Krondor the Betrayal (8 page)

‘‘We do,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘But we can wait until you tend to those two.’’ He pointed to the two locals waiting for treatment.

Malcolm nodded. ‘‘Good.’’ As he moved past Gorath, he said, ‘‘Your manners may be in question, moredhel, but your instincts serve you well. He might have bled to death had we waited another hour.’’

Gorath remained silent in the face of being recognized for what he was. He moved to sit next to Owyn and wait.

When the two farmers, one with a smashed finger courtesy of a badly aimed hammer and the other with a bad case of fever, were finished, Malcolm turned to Gorath and Owyn.

‘‘Who’s next?’’

Gorath indicated Owyn, and the magician went to sit before the priest. He watched with interest as the priest quickly treated and bound his wounds. They spoke little, for Owyn was almost out on his feet.

When Gorath replaced him before the priest, the dark elf said, ‘‘You recognize my race, yet you do not call for the town guard. Why?’’

The priest shrugged as he examined Gorath’s wounds. ‘‘You travel with men who do not look like renegades to me. You are not here killing and burning, so I assume your mission a peaceful one.’’

‘‘Why do you assume I have a mission?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘Why else would you travel in the human world?’’ Malcolm 49

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asked rhetorically. ‘‘I have never known the moredhel to travel for pleasure.’’

Gorath grunted, foregoing comment.

Malcolm was quickly done, and said, ‘‘You should have come second; this wound was more severe than your friend’s.

But you’ll live.’’ He washed his hands and dried them with a towel. ‘‘It is my mission to aid and serve, but it is custom that those served donate.’’

Gorath indicated Locklear, who was now sitting upright at the table upon which he had lain. Locklear said, ‘‘Brother, I fear I may only give you a scant token of our debt, but should you come to Krondor anytime soon, visit me, and I will repay you tenfold.’’

Locklear dug into his purse and judged how much he would need for a room that night, and other costs, then drew out a golden sovereign and two silver royals. ‘‘It is all we can spare.’’

‘‘It will do,’’ said the priest. ‘‘In Krondor, where might I find you?’’

‘‘At the palace. I am one of the Prince’s men. I am Squire Locklear.’’

‘‘Then I shall call upon you next I’m in Krondor, Young Squire, and you can settle accounts with me then.’’ Glancing at Locklear’s freshly bound wounds, he said, ‘‘Go easy on those cuts for another day. By tomorrow you’ll feel better. If you avoid being stabbed again anytime soon, you’ll feel like your old self by week’s end. Now, I must go rest. This is more healing in one afternoon than I usually experience in a week.’’

The priest left, and Locklear slowly rose to cross to the bar and found the innkeeper cleaning up. The portly man said,

‘‘Welcome to the Dusty Dwarf, my friends. What may I do for you?’’

‘‘Food and a room,’’ said Locklear.

They returned to a table, and the innkeeper followed soon after, putting down a large platter of cold meats, breads baked earlier that morning, cheese, and fruits. ‘‘I’ve got some hot food cooking for later this evening, but this early in the day, cold fare is all I have.’’

Owyn and Gorath were already stuffing food into their 50

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mouths, as Locklear was saying, ‘‘That will be fine. Some ale, please.’’

‘‘Right away.’’

The man was back with the ale in a moment, and Owyn asked, ‘‘Sir, what is the story behind the name of this place?’’

‘‘The Dusty Dwarf?’’ said the man.

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Well, truth to tell, it’s not much of a story. Man named Struble owned this place. Called it the Merry Dwarf. Don’t know why. But it had a bright sign. He never had the sign repainted in all the years he owned the place, so by the time I bought it from him, the sign was badly faded. All the locals called it the Dusty Dwarf by then, so I just went along. Saves me the cost of getting the sign painted, too.’’

Owyn smiled at the story as the barkeep hurried off to meet the demands of another customer. Locklear looked nearly asleep as he said, ‘‘All right. We have two choices. We can take the main road down to Quester’s View, or the back way through Eggly and Tannerus and lose a few days.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I’m only guessing, but from what Gorath has said, this Nago or Narab is keeping in contact with their agents by mind speech. As I said before, I know only a little about this speech, but what I do know is it can be very taxing. The magician Pug’s daughter is known to be among the most gifted in the world at this and can speak across vast distances, but she is rare, even unique. For lesser magicians, it requires much rest.’’

