Krondor: The Betrayal

by Raymond E. Feist

  James and his companions had left their horses with the lad who worked in the stabling yard, giving instructions for their care, and followed Lysle inside.

  Lysle led them over to a table in the corner. He motioned for them to sit and waved to the barman, who hurried over to take their order. James ordered a round of ale and some food, and the barman offered a quick glance between him and Riggers, but said nothing as he headed back to the kitchen.

  Riggers said, ‘‘Well, then, I owe you a story, but I have one question. What brought you so fortuitously to my rescue?’’ He studied James a moment, then said, ‘‘If it was pure chance, then fate has a curious sense of humor, my friend.’’

  James said, ‘‘It was chance of a sort, though I had heard your name down in Malac’s Cross, as a few people seemed to think I was you. As to how we came to your rescue, that was pure chance, though we were on the lookout for just the sort of trouble you found yourself in.’’

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  ‘‘You recognized my assailants,’’ Riggers said, lowering his voice. ‘‘Obviously you know more than the average mercenary.’’ He jerked his head toward Gorath. ‘‘His kind have been seen around here in increasing numbers lately, though rarely openly walking around with humans. All of which leads me to think you’re someone about whom I need to know more before I launch into my long story.’’

  James grinned. Riggers returned the grin, and again the others were struck at the resemblance. Owyn said, ‘‘If you’re not brothers, the gods have a fine sense of whimsy.’’

  ‘‘That they do,’’ said Riggers, ‘‘irrespective of any other thing.’’

  James said, ‘‘Here’s what I can tell you. I’m working for people who presently have no reason to want you dead, Riggers. Let’s not give them one. They are also people who are at odds with those employing your would-be killers.’’

  ‘‘ ‘And the enemy of my enemy is my friend,’ ’’ said Riggers, quoting the old truism.

  ‘‘To a point,’’ said James. ‘‘At this time I like to think we may have more reasons to help one another than not.’’

  Riggers was silent a minute, then the food arrived, giving him another moment of respite as he took a slice of cheese and laid it over warm bread. After the ale arrived, and he took a long pull on his mug, he said, ‘‘Allow me to be a little circumspect, and I’ll tell you what I can.

  ‘‘I represent interests in Krondor, well established and well connected. They have trading relationships throughout the Kingdom, and into Kesh and across the Bitter Sea to Natal.

  Lately they’ve been harried by a new competitor, who seeks to disrupt established business relationships and carve out a new trading empire.’’

  James considered this a moment, then said, ‘‘Care to name your principals or your new competition?’’

  Lysle’s grin stayed in place, but the humor left his eyes.

  ‘‘No, to the first, but the second is a personage of some mystery. He’s called ‘the Crawler’ by some.’’

  James leaned forward and spoke low enough that only those at the table might hear him. ‘‘I’m Seigneur James, of the 115

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  Prince’s court, so I’m the King’s man. But I was also known for a time as Jimmy the Hand, so I know of whom you speak.

  ‘There’s a Party at Mother’s.’ ’’

  ‘‘ ‘And a good time will be had by all,’ ’’ finished Riggers.

  ‘‘You’re Jimmy the Hand? I never would have believed it.’’ He sat back. ‘‘I don’t visit Krondor much. My . . . employer prefers I stay out here in the East. But tales of your rise have traveled far and wide.’’

  ‘‘It may be we have more in common than you know,’’ said James. He told of the false Nighthawks in the sewers of Krondor and the suspicion that someone was trying to finesse the Prince into raiding the Mockers’ hideouts in an attempt to find those false Nighthawks.

  ‘‘That sounds like the Crawler,’’ said Lysle. ‘‘He would happily set Crown against Mockers, and sit back and enjoy. If the Mockers somehow survived, they would be weakened enough that they couldn’t oppose him; if they were destroyed, he could move in and take their place.’’

  ‘‘That’s unlikely as long as Arutha’s in Krondor,’’ said James.

  ‘‘He’s too savvy to get sucked into that obvious a ploy. What is of real concern to us is the existence of these genuine Nighthawks, the ones who were seeking to separate your head from your shoulders.’’

