Krondor the Betrayal (34 page)

At times like these, Pug wished he had spent more time studying what was commonly known as the Lesser Path.

Weather magic was an intrinsic part of that canon. His mind wrestled with a concept, one that he had been formulating for years, since he had returned to Midkemia as the first practitioner of the Great Path, as the Tsurani called their magic.

Sometimes he felt like he was peeling an onion, where every layer revealed only showed another layer below, made all the harder to perceive by the tears in his eyes. Then it hit Pug,
it’s
always an onion.

He laughed. ‘‘There is no magic. There are only onions!’’

He knew he was too tired to continue, yet he returned to the table. He had come to one frightening conclusion, a possibility he really didn’t want to accept, but it was the only answer. Somewhere along the way, the moredhel had encountered and recruited a new ally.

A soft gong sound caused Pug to look up. The sound was a signal sent by a Tsurani Great One prior to arriving at the domicile of another, but he had not heard such a tone since leaving Kelewan, nine years earlier. He had no pattern here, so how his visitor had located him was a mystery.

The air before him shimmered a brief instant, then Makala was standing before him. ‘‘Greetings, Milamber,’’ said the Tsurani magician. ‘‘Forgive the presumption of calling unannounced, but I felt it was time for us to come to an understanding.’’

Pug said, ‘‘How did you manage to arrive here without a pattern?’’

Makala said, ‘‘You are not the only member of the Assembly—’’

‘‘Former member,’’ said Pug. Despite the fact of his rank and powers being returned to him after the Riftwar, he had never returned to assume a position among the other members 234

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of the Assembly of Great Ones on the Island of Magicians on Kelewan.

‘‘As you wish.
Former
member of the Assembly. You are not alone in your ability to progress beyond what many consider to be the conventional limits of our arts. I find that one can move at will to a location or person without the constraints of a pattern.’’

‘‘A useful ability,’’ said Pug. ‘‘I would like to learn how to do it someday.’’

‘‘Perhaps someday you will,’’ said Makala. ‘‘But I came here on another matter.’’

Pug indicated a seat. The Tsurani magician declined. ‘‘I will not be here long. I came to give you warning.’’

Pug was silent. He waited, and after a moment, Makala continued. ‘‘I and some of our brethren are involved in an undertaking that will not tolerate your interference, Milamber.’’

‘‘Pug,’’ he corrected. ‘‘On this world I am Pug.’’

‘‘To me you will always be Milamber, the barbarian Great One who came to our world and sowed destruction among us.’’

Pug sighed. He had thought that particular debate was a decade behind him. ‘‘You’re not here to revisit the past, Makala. What are you doing, and what warning are you trying to convey?’’

Makala said, ‘‘What we are doing is of no concern to you, Milamber. And my warning is: do not attempt to involve yourself in any way.’’

Pug was silent a long moment, then said, ‘‘I know you were among those who were most resistant to my acceptance in the Assembly, all those years ago when Fumita brought me from the Shinzawai estate.’’

‘‘Resistant?’’ Makala smiled. ‘‘I was among those who voted for your death before you entered training. I then considered you a grave risk to the Empire, and from my perspective, sub-sequent events bore out that suspicion.’’

‘‘Whatever I did, it was, in the end, for the good of the Empire.’’

‘‘Perhaps, but history teaches us that often such issues are merely a question of perspective. No matter. What is occurring 235

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now is being done without question for the good of the Empire, as is our mandate.’’

Pug said, ‘‘So then what I was on the verge of uncovering is now revealed to me by your appearance here.’’

‘‘What would that be?’’

‘‘That these magicians aiding Delekhan, the so-called ‘Six,’

are Tsurani Great Ones.’’

‘‘I congratulate you on arriving at that conclusion based upon evidence you didn’t gather firsthand. Impressive deduction, Milamber. But then Hochopepa always insisted you possessed an unusual mind.’’

‘‘It was easy enough if one paused but a moment to examine the behavior of the participants in these various acts. The moredhel? They have always held a deep, abiding hatred of all other races, deeming anyone not of their people to be intruders in their domain. The trolls and goblins are often their tools.

‘‘But when I looked at the pattern, I saw gems from the Empire coming to Midkemia, and being exchanged for gold.

Had the gold returned to Tsuranuanni, there would have been no question, for there the gold is worth a hundred times more than here. But the gold never did. It went for weapons, and those weapons went to the moredhel. There was nothing in this for the Tsurani involved, nothing apparent.