Gorath looked on impassively, but Locklear said, ‘‘Come to the point, if you don’t mind. I’m having trouble staying awake.’’

‘‘The point is whoever this magician is, he’s lying low in one place, probably guarded, and probably has one or two key agents in a given area. The rest of his orders are being run by messengers, I’m thinking. So they know where we’ve been, and may have even guessed where we are today, but they don’t know for certain, and they don’t know which way we’ll be going.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Fine, but what does that mean about our choices of route.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘It means he must spread his men equally be-51

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tween the two routes, so the best solution is to take the route where we will be best able to defend ourselves or travel with a larger band, such as a trading caravan.’’

Locklear motioned to the innkeeper, who came and gave him a key, indicating the room at the top of the stairs. As they mounted the stairs, Locklear observed, ‘‘If we were trying to come back from Kesh, a caravan might be a good cover, but as the King’s Highway is usually well patrolled, most traders feel comfortable traveling with a few mercenary guards or none at all. Most commerce along the coast is by ship.’’

As they reached the room, Owyn said, ‘‘Could we make for Quester’s View and hire a ship?’’

‘‘With what?’’ asked Locklear. ‘‘Captain Belford’s letter of introduction isn’t exactly the King’s writ. If a fleet ship is at anchor, I know I could talk our way aboard and get it bound for Krondor, but I’m not anxious to sit around waiting for one to show up. I’m not anxious for anything but a good night’s sleep, finding Isaac and getting this riddle of a special ruby solved, and then figuring out how to get to Krondor as fast as we can.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I can’t argue about that night’s sleep.’’

Gorath said nothing.

An hour after dawn they left the inn, and Locklear felt remarkably recovered. Where searing agony had accompanied his every movement the day before, he now only felt slightly stiff and weak.

He indicated a journey toward the north end of the town as he said, ‘‘If I know Isaac, he’s probably staying at the house of his cousin, a certain young gentleman named Austin Dela-croix.’’

‘‘From Bas-Tyra?’’ asked Owyn, as they started up the busy street. Windows were opening as vendors put out their wares for display, or housewives opened up their homes to the morning air and sun.

‘‘Originally,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘A family of marginal nobility, descended from a onetime hero of some forgotten war when Bas-Tyra was a city-state; their house rank is all based upon that.’’

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‘‘Your human issues of rank and status are . . . difficult to understand,’’ observed Gorath.

‘‘Why?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘Don’t you have chieftains?’’

‘‘We do,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘But it is a rank earned by deeds, not one conferred by birth. Delekhan rose by betrayal and bloodshed, yet he was sheltered by his early service to Murmandamus and Murad.’’ He almost spat the last two names.

‘‘If his son Moraeulf gains his ambition to inherit from his father, it will be over the bodies of many such as I. In better times, he would be a valued sword against our people’s enemy, but these are not better times.’’

‘‘This is the house, I think,’’ said Locklear, pointing to a once-prosperous dwelling fallen on hard times. The house, like those on either side, was a small but well-built structure of wood and stone, with a sturdy door and shuttered windows.

But while the others were clean and recently painted, this was faded and dirty.

Locklear knocked loudly, and after a few minutes a sleepy voice from the other side of the door said, ‘‘What?’’

‘‘Isaac?’’ shouted Locklear, and the door opened.

A young man with long blond hair stuck his head out the door and said, ‘‘Locky?’’ The door opened wide, and the young man bid them enter. He wore only a rumpled tunic and trousers, obviously having slept in them. ‘‘I was just getting up,’’ he said.

‘‘Right,’’ said Locklear, as if humoring him.

The room was dark, with the shutters and sashes still closed, and the air was stale. Old food odors and sweat mixed with the sour aroma of spilled ale. The furniture was simple, one wooden table with four chairs, a single shelf behind the table, and another small table upon which a lamp rested. Stairs led to a sleeping loft above. A faded tapestry, once residing in surroundings far finer than those in which they hung now, was the sole item of any note. It hung behind Isaac, framing him with a tableau of a meeting between princes who were exchanging gifts while notables of that day looked on from all sides.

‘‘Locklear,’’ said Isaac, as if savoring the name. ‘‘What a pleasure. You’re wearing your years well. I like the moustache.

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You always could manage the flamboyant.’’ He turned away and moved with a visible limp. ‘‘Sit down. I would offer you tea or coffee, but my cousin is temporarily visiting other relatives in Bas-Tyra, and I have just arrived last night, so we are not well provisioned.’’

