Krondor the Betrayal (9 page)

A moment later, Locklear called for Owyn’s return, and the young magician complied. He entered the room and stopped.

The hairs on his arm stood up, and he said, ‘‘Let me see the stone.’’

Isaac handed it to him, and said, ‘‘It’s really not a very valuable item, but I get paid well.’’

Owyn replied, ‘‘I don’t know anything about stones and their worth, but I know this one is more than it appears to be.’’ He looked at it closely, and continued, ‘‘This ruby has been prepared.’’

‘‘Prepared for what?’’ asked Locklear. ‘‘Jewelry?’’

‘‘No, as a matrix of some kind for magic. I don’t know much about this sort of thing.’’ He put the stone down. ‘‘Truth to tell, I don’t know much about any sort of thing magical, which is why I left Stardock. The only magic I’ve learned so far was from a field magician name Patrus, a sour old character. But my father objected, and last I heard Patrus headed north—’’

He shook himself out of his revery. ‘‘It doesn’t matter, but what he told me is that some magic is harmonic and can be focused by gems. Or stored in them. He claimed once that magic itself might exist in gem form under the right conditions.

For example, you can rig a trap with certain gems, so that whoever steps into a given area is imprisoned.’’

‘‘Can you tell what this was used for?’’

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‘‘No,’’ said Owyn with a shake to his head. ‘‘It may be something that will be used in the future.’’

‘‘So you think it important?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘I can now see why the Tsurani magician was so angry about its disappearance.’’

Locklear picked up the stone and tossed it in the air a couple of times while he was thinking. After a moment he put away the stone and turned to Isaac. ‘‘Tell us what else you know.’’

Isaac looked defeated, and said, ‘‘Very well. The stones come through the rift on an irregular basis. Sometimes a bunch, sometimes a single one like this one. Money comes to me in Krondor by various means; never the same twice. There’s a new gang in Krondor, run by someone calling himself the Crawler, and he’s causing the Mockers fits.’’

‘‘Mockers?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘Thieves,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘I’ll explain it later. Go on,’’ he said, looking at Isaac.

‘‘Someone in Krondor is paying for gems. The Tsurani bring them in and hand them over to the moredhel. They run them over to Alescook, and I go get them and bring them to Krondor. It’s a fairly simple arrangement.’’

‘‘But someone’s running this. Who and where?’’

Isaac sighed. ‘‘There’s a village south of Sarth. Called Yellow Mule. Know it?’’

‘‘Villages like that don’t put up signs, but if it’s on the King’s Highway, I’ve ridden through it.’’

‘‘It’s not. About twenty miles south of Sarth, there’s a fork in the road, and if you go inland, you’re heading toward an old trail up into the mountains. About five miles along that road is where you’ll find Yellow Mule. It’s why the moredhel are using it. No one travels through there, and it’s easy for his kin‘‘—he indicated Gorath with a jerk of his chin—’’to get there without being seen.

‘‘There’s an old smuggler turned farmer named Cedric Rowe now living there. He knows nothing of loyalty to anyone, or anything but gold. He rents out his barn to a Dark Brother named Nago.’’

‘‘Nago!’’ said Gorath. ‘‘If we take him, then we have an 57

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opportunity to escape his minions. Without him, they are blind, and we can get to Krondor.’’

‘‘Maybe,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘But certainly, if we leave him there, the closer we get to Krondor, the easier it is for his agents to find us.’’

‘‘Why?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘He’s tightening the noose, lad,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘Less land for his men to cover.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Now Quegans make sense. This Rowe has probably been dealing with Quegan pirates all his life and just sent word to someone in Sarth. First ship outbound to Queg passes word, and within a month he’s got as many sea-hardened bullyboys as he needs. And if Nago is throwing gold around, there are more Quegans along the roads to Krondor than a beggar has lice.’’

‘‘And Quegans aren’t likely to run to the King’s soldiers if something goes sour; worst they do is skulk back to the nearest port and find a ship heading out. Little chance of being betrayed by someone going cold in the feet,’’ added Isaac.

‘‘What else?’’ asked Locklear.

‘‘Nothing,’’ said Isaac. He stood up and took a cloak off the peg. ‘‘As soon as I pen a note to my cousin, I’m bound for Kesh. I’ve just set Nago’s assassin on my trail, but he doesn’t know it yet. Each hour I steal before he does, I stand a better chance of reaching Kesh.’’