‘‘Then when reports of the magic used by Delekhan began to appear, things didn’t fit. Some of the things reported could only have been done by Tsurani Great Ones.

‘‘Which leaves me with this one question: why?’’

‘‘Why is not for you to know. Your judgment is called into question, Milamber. You revealed yourself as not being one of us when you destroyed the Emperor’s celebration and drove the warlord to take his own life in shame. You live here, your birthworld, and you’ve taken a Thuril for your wife.

‘‘You have a daughter who has shown power, yet you let her live.’’

Pug’s eyes narrowed in warning that his temper was about to come to play. ‘‘Walk softly, Makala! This is not the Empire, and your words are not law.’’

‘‘We have difficulties on both sides of the rift,’’ said the Tsurani Great One. ‘‘Others of our brethren now must deal 236

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with the consequences of the destruction of House Minwanabi by House Acoma. The order of the Empire is threatened. And here, on your birthworld, this academy you created at Stardock, why even some of our own have agreed to come teach your students.’’ His voice rose in anger. ‘‘Our former enemies!’’

‘‘We are not your enemies,’’ said Pug, his fatigue suddenly threatening to overwhelm him. ‘‘Ichindar knows this.’’

‘‘The Light of Heaven will not live forever. Eventually, the Assembly will press for a return to the order we have enjoyed for two thousand years.

‘‘But to ensure you, the single biggest threat to our plans, do not interfere, we have arranged to take your daughter to a place she will remain until such time we are satisfied you no longer are a threat.’’

Pug’s anger threatened to spill over. Barely able to hold back rage, Pug choked, ‘‘Gamina! What have you done with her?’’

‘‘She is unharmed. She will remain safe as long as you do not attempt to hinder our plans.’’

‘‘Your plans involve murder on a wholesale scale if you’re in league with the moredhel, Makala! Can you think I’d stand aside, even if it means my daughter’s life, and let you destroy my homeland?’’ He moved to stand before the Tsurani Great One. ‘‘And do you think to match your power with mine?’’

‘‘Never, Milamber. You are the greatest of our brethren, which is why you must be neutralized. But if you destroy me, there are others who will see that what must be done is done.

We will not oppose you if you seek to reach your daughter.’’

He stepped aside, and said, ‘‘In fact, we will provide you with means to go to her, but I warn you this might prove a mistake, as even your daunting prowess will not prevail in returning you here.’’

‘‘Let me go to her,’’ Pug said, his fear for his daughter washing away his fatigue. ‘‘As soon as I write a note to my wife.’’

‘‘No,’’ said Makala. ‘‘If you go, you go now.’’ He took out a device, similar to a Tsurani transportation orb, but somehow different. He put it down. ‘‘There is only one position, Milamber. It will take you to your daughter, but only if you leave within a minute of my activating it.’’ He clicked a slide on the 237

Raymond E. Feist

side of it, and put it down on the pile of maps. ‘‘That minute begins now.’’ He turned and walked away, producing another device and as he held his hand out to activate it, he said, ‘‘My motives are for the good of the Empire, Milamber. I have never harbored any personal ill will toward you. That is for lesser men. At the end of this, I hope you and your family are well, but if you oppose me, I will see you all destroyed, for the good of the Empire.’’ He vanished.

Pug grabbed a quill, dipped it in ink, and swept away all the papers and parchment on his desk, but one, a map upon the back of which he hastily penned six words. Then he dropped the quill and grabbed a writing charcoal, two pieces of parchment, and seized the device left by Makala, and with a fey humming, a high-pitched whine, the device activated, and he was gone, leaving only shifting papers on the floor as, outside his window, the fury of the storm broke upon Krondor.

The inn was crowded, dirty, and noisy, with men on the verge of brawling at the least excuse. James stood at the bar, grinning.

‘‘What are you so happy about?’’ whispered Locklear.

‘‘I’m home, Locky. I’ve missed places like this.’’

‘‘You’re crazy, boy,’’ said Patrus. ‘‘You looking to die young?’’

‘‘I’ll tell you about some of the places I spent my time in when I was a kid, someday. Right now I’m just enjoying the prospect of this bunch being the ones heading south in a few weeks.’’

‘‘Something’s not right,’’ whispered Locklear. ‘‘This isn’t an army; it’s rabble.’’

