‘‘You’ve Spellweavers who can do such?’’ asked Locklear.
‘‘Not such as the eledhel—those you call ‘elves’—call Spellweavers. But we have our practitioners of magic. And there are others of your race who will sell their arts.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘I’ve never witnessed it, but I have heard of a talent called ‘mind speech’ which allows a spellcaster to speak with another. And there’s something known as ‘dream speech’
as well. Either—’’
‘‘Someone really wants you dead, don’t they?’’ observed Locklear, interrupting the boy.
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‘‘Delekhan,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘And he was gathering to his side any of my people who showed such talents. I know his goals, but not his plan. And if magic arts are part of it, I fear the results.’’
Locklear said, ‘‘I understand that. I’ve had my share of encounters with people using magic who shouldn’t.’’ He glanced at Owyn, and said, ‘‘That blinding trick was quite good, lad.’’
Looking embarrassed, Owyn said, ‘‘I thought it might help.
I know a few spells like that, but nothing that would overpower an enemy. Still, I’ll try to help where I can.’’
Glancing at Owyn, Locklear said, ‘‘I know. Let’s get to LaMut.’’
LaMut stood astride the road south, requiring anyone traveling from Yabon to Ylith to pass through its gates or endure a long trek to the east through dangerous foothills.
The foulbourgh of the city sprawled in all directions, while the old walls of the city stood behind, nearly useless now, given the ease with which any attacker could mount the buildings next to them and gain the parapet from their roofs.
It was nearly sundown, and all three travelers were tired, footsore, and hungry. ‘‘We can present ourselves to Earl Kasumi tomorrow.’’
‘‘Why not now?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘I could use a meal and a bed.’’
‘‘Because the garrison is up there,’’ said Locklear, pointing at a distant fortress high above the city on a hillside, ‘‘and that would be another two hours’ walk, whereas a cheap inn is but one minute that way.’’ He pointed at the gate.
‘‘Will your countrymen object to my presence?’’ asked Gorath.
‘‘They would if they suspected your nature. If they think you an elf from Elvandar, they may only stare a little. Come on. We’ve looted enough gold for a night of relative comfort, and in the morning we’ll visit the Earl and see if he can get us safely to Krondor.’’
They entered the city under the watchful gaze of otherwise bored-looking soldiers. One of them stood out from his companions, being shorter and much more businesslike in his man-18
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ner. Locklear smiled and nodded at the guards, but the three travelers didn’t stop or speak. A short distance inside the city gates sat an inn, marked by a wagon wheel painted bright blue. ‘‘There,’’ said Locklear.
They entered the inn, busy, but not crowded, and moved to a table near the far wall. As they sat a stout young servingwoman came, took their order for food and ale, and left. As they were waiting, Locklear spied a figure on the other side of the room staring at him.
It took a moment for Locklear to realize the figure wasn’t a man, but a dwarf. The dwarf stood and made his way across the room. He bore a large scar across his face, cutting through his left eye. He stood before them, and said, ‘‘You don’t recognize me, do you, Locky?’’
Locklear realized the last time he had seen the dwarf he had not borne the scar he now sported, but at hearing his name from the dwarf’s lips, he said, ‘‘Dubal! Without the eye patch, it took me a moment.’’
The dwarf moved to sit next to Owyn, across from Gorath.
‘‘I won this face in battle, from one of his kin’’—he pointed at Gorath—‘‘and I’ll be a dragon’s mother before I hide it again.’’
‘‘Dubal found me hiding in a cellar after the Battle of Sethanon,’’ said Locklear.
‘‘Locked in there with a pretty wench, if memory serves.’’
The dwarf laughed.
Locklear shrugged. ‘‘Well, that was by chance.’’
Dubal said, ‘‘Now tell me, what is a Seigneur of the Prince’s court doing sitting in LaMut with a moredhel warchief?’’ He kept his voice low, but Owyn glanced around to see if anyone had overhead him.
‘‘You know me?’’ asked Gorath.
‘‘I know your race, for you are the enemy of my blood, and I know your armor for what it is. A human might not notice, but we of the Grey Towers have fought your kind long enough I wouldn’t mistake you for one from Elvandar. It’s only your present company that keeps me from killing you here and now.’’
