Krondor the Betrayal (35 page)

KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

Locklear took his dagger and cut through the rope. It took several tense moments, as he sawed through the huge bundle of fibers, watching to see if any of the engineers stirred.

When the rope was severed, he moved away and quickly circled around the camp. He went to Patrus, took the old man by the arm, and led him off into the dark. Just as he was about to vanish from sight, he signaled to James.

James, still not knowing what Locklear’s plan was going to accomplish, counted to one hundred. When he reached seventy, he heard voices raised in the distance. When he reached ninety, he heard feet running in his direction. Not waiting to reach one hundred, at ninety-two he threw the rock. With his keen eye and strong arm, he put the stone right where it needed to be, knocking loose the lever. With a loud crash, the huge arm unloaded its stone, slamming hard against the crossbeam at the top of its arc. The sound instantly awoke the engineers, who leaped to their feet, shouting. ‘‘What was that?

What? Who did that?’’

Just then Patrus and Locklear arrived with a company of moredhel warriors. ‘‘There they are!’’ shouted Locklear. ‘‘They tried to kill Kroldech!’’

The warriors rushed forward while the still-stunned engineers milled around in mute astonishment. That lasted but a moment, then suddenly they were yelling at the moredhel guards, who were accusing them of treason.

Locklear took Patrus by the arm and hurried to James’s side, while shouts and confusion came from the other side of the town.

‘‘What did you tell them, Locky?’’

‘‘Just that this concerned old man, out looking for his lost cat, had come across this nest of traitors who were training their catapult on the commander’s house, and he didn’t know who to turn to, so I was bringing him over to that loyal bunch there.’’

‘‘Are they loyal?’’ asked James with a laugh.

Locklear returned the laugh. ‘‘How do I know? Even if they’re part of the faction trying to kill Kroldech, they’re going to be all over those engineers for not waiting to do it when they were told.’’

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James spoke in appreciative tones. ‘‘Damn, but you can be a sneaky bastard at times.’’

‘‘I take that as high praise, considering the source,’’ said Locklear.

They reached the area around Kroldech’s headquarters, and James said, ‘‘I think I know what to do.’’

He pushed through confused-looking soldiers and townspeople, saying, ‘‘Stand away! Let us through.’’

When he got to where he could see the damage, he had to stop a moment in amazement. The stone had crashed through the center of the roof, crushing the upper floor and collapsing it down on the second floor. The main doors were off their hinges. ‘‘Damn, those guys were good,’’ whispered James in appreciation of the engineers’ skill.

Then he realized he wasn’t moving, and James said, ‘‘We’ve got to save the commander!’’

He waved at a few warriors nearby, and said, ‘‘Help us find the commander!’’

They followed, and James led them into the ruins of the inn.

Several stunned warriors lay sprawled on the floor, and James had to duck under cracked and fallen ceiling beams, which were now only five feet above the floor in the commons.

‘‘Where’s the commander?’’ he asked one.

‘‘He was over there, at his place in the rear of the commons,’’

said a moredhel warrior with blood running down his face.

Turning to those moredhel who had followed James inside, he said, ‘‘Get these warriors outside to safety.’’ Pointing at Patrus and Locklear as if they were just two among many, he said, ‘‘You and you, come with me and help me find the commander.’’

They had to crawl under a beam. After a minute of negotiating their way in the gloom, they came to the room used by the commander. The door was off the hinges, and they had to climb over a fallen beam, but they got inside.

Two moredhel, killed by flying timber splinters the size of arrows, lay on the floor near the door. But behind a table crouched a moredhel, whimpering in terror, but otherwise un-injured. From the rings on this fingers and the golden amulet 242

KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

around his neck, James deduced he was the commander. He lay curled up and obviously shocked to near mindlessness.

‘‘Not what one expects in a moredhel chieftain,’’ observed Locklear.

‘‘Get him outside, Locky,’’ said James, ‘‘but take your time.

Patrus and I will see what we can save from the fire.’’

‘‘What fire?’’ asked Locklear.

James took a paper and handed it to Patrus. ‘‘Is this important?’’

The magician closed his eyes a moment, then opened them.

He looked at the document, and said, ‘‘No.’’ James took a shattered lantern, and dipped the paper in it. Then he produced a flint and steel from his belt pouch and struck sparks on the paper. It ignited. Taking the burning paper from Patrus, he pointed to it with his other hand, and said, ‘‘That fire.’’

