Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  Gorath snorted in contempt. ‘‘As if we need an oracle to tell us that.’’

  James said, ‘‘Let’s get back to the abbey and see if our horses are ready. We still have a fair ride ahead.’’

  ‘‘Where are we bound? Salador?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘No, the high road to Silden. It’s less traveled and more dangerous for that, but anyone looking for us is still hanging about outside Krondor, I wager, waiting for us to stick our heads out of the palace. With luck, we will be on the road to Romney before our enemies finally learn we are no longer in the palace.’’

  Owyn nodded, and as they began their return to the innturned-abbey, he cast a backward glance over his shoulder toward the clearing in which the dragon statue rested. There was something he had sensed in his dream state, something he had not spoken of: the Oracle was afraid.

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  Six

  •

  Journey T HE ABBOT WAVED A GREETING.

  They climbed the trail from the dragon statue to the converted inn, and found Abbot Graves waiting for them.

  ‘‘You’d better get into town before you leave, James,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Why?’’ asked James, looking for signs of trouble in the Abbot’s manner.

  ‘‘About five minutes after you vanished down that trail, a column of riders came past here, heading into the city.’’

  James squinted toward town, as if trying to see the riders.

  ‘‘Something was notable about them, else you wouldn’t be remarking on them. What?’’

  ‘‘They wore the King’s colors. And unless I don’t remember my days as a thief in Krondor, old Guy du Bas-Tyra himself rode at their head.’’

  ‘‘That’s something we need to see then,’’ said James. He motioned for Gorath and Owyn to follow him and started walking toward town. ‘‘We’ll be back in a while, Graves.’’

  The Abbot waved good-bye and turned back into the building.

  They hurried into the town, heading down the main boulevard, and reached the town square. There a full squad of riders were dismounting and tending to their horses before an inn with a chess piece—a white queen—on its sign. The soldiers were all attired in the livery of the Royal House, black trousers and boots, grey tunics, over which each wore a scarlet tabard with a white circle, upon which rose up a scarlet lion rampant, Raymond E. Feist

  crowned in gold, holding a sword—it was the King’s coat of arms. A line of purple around the edge of the circle and upon the cuffs of the tunic showed these were palace guards, those whose first duty was to the Royal Family. Two guards stood at the door, and one said, ‘‘Easy now, friend. The Duke of Rillanon is taking his ease in the commons, and no one goes in until he’s left or without the Duke’s say-so.’’

  ‘‘Then get yourself inside, soldier, and tell him Seigneur James of Krondor is here, on the Prince’s business.’’

  The soldier gave James and his companions an appraising look, but obviously felt it was going to be resolved at the Duke’s hands in a moment, so he went inside.

  A moment later a large man, his grey hair flowing to his shoulders and a black patch over his left eye, appeared before them. He stood with his hand upon the door a moment, then waved them inside.

  Inside the common room, James and the others could see the soldiers of the King’s Royal Guard were efficiently checking out the surroundings.

  Guy du Bas-Tyra, Duke of Rillanon and First Counselor to the King of Isles, waved them to a table, where he sat down heavily. ‘‘Get me something to drink!’’ he shouted, and a soldier detailed to be his orderly hurried to where an intimidated-looking barman waited. The man almost hurt himself on the edge of the bar trying to bring out a tray of pewter jacks. He quickly filled them and ran with them to the Duke. He placed the first one before Bas-Tyra and then served the others at the table. He said, ‘‘Would m’lord care for something to eat?’’

  ‘‘Later,’’ said Guy, slowly removing his heavy gloves.

  ‘‘Something hot for me and my men. Cook up a side of beef.’’

  The innkeeper bowed and backed away, knocking over a chair at the next table, which he quickly righted. Guy looked at James and nodded.

  James’s brow furrowed, but he returned the nod. Duke Guy said, ‘‘So, Arutha is sending you east to snoop around?’’

  James said, ‘‘That’s one way of putting it, Your Grace.’’

  Guy pointed to Gorath. ‘‘Now, explain to me why I shouldn’t cut his heart out and hang you for being a black-hearted rogue and traitor to the Crown?’’