  ‘‘I won’t even ask why,’’ said Lysle. ‘‘I’ll assume that it has something to do with the good of the Kingdom.’’

  ‘‘They had a strong hand in repeated attempts to kill Prince Arutha ten years ago. If they’re the survivors of that first bunch, or someone else is attempting to trade on their reputation, either way they’re a menace. What can you tell us about them?’’

  Lysle sat back. ‘‘I’m off for Tannerus in the morning—to put right that little matter that almost got you beaten to death when you were last there—so I’ll tell you what I know. There’s two places this Crawler seems to have taken a foothold. I hear he’s got a lot of the crime on the docks in Durbin under his control, and he’s dislodged the locals over in Silden. The Mockers were never strong outside Krondor, but they always had good working relationships throughout the Bitter Sea, and a lot of influence in Silden. Lately problems in several Bitter Sea ports have put a crimp in Mocker business, and those friendly 116

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  to the Mockers have vanished in Silden. But the real pot about to boil over is up north; there’s a lot of confusion in Romney right now, and from what I can gather, a lot of this Nighthawk business is being run through there.’’

  ‘‘We’ve heard of some problems there.’’

  ‘‘The Riverpullers’ Guild?’’ asked Lysle.

  James nodded.

  ‘‘That’s the Crawler,’’ continued Lysle. ‘‘He starts at the docks, making it difficult for cargo to get in and out of a city, and wears down both the merchants and local thieves. After a while, people start paying protection to get their goods in, and once he’s in their pockets, he never leaves. Damon Reeves is the head of the Riverpullers, and he’s an honest man, but someone near him has been whispering in his ear.’’

  James said, ‘‘You think this Crawler is behind the revived Nighthawks?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know what to think. He may have tired of me flit-ting around causing him troubles and put a price on my head.

  Or he might be behind them. Or it might be someone else wants me dead for entirely different reasons. I’ve made a few enemies in my time.’’ Lysle grinned at that.

  ‘‘I have no doubt,’’ said Gorath, dryly.

  ‘‘Where should we start?’’ asked James.

  ‘‘Start with a man named Michael Waylander. He’s always at the center of these problems, it seems. Arle Steelsoul, of the Ironmongers, is leading the opposition to the Riverpullers.

  Both sides, at least, will talk to Waylander. It’s rumored he has his hands in a couple of shady things; nothing too important, but enough to make him dangerous.’’

  ‘‘Anything besides that?’’

  ‘‘Nothing I care to share with you, but also nothing that kept from you will hinder your efforts.’’

  ‘‘Well,’’ said James, ‘‘it’s more than we had before we ran across you. If you’re off for Tannerus tomorrow, we’ll know where to find you.’’

  Lysle grinned, and James felt as if he was looking in a mir-ror. While Lysle was two or three years older than James, the likeness was uncanny. ‘‘That’s where I’m heading now. Who knows where I’ll be if you come there looking for me?’’

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  James fixed him with a knowing gaze, and said, ‘‘Trust me, my friend. Now that I’ve made your acquaintance, I’ll be keeping an eye on you. We’ll meet again, have no doubt.’’

  Lysle finished his food, excu
sed himself, and left the three alone. ‘‘I’ll see about a room,’’ said James. He made arrangements, and the three retired for the night.

  In the morning, they headed for the stabling yard of the inn and discovered a confused stableboy. ‘‘Horses, sir? But last night you took one, and sold my master the other two.’’

  James turned and looked down the westward road where beyond his vision the village of Tannerus lay. Silently he swore he would certainly find Lysle Riggers again someday. And if any doubt at their being related had existed in James’s mind until this minute, it was now completely vanquished. Suddenly laughing, James said, ‘‘Well, I guess we need to buy some horses, lad. What have you to sell us?’’

  Owyn and Gorath exchanged curious glances at James’s strange reaction, but neither said a word as James waited for the boy to fetch the stablemaster so he could start haggling to buy three horses.