Locklear grinned. ‘‘Oh.’’ He pulled on Kroldech’s arm and said, ‘‘Commander, we must flee! Fire!’’

That seemed to energize the stunned moredhel chieftain. He let Locklear help him to his feet, and said something in his native tongue.

‘‘Come with me, Commander,’’ Locklear repeated. He led Kroldech away.

Patrus and James quickly examined papers, and each one that Patrus gave James that wasn’t important, James added to the growing fire.

Finally, he said, ‘‘This. This is the attack plan.’’

‘‘Read it to me,’’ said James, ‘‘quickly.’’

Patrus did and James forced himself to remember every word as it was being read. ‘‘I have it. Now, grab up some other papers and follow me.’’

The fire was now burning in earnest, and by the time they reached the point where they had to crawl under the timbers, it was getting hot. Just as flames erupted through the roof they reached safety outside and found Locklear holding up the still-wobbly commander.

Reaching them, James said, ‘‘Master! We managed to save these papers.’’ He held out the entire random bundle of papers.

Kroldech’s eyes focused, and at last he understood what happened. ‘‘Assassins!’’ he shouted. ‘‘They tried to kill me.’’

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‘‘They are in custody,’’ said the moredhel chieftain who had been alerted by Locklear. ‘‘These mercenaries saved you, master.’’

Kroldech grabbed the papers from James and started inspecting them. After a moment, he came to the orders of battle, and smiled. ‘‘Good!’’ He struck James on the arm, hard enough to hurt. ‘‘You are heroes!’’ He stuck the battle plan under James’s nose. ‘‘Do you know what this is?’’

James feigned ignorance. ‘‘No. We just grabbed what we could, master.’’

‘‘If this had been lost, I would have had to redraw all our plans. You’ve saved me days of labor.’’ Looking at the fire, he said, ‘‘And you saved my life. I am in your debt.’’

‘‘Think nothing of it,’’ said James.

‘‘Nonsense,’’ said Kroldech. ‘‘Come to me tomorrow, and I will reward you.’’

‘‘Thank you, master,’’ said James. ‘‘We will.’’

The still-shaken moredhel leader allowed himself to be escorted away to new quarters as James turned to Locklear and said, ‘‘Where’s Patrus?’’

‘‘He was with you. Maybe he’s over where our horses are waiting?’’

They walked to where their horses were. Patrus had a third horse and was mounting it. Locklear said, ‘‘Kroldech said we’re heroes. Wants us to come by tomorrow and collect a reward.’’

‘‘You going to hang around for the reward, James?’’ asked the old magician.

‘‘When trolls can fly. By tomorrow morning, I want to be halfway to Northwarden.’’

As all eyes were on the burning inn, they slipped out of town and managed to get down the road before being challenged. The bored-looking mercenary asked what they were doing on the road late at night, and James said, ‘‘The elves can’t handle those trolls down south, so we’re being sent to sort them out.’’

‘‘Heard there was some trouble down there,’’ said the guard.

‘‘Good luck.’’

‘‘Thanks,’’ said James.

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After they were out of earshot, Locklear said, ‘‘Patrus! Where did you get that horse?’’

‘‘I borrowed it,’’ said the old magician with a cackle. ‘‘Kroldech won’t miss it until tomorrow.’’

Locklear’s only satisfaction on the way back was that James had to spend his pouch of gold to get past the trolls, but at least the trolls thought of them as friends now. The ride was difficult, as the weather had turned very cold and wet. The horses were tiring and had to be walked at times.

Eventually they reached the road up to the keep, and James said, ‘‘Where are our soldiers?’’

Locklear said, ‘‘I thought some of the forward elements might be trying to keep out of the rain, but you’re right. We should have seen others by now.’’

James set his heels hard against his horse’s sides and was off at a canter, demanding as much as the fatigued animal could give going up the steep road to the keep. When they were within sight of the keep, they saw the gate was up and the portcullis down, and torches burned on the walls.

‘‘They’ve crawled inside and buttoned up!’’ said Locklear.

Reaching the edge of the moat, James called out, ‘‘Hello the castle!’’

From above a sentry shouted, ‘‘Who goes there?’’

‘‘Squire James, Squire Locklear, and Patrus. Let us in.’’

