Krondor the Betrayal (25 page)

‘‘Duke Martin is a regular visitor to Elvandar and sends reports to Krondor. As I understand it, Redtree and his people are trying to decide if they’re going to be part of Aglaranna’s people, or separate, but living among them. Something like that.’’

‘‘It’s passing strange,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I would assume Aglaranna would enslave them had they come begging for refuge.’’

James laughed.

‘‘You find that funny?’’

‘‘I’ve met old Redtree, and he doesn’t exactly strike me as the type to beg or to accept slavery without killing a couple hundred people first.’’

Gorath nodded. ‘‘He is a warrior of great skill and power.’’

They could again feel the spray off the waterfall, and James asked, ‘‘Owyn, where is the entrance?’’

Owyn said, ‘‘We’ll have to tie the horses and walk from here.’’

They did so, and as they reached a place beside the waterfall, where the spray was heavy enough to soak them in minutes, James said, ‘‘How many people knew of this entrance?’’

‘‘A few, in my family, and among the staff. Ugyne and I, along with Neville, used to play there. We got beaten when we were caught, and I don’t think the Baron ever found out that we knew the entire route from the keep to the bolt-hole.’’

He pointed to a rock a few feet above his head. ‘‘This is why no one in the village ever found their way into the keep. I need a leg up.’’

James made a cup with his hand and gave Owyn a boost, and the young magician pulled himself to the ledge. He said,

‘‘Hand me my staff.’’ They did, and he said, ‘‘Now, stand back.’’

They stood away, and Owyn used his staff to move a rock.

A rumbling caused James to move even farther back. A large rock face moved aside. Owyn jumped down with an ‘‘oof’’

and stood up. ‘‘Getting out’s easy. There’s a lever just inside.

Getting in is impossible if you don’t know the trick.’’

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James moved just inside the entrance, and said, ‘‘Someone found the trick. Look.’’

Dust had coated the entire length of the tunnel, but there were clear footprints running down the middle of the tunnel; many feet had trodden the floor recently. Gorath said, ‘‘As we move along this tunnel, we will soon lose the masking noise of the waterfall. Tread softly.’’

James said, ‘‘We need a torch.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘No, we don’t. I’ll make us some light.’’

Owyn closed his eyes, then held out his hand. A sphere of soft light surrounded him, less than would have come from a torch, but enough for them to see by. ‘‘That’s handy,’’ said James.

Owyn shrugged. ‘‘Until recently I didn’t know if I’d ever use it for anything more significant than finding my way to the jakes in the middle of the night.’’

James grinned. ‘‘Let’s go.’’

He pulled his sword as did Gorath, and without a word they set off down the tunnel.

A soft tread of boot leather on stone was all Gorath needed to warn them. He held up his hand and listened, his more-than-human hearing announcing the approach of someone. He turned and held up two fingers.

James nodded and motioned for Owyn to move back down the tunnel, taking his faint light with him, while he and Gorath waited in the gloom for whoever came toward them. A moment later a light could be seen down the hall, approaching rapidly. Voices echoed off the rock.

‘‘I don’t like it,’’ said one.

‘‘You don’t have to like it. You only have to follow orders.’’

‘‘There used to be a lot more of us, if you remember.’’

‘‘I remember, but the fewer of us, the more gold—’’

The two men turned the corner and Gorath and James leaped upon them. Catching them unexpectedly, James and Gorath had them down before they knew they were under attack.

But surprise didn’t mean surrender, and the two assassins fought like cornered animals, forcing Owyn to run forward 171

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with his staff and lay one low with a crushing blow to the head.

The other died upon his own knife, as James fell heavily atop the man.

James slowly rose, saying, ‘‘Damn. I wanted a prisoner.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘We are in their nest. It would be wise for us to leave now that we know where they are and return with soldiers.’’

‘‘Wise, perhaps, but my experience with these birds is they will have flown by the time we return. They are never abundant in number, and quite a few have died recently. I doubt there are more than a half dozen left between here and the Teeth of the World.’’ James pointed a finger down the hall from where the two had come. ‘‘But if we identify or trap their leader, we may finally be done with this bunch.