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  Gorath’s hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t move. Owyn’s face drained of color, but he saw James smile.

  ‘‘Because it would irritate Arutha?’’

  Guy laughed. ‘‘You haven’t lost any of that mouth, have you, Jimmy?’’

  The young man said, ‘‘I probably never will. We’ve been through too much for you to seriously wonder about where my loyalties lie, so I judged you were taking out your bad temper on me because you couldn’t take it out on Arutha.

  Why’s he got you so peeved?’’

  The Duke of Rillanon, most powerful noble in the Kingdom after the Royal Family, leaned back in his plain wooden chair and made an all-encompassing gesture around him. ‘‘This. Because I’m here in a town whose only excuse for existing is its location between Krondor and Salador, and because Lyam is concerned about reports that have been coming to the court of renegade moredhel’’—he locked his one good eye on Gorath—

  ‘‘and some other unsavory types running loose between here and Romney.’’

  ‘‘Why you?’’

  ‘‘A variety of reasons,’’ said the Duke. He took a long drink of his ale. ‘‘I usually don’t drink this early in the day, but I’m usually not riding all night, either.’’

  ‘‘Those other unsavory types wouldn’t be Nighthawks, would they?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘They might be,’’ said Guy. ‘‘What’s Arutha hearing?’’

  ‘‘Nothing until I get back and report,’’ said James. ‘‘But on the way into the city, Locky and these two found a pair of frauds playing the part of the Guild of Death.’’

  Guy looked off into the distance for a moment, as if weighing his words. ‘‘If you were trying to revive the Nighthawks,’’ he posed to James, ‘‘and you wanted someone to think that you weren’t, how useful would it be to have a bunch of bunglers found out as false Nighthawks?’’

  James’s eyes widened. ‘‘Brilliant! It would take attention off what I was really trying to do, I would have some pawns to offer up as a sacrifice, and the people I’m the most worried about wouldn’t take me seriously.’’

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  ‘‘Look deep, Jimmy,’’ said Guy. ‘‘Find who’s really behind the troubles we’re having. There’s an old axiom, ‘Absent any contrary information, assume your enemy will act intelligently.’ The corollary of that is, ‘Act stupid, and your enemy won’t take you seriously.’ ’’

  James said, ‘‘You still haven’t said why you’re here.’’

  Guy nodded. ‘‘The King wanted me to personally take a hand in this region. It seems some of our local nobles are suspect.’’

  ‘‘Of treason?’’

  ‘‘Not that, though it might be a remote possibility.’’ Guy finished his ale. ‘‘Rather they’re suspected of incompetence.

  My Lord, the Earl of Romney, has a guild war about to break out, and seems unable to do anything about it. I ordered a company of Royal Lancers to head that way to bail him out as I left; they should be arriving sometime in the next week.’’

  ‘‘What sort of war?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘I don’t know the details, but it seems the Brotherhood of Riverpullers has raised prices to the point where merchants can’t afford to have their goods hauled up or down the river, and the other guilds are lining up in opposit
ion to the Riverpullers. Both sides are hiring swords, and, for all I know, the Earl of Romney has declared martial law by now. Hell, for all I know, the city is in flaming ruin.’’ He slapped the table for emphasis, as if he didn’t care if Romney did go up in flames.

  ‘‘And besides this tour to get things in hand, we’re showing the King is personally interested, the banners are waving in front of people who need to see them, and I’m also required by His Majesty to give a lecture tonight.’’

  ‘‘Lecture?’’ asked James, barely able to keep from laughing.

  ‘‘On what? And to whom?’’

  Guy sighed. ‘‘On the Battle of Armengar, and to anyone who wants to listen.’’ He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his own words. ‘‘You know that thug, Graves, who the Ishapians sent here to start that new abbey?’’

  James nodded. ‘‘I knew Ethan before he heard the call. He was a rough one, in those days; one of the better bashers in the Mockers.’’