Locklear held up his hand. ‘‘I would count it a kindness and 19
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a personal favor, as would Prince Arutha, should you imagine this person on my left to be an elf.’’
‘‘I think I can manage. But you’ll have to come to the Grey Towers and tell me the story behind this mummery.’’
‘‘If I can, I will,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Now, what brings you alone to LaMut?’’
‘‘We’ve got problems at our mines and had a collapse. Some of us are stuck on this side of the Grey Towers, and I came in to the city to buy some stores. I’ll hire a wagon and head back in the morning. For the time being, I’m content to sit and drink, and jabber with some of these Tsurani here in LaMut.
I fought them during the war, and they’ve turned out to be a stalwart enough bunch once you get to know them.’’ He pointed to the bar. ‘‘That tall fellow‘‘—Locky laughed to hear anyone call a Tsurani ‘‘tall’’—‘‘he’s Sumani, the owner. Has a fair number of tales to spin about his days serving on the Tsurani world, and I’m switched if it doesn’t sound like he’s telling the truth most of the time.’’
Locklear laughed. ‘‘Most Tsurani I know don’t indulge in tall tales, Dubal.’’
‘‘Seems to be so, but you never know. I’ve fought the big bugs, the Cho-ja, but some of those other things he talks about, well, I’m hard-pressed to believe them.’’
The servingwoman arrived with the food and ale, and they fell to. ‘‘Now,’’ said Dubal, ‘‘can you tell me what brings you here?’’
‘‘No,’’ replied Locklear, ‘‘but we can ask you if you’ve seen any Quegans hanging around.’’
‘‘There was a pack of them through here two days ago, according to the gossip,’’ said Dubal. ‘‘I just arrived and was brokering the material we need. Aren’t Quegans a bit far from home?’’
‘‘You could say that,’’ observed Locklear. ‘‘We ran into some and wondered if they had friends.’’
‘‘Well, according to the gossip, they were all heading north from here, so if you didn’t run into a big bunch, they’ve got friends around.’’
Locklear said, ‘‘That’s as I figured.’’
They ate in silence for a while, as Dubal nursed his mug of 20
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ale. Then the dwarf said, ‘‘You wouldn’t have run across one of those Armengar monster hunters coming from the north, have you?’’
‘‘Monster hunter?’’ asked Owyn.
Locklear said, ‘‘Beast Hunter, is what he means. I met one once.’’ He smiled at the memory. They had been traveling with Prince Arutha away from a band of moredhel, and had run into a Beast Hunter from Armengar with his Beast Hound. It had been a trap, but it had saved them from the pursuing moredhel. ‘‘No, I think those that remain are up in the hills of northern Yabon. Why?’’
‘‘Oh, we’ve got a Brak Nurr loose in the mine and need someone to hunt it down for us. We can either rebuild the mine or hunt the thing, but there aren’t enough of us on this side of the mountain to do both.’’
‘‘What’s a Brak Nurr?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘I’ve never heard of such a creature.’’
‘‘It’s more a
nuisance than a menace,’’ said Dubal. ‘‘It’s a pretty stupid creature, but most of their kind stay in the lower mines and tunnels under the mountain. It’s roughly man-shaped, but looks like a walking pile of rocks. That’s part of its danger, boy,’’ Dubal said to Owyn. ‘‘You can’t see one until you’ve stepped on its toes, as often as not. They’re slow and lumbering, but they’re strong and can crush a man’s skull with a single blow. This one came up because of the rockslide, I think, but whatever the cause, it’s tried to hurt a couple of our lads. We’ve chased it off, but can’t take the time to hunt it down. If you’re up for a bit of fun, I can take you along, and if you rid the mines of it, I’ll be happy to see you rewarded.’’
‘‘Reward?’’ said Locky. ‘‘That’s always a good word, but time doesn’t permit. If circumstances bring us to the mines anytime soon, we’ll be glad to help, but for the moment, we’re heading south.’’
Dubal stood. ‘‘I understand. Once we get the tunnels finished, we’ll go looking for the beastie. Now, I’m for bed and an early start. It was good seeing you again, Squire, even in such company as this,’’ he said, indicating Gorath. ‘‘Good fortune follow you.’’