  Armed men had thrown a barrier across the road into Romney, and signaled the three riders to halt. ‘‘What’s this?’’

  asked James.

  One of the men stepped from behind the barrier, mostly grain sacks and crates, and said, ‘‘We’re not letting strangers into Romney right now.’’

  James said, ‘‘I’m on the King’s business, and I bear warrants from the Prince of Krondor.’’

  ‘‘Prince of Krondor, is it?’’ said the man, rubbing his chin with his gloved hand. He looked like a stevedore, shirtsleeves rolled up high on his powerful arms, heavy chest and neck, his face burned brown by the sun. He carried a long wrecking bar, the kind used to open heavy crates off-loaded from river-boats, and he looked eager to use it. ‘‘Well, the Prince is a long way away; it’s not even the Western Realm, you see, so I can’t see as why that cuts any ice with us.’’

  ‘‘Who’s in charge here?’’ said James, jumping down from his horse and handing his reins to Owyn.

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  ‘‘Well, normally it’s Michael Waylander, who’s trying to keep the Riverpullers from taking over the city, but he’s in town right now taking care of some business, so he left me in charge.’’

  ‘‘And your name is . . . ?’’

  ‘‘I’m Karl Widger,’’ said the man.

  Before he could move, James spun on him, hitting him as hard as he could in the stomach. The man went over with a loud ‘‘oof,’’ and James brought his knee upward into Widger’s descending face. Karl went down like a dropped brick.

  Pointedly stepping over the fallen dockworker, James said,

  ‘‘Would one of you run into the city and fetch Michael Waylander here? Tell him Karl is incapacitated, and there’s no one in charge. Unless,’’ he added, pulling his sword, ‘‘one of you cares to come over here and claim he’s now responsible for keeping us out of Romney?’’

  Two men behind the barricade conferred, and one ran off, heading over a small bridge that separated the road into Romney from the King’s Highway. None of the others seemed eager to come over the barricade and challenge James, but James knew he couldn’t just ride through a dozen armed men.

  Owyn dismounted and handed the reins back to James.

  ‘‘That was bold.’’

  Under his breath, Jimmy said, ‘‘And a little stupid. I hit that walking tree trunk as hard as I could. Damn near broke my hand, and it was only his stomach. I’m glad I didn’t try to hit his head. I’d probably have broken every knuckle. My knee’s throbbing like mad.’’

  It didn’t take long for Michael Waylander to arrive. He was a tall man, blond and sporting a short-cropped beard that looked reddish in the afternoon sun. ‘‘What is going on here?’’ he demanded.

  ‘‘I might ask you the same thing,’’ said James. ‘‘I bear warrants from the Prince of Krondor, and I’m on the King’s business. How dare you bar my way?’’

  ‘‘We’re acting under the authority of the Earl of Romney,’’

  said Waylander. ‘‘We’ve had a lot of trouble lately, damn near a guild war.’’

  ‘‘Guild war?’’ asked James, as if he had heard nothing about this before.

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  ‘‘Damn Riverpullers are raising prices in violation of every agreement that’s in place, and they’re threatening to shut down all business up and down the river. I represent an alliance of other guilds, glazers, rope-makers, carpenters, smiths, and most of the local merchants, and we refused to pay.’’

  James said, ‘‘Let me shorten this for you. You tried to make arrangements to get your own cargo in and out of the city, and the Riverpullers started dumping goods in the river and wrecking boats.’’

  ‘‘More,’’ said Waylander. ‘‘They killed two apprentices three weeks ago and fired a half dozen boats.’’

  James said, ‘‘Well, those are local matters. We’re on business for the Crown and will brook no more delays.’’

  ‘‘Let me see your warrants,’’ said Waylander.

  James hesitated. This Waylander was no noble or Crown official. By rights he had no legal standing, and James was not under any obligation to humor him. But practical considerations and a dozen armed men made him reach into his tunic and pull out his travel warrant and a demand-for-aid warrant, instructing any noble to aid James in his mission for the Crown.