  ‘‘I can believe it. In any event, he has decided, or rather the 100

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  Ishapian Temple in Rillanon has decided, that a school is to be built here, in Malac’s Cross, ‘the center of the Kingdom,’

  and that young nobles are to attend. They call it a collegium. ’’

  He lowered his voice a bit. ‘‘I think they’re distrustful of what our friend Pug is doing down in Stardock and think they may gain by having a similar venue for influencing the young nobles of the Kingdom. And I think they also want a base near . . .’’ His eyes flickered from Gorath to Owyn, and he let his words lapse.

  James knew what he was about to say, near Sethanon and the Lifestone, so all he did was nod slightly. Glancing around the room, James said, ‘‘I don’t notice a lot of young nobles in the area, Guy.’’

  Guy reached across the table and attempted to give James a playful slap to the head, which James adroitly avoided. ‘‘You always were a smart mouth, Jimmy, and you always will be a smart mouth.’’ James grinned. ‘‘Even if you someday get your wish and connive to be named Duke of Krondor, you’ll still be a smart mouth.’’

  James laughed. ‘‘Maybe. Now, where are these young nobles?’’

  Guy sighed. ‘‘A few will wander in from surrounding estates, no doubt. That’s why I rode all night to get here. Damn weather had my ship reaching Salador two days late, so I’m riding through the night so as not to make a liar out of the King.’’ He took another sip of ale. ‘‘And it’s why I want you to attend the lecture tonight. It’s in a house down near the eastern edge of the town. You won’t be able to miss it; it’ll be the one with all the Royal Guardsmen standing in front of it.’’

  He stood up, and James did as well, Owyn and Gorath a moment after. ‘‘Lyam asked me to do this while I was making arrangements along the frontier with the Western Realm, and as a favor to the Ishapian Temple. I, loyal duke that I am, could hardly say no to my king. You, loyal squire that you are, cannot say no to me. You will attend the lecture this evening as my claque, Seigneur. Now, I’m going to see to my men, and then I plan on getting some sleep.’’

  The Duke departed, heading upstairs to the rooms set aside for him. Gorath tuned to James, and said, ‘‘What is a claque?’’

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  James laughed. ‘‘Theater owners hire them to cheer loudly at performances, to gull the uninformed into thinking the play was brilliant. It gets quite funny sometimes. Five or six people will be cheering wildly, while the rest of the audience is booing and throwing rotten vegetables at the actors.’’

  Gorath finished his ale and shook his head in dismay.

  ‘‘Humans.’’

  The innkeeper came over and said, ‘‘Anything else, gentlemen?’’

  He studied James’s face a long moment, then said, ‘‘Sorry.

  Thought you were someone else.’’ Clearing his throat, he repeated, ‘‘Anything else?’’

  ‘‘If I don’t get food on top of that ale, I’ll be asleep in an hour,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘I’ve never drunk so early in the day.’’

  Gorath let out a disapproving grunt, but said nothing.

  James said, ‘‘Whatever food you’re serving, ah . . . ?’’

  ‘‘Ivan’s the name, sir,’’ he said, bowing as he turned to leave.

  The door to the tavern opened, and three men entered.

  James, Gorath, and Owyn all looked, their mission making them wary. The three men were locals, and one was carrying a chess set. They set it up on a table, and two began to play while the third watched.

  Ivan returned and served the food—cold meats, cheese, spiced greens, and sweetened apples. He put the platter on the table, and said, ‘‘More ale?’’

  James nodded. Another pair of men came to set up another game of chess, and James said, ‘‘This goes on here a lot?’’

  Ivan nodded. ‘‘The Queen’s Row, sir? The chess piece on the sign means something. Old man Bargist, who opened this inn some thirty years ago, was a fair player, and since then, well, travelers and locals alike know that this is where you come to play a match if you want to test your mettle. You play, sir?’’

  ‘‘Not well,’’ said James. ‘‘My . . . employer plays very well, and has taught me the basics.’’

  ‘‘You can always find someone here willing to play,’’ he said as he departed to see what the soldiers were ordering.

  The door opened, and a ragged old woman slipped through, 102

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  closing it behind her. She came across the room and stood next to James. ‘‘I thought you gone up to Lyton, Lysle. And where did you get those clothes?’’ She felt the fabric of his tunic at the shoulder. ‘‘Must have snitched them off a baron, from the feel of them.’’ She squinted at James as if she had trouble seeing him.