‘‘I said I’d do you a favor, Isaac, and I will. I’ll let you run for Kesh, for old times’ sake and for keeping up your end of the bargain, but only if you tell us everything.’’

‘‘What makes you think there’s anything else?’’

Locklear pulled his sword suddenly and had the point at Isaac’s throat. ‘‘Because I know you. You always hold something back, just in case you need an edge. I’m guessing this little bit of theater is to give you a chance to be out of town before us, just in case you can find one of Nago’s agents and get him set on us before they figure out you’ve sold them out.

Something like that.’’

Isaac grinned. ‘‘Locky! Why I wouldn’t—’’

Locklear pressed forward with the sword point, and Isaac 58

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stopped talking so suddenly he almost swallowed his own tongue. ‘‘All of it,’’ demanded Locklear in a menacing whisper.

Slowly Isaac raised his hand and gently pushed aside the sword point. ‘‘There’s a lockchest—’’

‘‘What?’’ asked Locklear.

Gorath said, ‘‘A chest in which to lock valuables. My people make them to transport items of importance.’’

‘‘Go on,’’ said Locklear.

‘‘There’s a lockchest outside of town. Go five miles down the road toward Quester’s View. To the right side of the road you’ll see a lightning-struck tree. Beyond that is a small clump of brush. Look there, and you’ll see the chest. I am to leave the ruby there tonight, and when I return tomorrow, my gold is supposed to be waiting for me.’’

‘‘So you never see your contact from Krondor?’’

‘‘Never. That was part of Nago’s instructions to me.’’

‘‘You’ve seen this moredhel?’’ asked Locklear.

‘‘Met him,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘At Yellow Mule. He’s a big one, like your friend here, not slight like some of them can be. Nasty moods and no humor. Odd fire in his eyes if you know what I mean.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘I can imagine. What can you tell us about his company?’’

‘‘He only keeps a couple of soldiers around him—I’ve never seen more than three at any time—because it might be noticed.

And there are enough Quegans coming through there that if he needs swords, he can get them in a hurry. But he’s a magic user, Locky, a right nasty witch, and if you cross him, he can fry you as soon as look at you.’’

Locklear glanced at Gorath, who gave a slight nod of agreement to what was being said. Locklear said, ‘‘Very well, Isaac, here’s what you’re doing. Get something to write with.’’

Isaac glanced around the room and saw an old scrap of faded leather sitting in a corner. He crossed to the small fireplace and fished out some charcoal. He said, ‘‘What do I write?’’

‘‘Write this: ‘Ruby taken by Prince’s man. Three you seek are on the way to Eggly. I am undone and must flee.’ Then sign your name.’’

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Isaac signed, looking pale as he put down those words.

‘‘This marks me, Locky.’’

‘‘You were marked the moment you took gold to turn your hand against your king. You deserve to be hanged, and eventually you will be unless you change your ways, but it will be for another crime, not for this.’’

‘‘Unless Nago’s agents find you first,’’ added Gorath.

That was all Isaac needed. ‘‘What do I do with this?’’

‘‘Put it in the chest where you are to leave the ruby, then I suggest you start running. If you don’t put that note there, and I get to Krondor, I’ll hire assassins even if they have to travel to the farthest reaches of Kesh to find you. You can cut your hair and color it, grow a beard, and wear furs like a Brijainer, but you can’t hide that leg, Isaac. Now get out of here.’’

Isaac didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his sword, his cloak, and the note and hurried out the back door.

‘‘How could you spare that traitor?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘Dead he is of little use to us, and alive he may direct our foes to another path.’’ Locklear looked at Gorath. ‘‘And isn’t it a little odd you’re showing contempt for a traitor?’’

The look Gorath returned could only be called murderous.

‘‘I am no traitor. I’m trying to
save
my people, human.’’ He offered no further embellishment, but turned, and said, ‘‘We must be away. That one cannot be trusted and may attempt to bargain for his life.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘I know, but either way he either plants the note, or he is found and tells them what he knows, which isn’t much. They were trying to kill us before we got the ruby. They can’t make us any more dead for having it.’’

‘‘I think I have a way for us to avoid detection for a while and perhaps reach Nago unseen,’’ Gorath said.

‘‘How?’’ asked Locklear.