There was some discussion, but eventually the massive bridge was lowered while the iron lattice of the portcullis was raised. James and the others rode across the drawbridge.

Inside the barbican, a group of soldiers waited, and James dismounted. ‘‘What is wrong?’’ he demanded.

A soldier said, ‘‘Assassins, Squire. Nighthawks in the castle.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘What has happened?’’

‘‘Baron Gabot is dead, Squire. Two captains, and our sergeant.’’

‘‘Gods,’’ said Locklear.

‘‘Who’s in charge?’’ asked James.

The soldiers exchanged glances, and finally one said, ‘‘You are, Squire.’’

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Fourteen

•

R IDERS HURRIED ALONG THE HIGHWAY.

Owyn, Gorath, and Ethan Graves rode quickly down the highway toward Krondor. They had spent one night at Darkmoor, in a decent inn, indulging themselves in a bottle of good wine—which Gorath grudgingly admitted was better than that served by Baron Cavell—and a hot meal before sleeping on down-stuffed mattresses. The rest of the journey had been less hospitable, sleeping under the stars away from the road, bundled up in sleeping cloaks on rocky ground, and only twice in the rain.

They had made good time from Malac’s Cross to Krondor, less than fifteen days, and hadn’t killed their horses in the process. Now they were within sight of Krondor.

As they slowed their horses to a walk, Graves said, ‘‘I must throw myself on the mercy of the Temple of Ishap and confess my sins.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘What will they do?’’

‘‘Execute me, perhaps, or exile me. I don’t know.’’ He sighed. ‘‘I don’t much care, but before that I have to get Kat out of the city.’’

‘‘Where will you send her?’’

‘‘To Kesh. I have connections there. Old trading partners in Durbin.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘From what I hear Durbin’s a rough place.’’

‘‘So is Krondor if you have to live on the street,’’ said Graves.

KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL

Owyn was still trying to piece together all the relationships he and his companions had uncovered since he had first met Locklear. He wished more than once that Squire James was still with them. He asked Graves, ‘‘What about the Prince’s justice?’’

Graves shrugged. ‘‘If the Ishapians turn me over to Arutha, he’ll probably hang me.’’

Owyn reflected on that. In the two weeks he had spent in Graves’s company he had come to like the gruff old man. He was unapologetic about his early past, simply admitting he had been involved in smuggling, extortion, and had killed more than one man on behalf of the Mockers of Krondor. He made no brief excusing his behavior and only said that since he had heard the call of the temple, he was a changed man.

Owyn believed him, but also decided if a fight broke out, he’d want Graves on his side. He was still a powerful-looking man despite his grey hair and lined features.

The gate to the city was manned by armed guards, one of whom put up his hand, and said, ‘‘Halt!’’

Owyn said, ‘‘Trouble, guardsman?’’

Pointing at Gorath, the guard said, ‘‘Who’s this?’’

‘‘You can talk to me,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘I speak your language.’’

‘‘Well, then, who are you?’’ demanded the guard. ‘‘What’s your business in Krondor?’’

Gorath said, ‘‘I bring a message from Prince Arutha to the magician Pug.’’

The guard blinked in surprise at the mention of those names.

He motioned them aside, and said, ‘‘We’ll have you escorted to the palace.’’ His tone made it clear this wasn’t optional.

Another soldier hurried into the city and returned less than ten minutes later with a half dozen burly men wearing the tabards of the city constabulary. At their head was a tall man who bore a badge of office on his tabard. He conferred a moment with the sergeant at the gate, then came to stand before Gorath. ‘‘You claim to be carrying a message from the Prince to the magician Pug?’’

Gorath replied, ‘‘That is what I said.’’

‘‘I am the Sheriff of Krondor. Is there someone at the palace who can vouch for you?’’

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Gorath glanced at Owyn. Owyn said, ‘‘We met a lot of people, but most of them are out in the field with Prince Arutha.

If Pug is at the palace, he’ll vouch for us.’’

The Sheriff spent a moment casting a baleful eye on the three of them, then said, ‘‘Come along.’’

He started toward the palace, and Graves said, ‘‘I have to get to the Temple of Ishap.’’

Over his shoulder, the Sheriff said, ‘‘You can visit the temple after I leave you at the palace. We’ve got orders concerning the comings and goings of suspicious-looking individuals, and you fit the description. If the Captain of the Royal Guard turns you loose, that’s his decision.’’