‘‘And you, Dubal.’’
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Locklear finished eating and rose to approach the innkeeper.
The innkeeper wore a Kingdom-style tunic and trousers, the latter tucked into high-top calfskin boots. But he wore a fur-lined, woven-wool heavy cloak, though it was thrown back, as if even in this warm inn it was too cold for his liking.
‘‘Sir?’’ asked the innkeeper, his heavy accent making the word sound odd to Locklear.
‘‘Honors to your house,’’ said Locklear in Tsurani.
The man smiled, and said something in return. Locklear smiled and shrugged. ‘‘Sorry, that was all the Tsurani I know.’’
The man’s smile broadened. ‘‘More than most,’’ he said.
‘‘You’re not from LaMut,’’ he observed.
‘‘True. I learned a little of your native tongue at Sethanon.’’
‘‘Ah,’’ said the innkeeper, nodding in understanding. Few who were at Sethanon spoke of what occurred there, mostly because few understood it. At the height of the battle a great upheaval had driven both armies, invaders and defenders, fleeing from the city. A green light from the heavens and the appearance of something in the sky, followed by the destruction of the center of the city, had rendered most men stunned, and a few deaf, after the battle. No one was certain what had happened, though most conceded a great magic had been unleashed. Most speculated the magician Pug, a friend of the Prince, had a hand in it, but no one seemed to know for certain.
Locklear had missed most of the end of the battle, being hidden in a cellar in the city, but he had heard enough accounts from other eyewitnesses to have formed a pretty clear picture in his own mind. And there was a special bond among those who had survived the Battle of Sethanon, irrespective of their place of birth, for it had been Tsurani, Kingdom, and even Keshian soldiers, who had driven the moredhel and their goblin allies back into the Northlands.
‘‘What I said,’’ explained the innkeeper, ‘‘was ‘Honor to your houses, and be welcome to the Blue Wheel Inn.’ ’’
‘‘Blue Wheel? That’s one of your Tsurani political parties, isn’t it?’’
The innkeeper’s broad face split into a smile, revealing even white teeth. His dark eyes seemed to glint in the lanternlight.
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‘‘You do know of us!’’ He extended his hand, Kingdom fashion, and said, ‘‘I am Sumani. If there is anything that my servants or I may do, you need only ask.’’
Locklear shook the innkeeper’s hand, and said, ‘‘A room for the night after we finish our meal would serve. We have business in the castle tomorrow at dawn.’’
The stocky ex-fighter nodded. ‘‘You’re in luck, my friend.
Last night I would have had to express my regrets and endure the shame of being unable to fulfill your request. We were full, but this morning a large party departed, and we have rooms.’’
He reached under the bar and produced a heavy iron key.
‘‘On my homeworld this would have been worth a man’s life; here it is but a tool.’’
Locklear nodded, understanding the scarcity of metals on Kelewan. He took the key. ‘‘Large party?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Sumani. ‘‘Foreigners. Quegans, I believe. Their speech was strange to my ear.’’
Locklear looked around the obviously prosperous inn. ‘‘How did a Tsurani soldier end up running an inn in LaMut?’’
‘‘After the war, Earl Kasumi gave those of us who had been trapped on this side of the rift the opportunity to live as Kingdom citizens. When the rift was reopened, he gave those of us here in LaMut the choice of leaving service and returning to the Shinzawai estates on Kelewan. Most stayed, though some left service and returned to serve again with Kasumi’s father, Lord Kamatsu. A few of us, however, retired here in LaMut.
I had no living family back home.’’ He glanced around. ‘‘And to tell the truth, I live better here than I would have back home. There, I might have become a farmer, or a laborer on the Shinzawai estates.’’ He pointed through the open door to the kitchen, to where a tall, stout woman was hard at work preparing food. ‘‘Here, I have a Kingdom wife. We have two children. Life is good. And I am part of the city’s militia, so I still train with my sword. The gods of both worlds smile on me, and I prosper. I find business to be as challenging as warfare.’’