‘‘I know the way they reach this village of Yellow Mule. If we take the ridge road toward the town you call Eggly, leaving as we told in the note, there’s a trail a day’s quick run south of here that leads into the higher ridges. It is, I believe, the same trail that empties out near Rowe’s farm.’’

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‘‘How could you know that?’’ asked Locklear, suddenly suspicious.

Gorath’s patience appeared near its end, but he managed to reply evenly. ‘‘Because I lived in these mountains as a child, before you humans came to plague us. Before this land became infested with your kind, my people lived in these mountains.

I’ve fished along these rivers and hunted in these mountains.’’

His voice lowered, and he said, ‘‘I may have built my campfire on the spot you humans have built this house. Now, let us go.

It’s no long journey for a moredhel, but you humans tire easily, and besides, your wounds will slow you even more.’’

‘‘And yours won’t?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘Not so that you would notice,’’ replied the dark elf, turning to the door without waiting for a response and leaving the building.

Locklear and Owyn hurried after and found Gorath waiting.

‘‘We need to buy food. Have we enough gold?’’

‘‘For food, yes,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘For horses, no.’’

They headed to an inn at the east end of town, and Locklear arranged for travel rations, food bound in parchment heavily coated with beeswax, mostly dried or heavily salted to prevent spoilage. While they waited Locklear asked what conditions were like on the road to Eggly, pointedly being loud enough that a few suspicious-looking men hanging about the commons early in the day could overhear. Should anyone ask about them, he was certain this would only reinforce the false information in Isaac’s note.

They left the inn and hurried on the road toward the town of Eggly. Locklear glanced upward, considered the rapidly rising ridge above the trees on the western side of the train, and considered the wisdom of hiking up to that elevation and over the mountains down into a nest of killers over which presided a murderous moredhel sorcerer. Finally he was left with the only answer which he could come up with: there wasn’t a better idea presenting itself.

Resigning himself to a long walk and cold nights, he followed Gorath, with Owyn at his side.

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•

T HE WIND HOWLED THROUGH THE PASS.

Locklear spoke through chattering teeth. ‘‘The things I do for King and Country.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Ignore the cold. As long as you can feel your fingers and toes, it is only discomfort, nothing more.’’

‘‘Easy for you to say,’’ said Owyn, shivering almost uncontrollably. ‘‘You’re used to it, living up in the Northlands.’’

‘‘You’re never ‘used to it,’ human. You just learn to accept things over which you have no control.’’ He looked meaning-fy at the two young men, then pointed. ‘‘We can expect to see a sentry anytime now.’’

‘‘What should we do?’’ asked Locklear, the cold and his hunger robbing him of his wits.

‘‘Wait over there,’’ said Gorath, ‘‘while I scout.’’

Locklear and Owyn went to the relative shelter provided by the lee side of a huge boulder and waited. Time dragged on, and Owyn and Locklear sat close together to preserve warmth.

Suddenly Gorath returned. ‘‘There are four guards near the barn,’’ he said. ‘‘Within, I do not know, but even alone Nago is dangerous.’’

Locklear stood and stomped his feet to restore warmth, flexing fingers and moving in place, getting ready to engage an enemy. ‘‘What do we do?’’ he asked again, content to let Gorath lead in this circumstance.

Gorath said, ‘‘Owyn, I have no idea of what you are capable, KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

but Nago is a spellcaster of much ability. He can wither a foe with his arts, turning him to lifeless ash, or drive one away screaming in terror. He and his brother are among the most dangerous allies of Delekhan, and serve him even more vigorously since the coming of The Six.’’

‘‘Who are The Six?’’ asked Owyn.

Locklear waved away the question. ‘‘So, how do we deal with Nago?’’

Gorath pointed to Owyn. ‘‘You must distract him, boy.

Locklear and I will dispatch the other four, and anyone else who might be within the barn, but the magician must be your concern. Cause him to falter, to hesitate, to attempt to leave, anything, but you must keep him there for me to deal with, and you must keep him from bringing his arts to bear. Can you do that?’’

Owyn was obviously frightened, but he said, ‘‘I will try.’’

‘‘No one can ask for more,’’ said Gorath. To Locklear he said, ‘‘We have surprise, but we must kill the first two quickly.

If we are overpowered, or even if we are delayed overmuch in reaching Nago, this will all come to a bad end. If Owyn can’t occupy the magician until we reach him, he will end our journey before we can warn your prince.’’