  ‘‘I think you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is James—’’

  ‘‘James, is it?’’ she interrupted ‘‘Well, then, if it’s James, then it’s James.’’ She nudged him with her elbow and winked. ‘‘Like the time you chewed soap and walked around foaming at the mouth, eh, deary? Taking alms from the gullible? If you say so. Be a love and buy old Petrumh some food, will you?’’ She then noticed Gorath, and said, ‘‘What are you doing with an elf, boy! Don’t you know they’re bad luck? They’re the ones killed my old man Jack, and they’re causing all that trouble up at Sethanon. What are you thinking?’’

  James asked, ‘‘What trouble in Sethanon?’’

  She leaned down, and blinked, studying James’s face.

  ‘‘You’re not Lysle!’’ she said. Slapping him weakly on the shoulder, she said, ‘‘What are you doing with his face?’’ Her hands came up to her mouth, and she stepped back. ‘‘Ow!’’

  she cried. ‘‘You’re an evil fairy, that’s it! You’ve taken Lysle’s form to trick me!’’

  James put up his hands. ‘‘Madam! We are not evil fairies.’’

  ‘‘And I am not an elf!’’ grumbled Gorath under his breath.

  The old woman leaned forward again. ‘‘Well, you don’t look evil, that’s a fact. But you could be Lysle’s twin, and that’s also a fact.’’

  James waved Ivan over and gave him a coin. ‘‘See the woman gets some food,’’ he instructed. To Petrumh, he said,

  ‘‘You say this Lysle has gone to Lyton?’’

  ‘‘Left a few days ago, he did,’’ she agreed. ‘‘Said he was to meet a gentleman there. I suspect he’ll be in trouble, sorry to say. That’s Lysle. Has a knack for trouble, he does. And I doubt the bloke he’s meeting is a gentleman.’’

  Ivan took the woman by the elbow and moved her to a corner table and sat her down before food. She dug in without looking up, and James turned his attention to his companions.

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  ‘‘A double?’’ said Gorath.

  Owyn said, ‘‘Could someone have put a look-alike on the road to Romney ahead of us?’�
�

  James shrugged. ‘‘Maybe. It’s been done before. I saw a double of the Prince years ago in the sewers of Krondor. If it hadn’t been for muddy boots, he might have convinced people he was Arutha and played havoc with things for a while.’’ He shook his head, and said, ‘‘But I doubt it. From what the old woman said, this fellow Lysle’s been around here a while. It may just be a coincidence. A while back some fellows up in Tannerus kept trying to beat me up for something done by some other fellow until I convinced them I wasn’t that person.

  Twice, in less than a year, makes me think there’s someone walking around who resembles me, and from what I’ve heard, he’s not doing me any favors with the resemblance.’’ He waved the innkeeper over.

  ‘‘Have you seen me before?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘Can’t say as I have,’’ said Ivan.

  ‘‘But you thought you had, earlier,’’ observed James.

  ‘‘No, I said I thought you were someone else.’’

  ‘‘Who?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘Lysle Riggers,’’ said Ivan. ‘‘Local scoundrel, truth to tell.

  Has his hands in a lot of . . . questionable activities. Still, he’s also a good man to know if you need something done, if you know what I mean.’’

  ‘‘I do,’’ said James. ‘‘Have you known this fellow long?’’

  ‘‘On and off, off and on, maybe ten years or so,’’ said Ivan.

  ‘‘He comes and he goes. Sometimes he’s here for a month, then gone a year, other times he’s here a year, then gone a month. Never can say what he’s up to.’’ He looked at all three in turn. ‘‘Can I get you anything else?’’

  ‘‘No, that will be all,’’ said James.

  ‘‘What now?’’ asked Owyn, yawning from the effects of drinking early in the day.

  James said, ‘‘I’m heading back to chat with my old friend Graves. You might do well with a nap. And tonight we’ll go listen to Duke Guy lecture local youths about the Battle of Armengar.’’

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