Locklear smiled. ‘‘I have no head for business, though I have been told it often is like warfare. What gossip?’’
The old former fighter said, ‘‘Much. Many travelers in 23
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LaMut over the last month. Much speculation. A large party of Great Ones came through here last week. And it is rumored some brigands from my homeworld, grey warriors, have also been seen near the city.’’
‘‘Grey warriors?’’ asked Locklear. ‘‘Houseless men? What would they be doing here in LaMut?’’
Sumani shrugged. ‘‘It may be those without honor have heard that here a man may rise by his own wits and talents, and not be bound by his rank at birth. Or it may be they are seeking riches in this land. With a grey warrior, who can say?’’
A frown crossed Sumani’s face.
‘‘What?’’ asked Locklear.
‘‘Just this one thing: the rift is controlled by those who serve the Great Ones on Kelewan, and Kingdom soldiers guard the gate on this side. To pass through, these grey warriors would have to have documents, or allies among those guarding the rift gate.’’
‘‘Bribes?’’ asked Locklear.
‘‘Here, perhaps. I’ve found in the Kingdom the concept of honor is different than at home. But betrayal from the servants of the Great Ones?’’ He shook his head. ‘‘That is impossible.’’
‘‘Thanks,’’ said Locklear, smelling a puzzle. ‘‘I’ll keep my eyes and ears open.’’
The Tsurani laughed. ‘‘That is a funny thing to say,’’ he observed. ‘‘Let me know if I may be of any further service.’’
Locklear nodded. He took a lantern from the innkeeper and returned to the table. Gorath and Owyn rose, and Locklear led his companions up the stairs to a simple room with four beds.
He motioned for Owyn to help him move one of the beds across the door, barring it against a sudden attack, then he moved another directly below the bed. ‘‘Owyn,’’ he said, pointing to the bed under the window, ‘‘you sleep there.’’
‘‘Why?’’ asked the young man from Timons. ‘‘It’s drafty under there.’’
Gorath looked on with a slight turn to his lip, as if amused, as Locklear answered, ‘‘Because if anyone climbs in through the window, they’ll step on you, and your shouts will alert us.’’
Grumbling, Owyn wrapped his cloak tightly around himself 24
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and lay down. Locklear indicated one of the beds to Gorath, who lay upon it without comment. Locklear sat on his bed and blew out the flame in the lantern, plunging the room into darkness. Voices from the common room below carried upstairs, and Locklear let his mind wander. The presence of for-eigners and the attack by the Quegans worried him, and the rumor of Tsurani grey warriors in the area caused him additional concern, but fatigue and his injury caused him to quickly fall asleep.
25
Two
•
Deception T HE SOLDIER WAVED THEM IN.
‘‘You may enter,’’ he informed Locklear.
Locklear led his companions into the guardroom of the castle.
They had approached the castle on foot, after an early-morning climb up a long, winding road from the city. He was doubly glad they had chosen to spend the night in the city. His ribs still hurt, but after a night’s sleep in a relatively warm bed, and two meals, he was feeling twice as fit as he had the day before.
The Captain of the castle guard looked up as they entered, and said, ‘‘Squire Locklear, isn’t it?’’
‘‘Yes, Captain Belford,’’ said Locklear, accepting the Captain’s hand. ‘‘We met when I passed through on my way north a few months back.’’
‘‘I remember,’’ said the Captain with a half-hidden grin.
Locklear knew the Captain must have heard the rumor of the reason for his banishment to the North. ‘‘What can I do for you?’’
‘‘I’d like to see the Earl, if he has the time.’’
‘‘I’m sure he’d love to see you again, sir, but the Earl’s not here,’’ said the seasoned old fighter. ‘‘He’s off on some errand with a troop of men—all Tsurani-bred—leaving me here to take care of things.’’
‘‘The Countess?’’ asked Locklear, inquiring after Kasumi’s wife.
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
‘‘Down in the city, actually. Shopping and visiting with her family.’’ Earl Kasumi had married the daughter of one of LaMut’s more prosperous merchants. ‘‘If you need something official, you can wait until one of them gets back or ask me, Squire. As long as you don’t need an armed escort somewhere.’’
Krondor: The Betrayal Page 3