‘‘I thought them dead and buried ten years ago, but obviously I was wrong. At the least one or two of them fled to start this murderous brotherhood again. Only fanatics kill themselves like that. I must find out if these are but hired blades working for whoever pays the most, or if they are willing allies of your Delekhan.’’

‘‘What difference does it make when it’s Kingdom throats being cut?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘Men who work for gold are one thing. Men pledged to dark causes are another. If these are men working for gold, we can deal with them at leisure, for they will know little beyond where to pick up their gold and whom to kill. But if they are involved in these dark plots, perhaps we will learn something’’—he pointed down the hall—‘‘down there.’’

Gorath and Owyn exchanged glances, and Owyn said,

‘‘Well, I’d get bored out there waiting for you to come back.’’

He held up his glowing ring. ‘‘Besides, I have the light.’’

Gorath gave a grunt that might have passed for a chuckle.

For nearly half an hour they walked through a long tunnel, then Owyn said, ‘‘There’s a storage room ahead, if I remember.’’

They found a large wooden door, still intact and well oiled, behind which was a barracks. A score of beds were lined up, ten against each wall, and racks of weapons occupied the far 172

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end of the room. Most of the beds hadn’t been slept in, but four showed recent occupation. Owyn pointed, and whispered,

‘‘Those two we killed may have friends close by.’’

‘‘Or they could have left already,’’ said James.

They moved to the racks and saw the weapons were polished and ready. A variety of lethal-looking blades were stored in orderly fashion, as well as daggers, throwing knives, darts, and strangling cords. A shelf full of jars was attached to the wall above the rack. ‘‘Poisons, I’m willing to bet,’’ said James.

He looked at Owyn. ‘‘How much farther do these tunnels go?’’

‘‘Miles if you mean all the levels. This is the lowest gallery, and there are three between this one and the basement of the old keep. Though I don’t think we could get there because of the caved-in wine cellar.’’ He pointed to a door at the opposite end of the room. ‘‘Through there is another room like this one, and then stairs up.’’

James went to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, he opened it and found another barracks, with twenty well-made empty beds. ‘‘No one has been here for a while,’’ he observed.

‘‘Not quite true,’’ said Gorath, pointing. ‘‘One pair of footprints. Heading that way.’’ He indicated the far end of the room.

At the far end of the room stone stairs rose up the wall, to a hole in the ceiling. Next to the stairs was a bed left unmade, apart from the others. A huge wardrobe had been placed next to the bed, incongruous in its setting. It was made of highly polished wood with gilt trim, and when James opened it, clothing of expensive weave and boots of fine leather could be seen.

‘‘I’m willing to bet the leader of this band of cutthroats is the dandy who uses this bed.’’ He looked around. ‘‘See if there’s anything here that might identify this fashion plate. I’m going to check the next floor.’’

James hurried up the steps and discovered a large wooden door barred the way. It was attached to the stones by heavy hinges and a hasp with a lock. Locks had rarely proven a problem to the former thief, but this one was of ingenious design, and James had fallen out of the habit of traveling with lockpicks. ‘‘Owyn, what’s up here?’’

Owyn paused, as if searching his memory, then said, ‘‘It’s 173

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another storage room, smaller, but similar to this one, and then there’s a long tunnel leading back into the mountain.’’

James came down the stairs. ‘‘Either our quarry is hiding something up there from his own men, or he’s fearful of someone stumbling into this lair from above.’’

‘‘I doubt the second case,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Someone would have to get into the old keep, know how to activate the door from the armory to the first tunnel, and besides, most of the upper passages were buried in the collapse of the old wine cellar.’’

‘‘Then he’s keeping something under lock for his own reasons.’’

‘‘Perhaps gold,’’ suggested Gorath. ‘‘Assassins would have to be paid.’’

James said, ‘‘There is that.’’ He came down the stairs.

‘‘Find anything?’’

‘‘Just this,’’ said Owyn. He held out a book.

James took it and read the title on the first page.
‘‘The Abbot’s
Journal,’’
he read aloud. He flipped a few pages, and said, ‘‘It’s a collection of stories about your uncle’s family, it seems.’’ He handed it back to Owyn. ‘‘How did it get here?’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I have no idea. It may have gotten lost when my uncle evacuated the keep after the fire, and someone combing the rubble above might have found it.’’

‘‘Bring it along,’’ said James. ‘‘I think I’ll do some reading before bed tonight.’’