‘‘Locky, let’s get some fresh air.’’

He led his companions from the inn and outside. Evening had fallen, cold and damp, with a mist of rain. When he saw they weren’t overheard, James said, ‘‘Everywhere I look I see wall fodder, with a few moredhel clans I would wager are not high on Delekhan’s list of close friends.’’

‘‘Wall fodder,’’ chuckled Patrus. ‘‘I like that.’’

‘‘Not if you’d ever had to be the first over the wall,’’ said Locklear, who had stood on the walls at Armengar and Highcastle with James and watched warriors die trying to do just that.

‘‘Where’s the the army?’’ asked James rhetorically.

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‘‘Moving toward us, even as we speak,’’ replied Locklear humorously.

‘‘We might have a better idea if we knew what Kroldech knows.’’

‘‘Well, then,’’ suggested Patrus, ‘‘why don’t we just go ask him?’’

James said, ‘‘Or I could sneak in and see what he’s got lying around that looks like orders.’’

‘‘You read that moredhel chicken scratching, boy?’’ asked the magician.

James lost his smile. ‘‘No, I hadn’t thought about that.’’ Orders from Delekhan to his field commander would be in that language, not the King’s Tongue.

Patrus grinned. ‘‘Well, I can.’’

‘‘How?’’ asked Locklear. ‘‘Who taught you to read moredhel?’’

‘‘No one,’’ said the magician with a look of disgust on his face.

‘‘Oh!’’ said Locklear, suddenly getting it. ‘‘Magic!’’

Rolling his eyes, Patrus said, ‘‘Right, magic.’’ With a playful slap to the back of Locklear’s head, he added, ‘‘Idiot.’’

James said, ‘‘I think we have a problem, still.’’

‘‘What?’’ asked Patrus. ‘‘You sneak in, get the papers, bring them out, I’ll read them, you sneak in, put them back, and we leave.’’

‘‘That’s the problem,’’ said James. ‘‘I should be able to sneak in and out, once, but the second time? And if the plans are removed and found missing, they’ll change them, almost certainly.’’

‘‘How many ways can they march down that pass and up to the walls of the keep?’’ asked Locklear.

‘‘Several,’’ said James, ‘‘and if we ready for one, and they come a different way, well, even this rabble could create problems enough to cost us dearly.’’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘‘Damn.’’

They kept walking, not wishing to have anyone see them lingering. While most of the camp in the town was either asleep or drinking in one of the several taverns in Raglam, 239

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there were enough soldiers around to view with suspicion anyone loitering.

Locklear said, ‘‘What if we could have a reason for being in there looking through the papers?’’

‘‘What?’’

Locklear grinned. ‘‘I have an idea.’’

James said, ‘‘I usually end up not liking it when you say that.’’

‘‘Come on,’’ said the younger squire. ‘‘This is brilliant.’’

‘‘Oh, I
really
don’t like it when you say that.’’

Locklear crossed the largest street along the south end of town, and moved to the open field where the catapult aimed at town sat. A company of engineers lay sleeping at the base of the engine, and Locklear signaled for silence. He tiptoed to where the massive war engine sat and inspected it from a few feet away. Then he looked around on the ground, until he found a rock the size of his fist. He pointed to the machine, and in a whisper asked, ‘‘Do you think you could hit that release lever from here?’’

James looked a moment, and said, ‘‘No, but I could hit it from over there.’’ He pointed to a location the same distance from the catapult but at a different angle. ‘‘I think you mean could I hit it and make it release.’’

Showing frustration, Locklear said, ‘‘Yes, that’s what I mean.

Go stand over there, and when I signal you, count to one hundred. Then throw the rock and release the lever.’’

‘‘And what about the lashings?’’

‘‘I’ll take care of that. Patrus, come with me.’’

Locklear took the old magician, and said, ‘‘Walk around over there’’—he pointed to a location on the other side of where the engineers lay sleeping—‘‘and wait for me.’’

Patrus headed off to do as he was bid, and when he saw James hadn’t moved, Locklear shooed him away with a fluttering hand. James shook his head in disbelief, but he went where he was told to go.

Locklear crept close to the catapult and looked at the large restraining rope across the mighty engine’s arm. If it wasn’t in place, only the lever and gear arrangement kept the huge arm from discharging its deadly missile. As silently as possible, 240