‘‘That’s all right,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘How long’s it been? Since Arutha’s wedding?’’

Isaac sat in a small wooden chair and crossed his legs so that he kept his weight on his good leg. ‘‘The very day. You should have heard the fit old Master of Ceremonies deLacy threw when he found out I wasn’t the Baron of Dorgin’s son.’’

‘‘That’s because there is no Baron of Dorgin,’’ supplied Locklear. ‘‘If you’d done your research, you would have avoided that gaffe.’’

‘‘How was I supposed to know the lands outside the dwarven enclave are the province of the Duke of the Southern Marches?’’

‘‘Study?’’ suggested Locklear.

‘‘Never my strong suit,’’ said Isaac with a wave of his hand.

‘‘Well, at least deLacy was too busy with the wedding to toss you out until the next day,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We had a good time that night. What have you been doing since?’’

‘‘I spent some time in the East with my family, then returned a few years ago to the West. Since then I’ve been doing odd jobs along the border. So, what brings a member of Krondor’s court so far from home with such unusual company?’’

‘‘Certain doings, some bloody, which unfortunately point to you.’’

‘‘Me?’’ said Isaac. ‘‘You’re not serious.’’

‘‘I’m as serious as a Royal Torturer, Isaac, and you’ll have a chance to make a firsthand comparison if you don’t answer me truthfully. I’ll have Gorath sit on you while I go fetch the local constable. We can have a pleasant talk here, or a very unpleasant one in Krondor.’’

Locklear had no intention of summoning the local constable and trying to sort out his claim of rank and authority, especially with no royal writs or warrants. But Isaac didn’t know that, and Locklear wasn’t about to enlighten him.

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‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’’ said Isaac, starting to slowly rise.

Gorath said softly, ‘‘Reach for that sword behind you, and you’ll have a leg to match the other before your fingers touch the hilt, human.’’

‘‘Damn,’’ said Isaac quietly, sitting back down in the chair.

‘‘The ruby,’’ said Locklear.

‘‘What ruby?’’ said Isaac.

‘‘The one you bought from Kiefer Alescook. The one you paid for with gold heading north to buy Delekhan weapons.

The ruby stolen from an important Tsurani magician. The ruby that’s the latest in a series of such transactions.’’

Isaac ran a hand over his face and back through his hair.

‘‘Locky, it’s been hard.’’

Locklear’s expression turned dark, and his voice took on a menacing tone that had Owyn sitting back in surprise. ‘‘As hard as treason, Isaac? As hard as the jerk at the end of a hangman’s rope?’’

‘‘Who said anything about treason, Locky?’’ Isaac’s manner turned to pleading. ‘‘Look, we were boyhood friends before I had my accident. If our positions had been reversed, you’d know; you’d understand what it’s like to be a hired sword with a bad leg. Locky, I was nearly starving when this opportunity came along. I was too far in before I discovered who was behind it.’’

‘‘Tell us what you know, and I’ll do you a favor,’’ said Locklear.

Isaac looked downfallen, and said in a contrite fashion, ‘‘I was in over my head before I knew who I was dealing with.

Alescook is an old acquaintance. I know that from time to time he ‘finds’ gems and jewelry that have . . . ah, ‘clouded’ title is a polite way of putting it.’’

‘‘Stolen,’’ said Locklear.

Isaac squirmed. ‘‘Whatever the cause, the market in the Kingdom is difficult, so those gems find their way south, to Kesh or over the water to Queg or the Free Cities. I’m just a middleman, someone who can take a little trip down to the Vale or over to Krondor or Sarth and put something on a ship.

That’s all.’’

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‘‘The ruby?’’ said Locklear.

Isaac started to rise and hesitated as Gorath leaned forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Isaac continued rising slowly, then mounted the stairs to the loft above. Locklear motioned with his head to Owyn, who stood up and hurried through a small door on the wall next to the tapestry. He found himself in a tiny kitchen, one dirty enough he would have to be far hungrier than he presently was to consider eating anything prepared there. He ducked through the back door and looked up, at a window above, where he saw the head of Isaac disappear back inside. Owyn smiled; Locklear’s instincts had been correct. The lame ex-fighter might attempt to escape from a second-story window, but he knew he wasn’t quick enough to pull off his escape if someone was waiting below.