm, but Owyn jumped off the bed.

‘‘Where have you been?’’

‘‘Nosing around. Sitting up here might be smarter, but I’ve got this itch to scratch.’’

Gorath looked on but still said nothing.

Owyn said, ‘‘Itch?’’

Locklear smiled. ‘‘Too many years of keeping the wrong sort of company, I suppose, but the reports of those grey warriors and the theft of some sort of rich item dear to a Tsurani Great One had me thinking. If I stole something on a different world, how would I dispose of it?’’

‘‘Depends on what it is, I guess,’’ offered Owyn.

Gorath gave a slight nod, but still said nothing.

‘‘There would have to be a local contact, someone who knew where one disposes of something of value.’’

‘‘And you expect to discover this person in the midst of the throng of this city and use him to trace this band of thieves?’’

asked Gorath.

‘‘No,’’ said Locklear, waving away the comment. ‘‘The Captain said the stolen item is a gem, which being from Kelewan isn’t a shock. There isn’t much on that world of value that’s also easy to transport that would fetch a high value here. So my thinking is that the best way to find this missing gem is to learn where it’s most likely to end up.’’

‘‘A fence?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘No, for if as I suspect, the value of the ruby is enough to give a band of desperate men a new start on a strange world, it would have to be the sort of man who has a legitimate enterprise, one likely to mask the movement of this item.’’

‘‘You seem to understand this sort of business better than a noble of your race should,’’ observed Gorath.

‘‘I said I kept the wrong sort of company. After buying a few drinks, I discovered there’s a merchant with less than a 30

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stellar reputation who deals in gems, jewelry, and other luxury items. He’s a man named Kiefer Alescook.’’

‘‘Who told you this?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘Our host, actually,’’ said Locklear, motioning it was time for them to depart. They rose and gathered their gear and moved out down the stairs to the common room. With a wave good-bye to Sumani, they moved through the door. Once outside the inn, Locklear motioned for them to walk around the corner to the stabling yard next to the inn. They moved inside the door and found three men waiting for them, each holding two horses.

One said, ‘‘Switch cloaks, quickly!’’

Each was of a like height with Locklear and his companions, and the exchange was made. If the man playing the part of Gorath had any notion of whom he was impersonating, he kept such thoughts to himself, merely handing Gorath a large blue cloak, taking the dark grey one worn by the moredhel.

The others switched cloaks, and Locklear took the reins of one of the horses.

By the time the three impostors were mounted, the sound of hooves on the stones announced the arrival of the patrol that would head down toward Zu¯n this evening. From outside the gate of the stabling yard, a sergeant shouted, ‘‘We’re here to escort you south, Squire Locklear!’’

Locklear took his cue, and shouted back, ‘‘We’re ready!’’ He nodded to the three men impersonating them, who rode off and joined the van of the column. Locklear waited, and after a few minutes said, ‘‘Owyn, you ride out, turn left, and head straight out the gate. Ride a mile, then wait. Gorath and I will be behind you by a few minutes.’’

Gorath grunted his approval. ‘‘So should anyone linger, he won’t see three riders.’’

Locklear nodded, and Owyn said, ‘‘Hold this, please.’’ He handed his quarterstaff to Locklear, climbed into the saddle, then took the long oaken pole back. With a deft movement, he slung it over his shoulder, through his belt, then twisted it, so it hung across his shoulders and back, not encumbering him or the horse too much.

Gorath easily mounted, though he looked slightly ill at ease.

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‘‘Don’t ride much?’’ asked Locklear as Owyn departed.

‘‘Not really. It’s been a while, thirty or so years.’’

‘‘Not a lot of horses in the Northlands?’’

Without bitterness, Gorath said, ‘‘Not a lot of anything in the Northlands.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘I remember.’’

Gorath nodded. ‘‘We bled at Armengar.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Not enough. It didn’t keep you from coming through Highcastle.’’

Gorath pointed with his chin. ‘‘We should go now.’’ He didn’t wait for Locklear, but put heels to the sides of his horse and rode out.

Locklear hesitated a moment, then followed after. He overtook the dark elf as he rode easily through the foot traffic of the city. Men hurried home for evening meals while shops closed on every side. Travelers fresh in from the highway hurried toward the inn, eager to wash away the day’s trail dust with an ale, and women of the night began to appear on street corners.

Locklear and Owyn rode out the gate, ignored by the guards, and set their horses to cantering. A few minutes later they spied Owyn sitting on the side of the road.

When they reached him, he turned, and said, ‘‘Now what?’’

Locklear pointed toward a stand of woods a short distance away. ‘‘A cold camp, unfortunately, but at first light we ride north a few miles. There’s a mine road to the east that leads over the mountains. We’ll take that, then turn south on the other side. With luck we’ll avoid those seeking our friend here and make our way safely to the King’s Highway south of Quester’s View.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘That means we’re going to come out near Loriel, right?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Locklear, with a smile. ‘‘Which means we’ll have the chance to visit with one Kiefer Alescook along the way.’’

‘‘Why involve ourselves in this matter?’’ asked Gorath. ‘‘We need hurry to Krondor.’’

‘‘We are, and a few minutes conversation with Master Alescook may yield us a benefit. Should we discover the whereabouts of this missing gem, we win credit with Prince Arutha, 32

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for I am certain he wishes to be a gracious host to the visiting magicians from Kelewan.’’

‘‘And if we don’t?’’ asked Owyn, as they rode toward the woods.

‘‘Then I still have to come up with a compelling reason why I left Tyr-Sog without his leave and returned with only this moredhel and an unlikely story.’’

Owyn sighed aloud. ‘‘Well, you think of one to tell my father when I get back home, and I’ll try to come up with something to tell the Prince.’’

Gorath chuckled at this.

Owyn and Locklear exchanged glances. Locklear shook his head in the evening gloom. He had never considered the dark elves might have a sense of humor.

The wind was cold in the passes, for as winter was coming, in the elevations above them snow already clung tenaciously to the rocks, and ice lurked in depressions in the road, making the footing dangerous.

They rode slowly, Locklear and Owyn both with their cloaks pulled tightly around them. Gorath kept his hood up, but rode without apparent discomfort.

‘‘How much longer?’’ asked Owyn, his teeth chattering.

‘‘A half hour less than the last time you asked,’’ said Locklear.

‘‘Squire,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘I’m freezing.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Really. How unusual.’’

Gorath held up his hand. ‘‘Quiet,’’ he said softly, with just enough authority and volume to carry to his companions, but no farther. He pointed up ahead. ‘‘In the rocks,’’ he whispered.

‘‘What?’’ asked Locklear in hushed tones.

Gorath only pointed. He held up four fingers.

‘‘Maybe they’re bandits,’’ whispered Owyn.

‘‘They’re speaking my tongue,’’ said Gorath.

Locklear sighed. ‘‘They’re covering all the roads, then.’’

‘‘How do we proceed?’’ asked Owyn.

Pulling his sword, Gorath said, ‘‘We kill them.’’ He spurred his horse forward, with Locklear hesitating only an instant before following.

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Owyn reached up and quickly pulled out his staff, tucking it under his arm like a lance, then urging his horse forward.

He heard a shout as he rounded a turn in the trail and entered a widening in the road where one dark elf lay dying in the road as Gorath sped past him.

The other three were not so quickly taken, but rather hurried up into higher rocks where the horses couldn’t follow. Locklear didn’t hesitate, and in a move that startled Owyn, the squire jumped up on his saddle and leaped off the running horse’s back, knocking a moredhel from the rock he was climbing.