James led them back the way they had come.

James moved the beds, and Gorath asked, ‘‘Is this some human custom of which I’m not aware?’’

James grinned. ‘‘Unless there were no other Nighthawks around, someone is going to find it odd that two of their lads went missing. My best guess is Nighthawks don’t usually go absent without permission. So it’s not unlikely that whoever discovers they are gone might decide to come see if we three had something to do with it.’’

Once he had the beds crowded against the door, he said, ‘‘If they act as usual, one or more of them will come through that window while the rest come in that door. They’ll come fast, through the outer door and up the stairs before Peter the Grey 174

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can get out of bed to find out what’s causing all the noise. If they work as planned, by the time old Peter gets through the kitchen and up these stairs he’ll find three bodies here and an open window.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘If they come.’’

James grinned. ‘‘Oh, they’ll come. We’re the only newcomers in the area who’ve been hanging around, visiting the Baron, asking questions. I just don’t know if they’ll come tonight or tomorrow night.’’ James turned the lamp low, enough so he could read, sat down next to the lamp on the floor, and opened the book he had Owyn carry back from Cavell Run.

Owyn produced a second book, and said, ‘‘I might as well put this time to good use, as well. I’ve neglected this too long.’’

‘‘What is it?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘My book of magic.’’

‘‘You wrote a book?’’ asked the dark elf.

‘‘No, it’s a book each student keeps, recording thoughts, discoveries, and notations of things observed or learned.’’ He produced a quill and a tiny vial of ink. ‘‘When Nago almost hit me with that spell he threw, I sensed something, and, well, it’s hard to explain, but I’m puzzling out how he did it. I think with some more study I can do it.’’

James looked up. ‘‘What does it do?’’

‘‘If I’m right, it should immobilize the person struck, maybe more.’’

‘‘More?’’ asked James, now very interested.

‘‘I think it might eventually kill the victim.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘If it immobilizes, what does it matter? You just pull out your dagger and walk up and cut his throat.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I guess. When I was at Stardock, the teachers didn’t delve too deeply into violent applications.’’

James yawned. ‘‘Which is wise. It wouldn’t do to have a bunch of you youngsters wandering around that island tossing off fireballs and blasts of lightning at each other. The tavern brawls would be pretty impressive in the carnage they left behind.’’

Owyn laughed. ‘‘Maybe you’re right. I’m but twenty and two summers, and some of the students were twice my age. I think magic takes a long time to master.’’

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James said, ‘‘If one ever does master it.’’

‘‘I heard Pug was a true master,’’ said Owyn.

James yawned again. ‘‘I’ve seen him do some pretty impressive things,’’ he admitted through his yawn. ‘‘Mercy, but this waiting is trying on the nerves.’’

‘‘Then get some sleep,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I’ll watch.’’

Owyn asked, ‘‘Do you know Pug well?’’

‘‘We met a few times,’’ said James. ‘‘Why? Didn’t you meet him at Stardock?’’

‘‘No, I saw him from time to time, with his family, but he spends most of his time in his tower or off away from Stardock. Most of the teaching is done by others. I met him only that one time in Krondor, briefly, when his daughter was trying to read Gorath’s mind.’’

‘‘I’ve never met the girl, though I hear she’s a nice kid,’’

said James, as he thumbed through the book. ‘‘Her brother Willie’s a good lad. He’s training to be an officer in Arutha’s guard.’’

‘‘Hmmm,’’ said Owyn, and James glanced over to see the young magician lost in his notes.

James looked through the book in his lap again for nearly a half hour. ‘‘This is the most improbable collection of accounts and . . . outright fabrications I’ve ever encountered.’’

Owyn looked up. ‘‘What do you mean?’’

‘‘There’s lists of births and deaths, as if someone sat down one day and told this Abbot Cafrel the Cavell family history in one sitting, then suddenly we’re talking about missing treasure, swords of incredible magic power, and curses.’’

‘‘Sounds interesting,’’ said Gorath, who was trying to be polite.

James laughed. ‘‘I agree,’’ he said, putting aside the book.

‘‘You watch, and I’ll sleep. Wake me in two hours.’’

James curled up and Owyn studied, and Gorath watched the window, his hand resting on his sword.