  ‘‘Well, we couldn’t be too careful. The Riverpullers were hiring swords, and the the city’s become an armed camp. We can’t do much about those inside the city already, but we can keep more from coming in.’’ He handed over the warrants.

  ‘‘What about the Earl?’’ asked Owyn. ‘‘Isn’t he keeping the peace?’’

  ‘‘We don’t have a garrison here, son,’’ said Waylander, and something in his tone led James to think he liked the idea.

  ‘‘We’re in the heart of the Kingdom, and the most trouble we have is the occasional drunken brawl on the docks or a few bandits riding down from the northern hills to ambush someone on the road. We have a city constabulary, but most of those men are on one side or the other in this dispute. The Riverpullers are the most important guild in this area, but the other guilds together are stronger. It’s a close thing, and we don’t have many neutral parties in Romney. Earl Richard asked me to come up from my home in Sloop, a village a half day’s ride south of here, just because I’m not local; I have a lot of friends on both sides of this, and sometimes they’ll listen to me.

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  But the Riverpullers are out of line, and there’s no other way to see it.’’

  James put his warrants back in his tunic, and said, ‘‘I expect they’d have something different to say on that matter. But that’s no concern of mine. I need to see the Earl.’’

  Waylander was about to say something when a clatter of hooves from behind caused James to look. A company of riders was approaching at a leisurely pace up the road, a banner at the head of their column announcing the presence of the Royal Lancers.

  Their leader approached, held up his hand for the halt, and said, ‘‘What’s this then? Clear the way, you men.’’

  James nodded, Waylander gave the order, and the men started pulling aside the grain sacks and crates.

  James walked to stand before the officer, and after a moment, the officer said, ‘‘What are you looking at, man?’’

  James grinned. ‘‘Walter of Gyldenholt? So Baldwin sent you south, finally?’’

  The former Captain from the garrison at Highcastle said,

  ‘‘Do I know you?’’

  James laughed. ‘‘We met at Highcastle. I’m James, Squire of the Prince’s Court.’’

  ‘‘Ah, yes,’’ said the old Captain. ‘‘Now I recall you.’’

  James couldn’t help but grin. When he had first met the Captain, he had been one of the victims of Guy du Bas-Tyra’s fall from grace, an officer in service to Guy’s most loyal ally, the result of which had been years of hard service with the Border Barons. Glancing at Walter’s girth, he said, ‘‘Peace-
time’s been good, it seems.’’

  ‘‘What brings you here, Squire?’’ asked the Captain, ignoring the friendly barb.

  ‘‘The Prince has us running some errands for him. You’re the company Guy sent here to restore order?’’

  ‘‘We are,’’ said Walter. ‘‘Would have been here a few days ago, but we ran into a spot of trouble to the south. Band of lads in black objected to our coming this way. Caused us a merry chase, but we managed to kill a few before the rest got away.’’

  James looked at Owyn and Gorath. ‘‘These are things we had better not speak of in the open, Captain. I have to talk to the Earl. I imagine you do as well.’’

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  ‘‘Indeed,’’ said the Captain, motioning for his men to move forward through the barricade now open before them. ‘‘Ride in with us, Squire. We’ll keep the ruffians off your back.’’ He smiled at James.

  James laughed and mounted his horse, motioning for his companions to join the end of the column. There were fifty lancers in the company, enough to prevent serious trouble and keep both sides of the dispute from doing anything rash, or at least James hoped so.

  Waylander said, ‘‘We were only holding this bridge until the lancers arrived, Squire. Tell the Earl my men and I are heading home to Sloop.’’

  James acknowledged the man’s request, and they rode across the bridge.

  Romney was a major trading center in the East. The city was big enough to be considered huge by western standards, but here in the eastern half of the Kingdom it was a modest-sized place, about half the size of Krondor. With fifty lancers at hand, the Earl could re-form his constables and restore order as long as neither side in the dispute opted for open warfare.

  The tension in the city was almost palpable. As the lancers rode in, curious onlookers glanced out of windows or cleared the streets, letting the soldiers pass.

  Gorath said, ‘‘There is a lot of fear in the air.’’