Krondor: The Assassins

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘‘Good,’’ said the duke. ‘‘Let’s eat and then at dawn let’s track that big bastard.’’

  William said, ‘‘Yes, Your Grace.’’

  The duke returned to his tent and William instructed the 146

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  sergeant to order the morning meal prepared early. He had no doubt that by the time the sun crested the eastern peaks they would be at least an hour along the trail of that cat.

  As the camp turned to the day’s preparation, William watched the edge of the woods, trying to peer into the gloom.

  As the bustle in the camp grew in volume, he couldn’t help the feeling that, somewhere nearby, that leopard watched.

  The duke returned a few minutes later, rubbing his hands in anticipation. ‘‘Let’s eat, to strengthen us for the day to come, lieutenant.’’

  ‘‘Yes, Your Grace,’’ said William, tearing his eyes away from the murky woods.

  As they walked toward the duke’s tent, he said, ‘‘Damned accommodating of that beast to let us know he’s nearby, what?

  You’d soon as think he was daring us to come after him.’’

  William said nothing, but his thoughts matched the duke’s, and he was nowhere near as enthralled by the notion.

  Mist rolled through the trees as the duke, his nephew, son and daughter moved silently through the woods. They were followed at a discreet distance by William and his squad of six soldiers. Bringing up the rear were bearers and servants. William was impressed by the Olaskan nobility; their hunting skills were very evident. They moved with such stealth that in comparison the experienced soldiers sounded noisy and untrained to William’s ear.

  A tracker from the garrison of Pathfinders at Krondor led the way, indicating leopard signs. William used his mental gifts to search out any hint of the cat’s whereabouts, but he kept coming up blank. He sensed the small animals nearby, the red squirrels and chipmunks hiding out of sight, even caught an 147

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  impression or two of the curious rodents’ thoughts. Big hunters!

  they seemed to say. Danger!

  The quiet of the woods was unnerving. Some animal sounds would usually be heard in the distance, but those sounds were absent. The only noise was an occasional plop as moisture gathered on the branches above and fell to the ground below, or the faint movement of the other men nearby.

  With each step, William’s apprehension grew. Another twenty yards into the woods and he whispered to the men behind, ‘‘I’m moving up with the duke. Close up behind the servants.’’

  ‘‘Sir,’’ whispered the soldier.

  William picked up the pace and quickly overtook the servants. He noticed the servants who carried the duke’s ferocious arsenal of hunting weapons and his other equipment looked uneasy. He closed up behind the Princess, who walked a few paces behind her brother. In the gloom ahead, William could see the duke as a faint form in the haze, Prince Vladic half a dozen paces behind, Kazamir an equal interval after him. William saw that the gloom was deepening, and his internal alarm sounded. The Pathfinder at the side of the duke was looking around, as if he could no longer see the animal’s spoor.

  Just as the duke held up his arm for a halt, William was moving forward, pulling out his sword. The duke had his bow at the ready, and was peering ahead into the gloom, as if trying to see into it by will alone. Suddenly a movement high above the duke’s head alerted William and he shouted, ‘‘It’s a trap!

  Above you.’’

  The duke acted without hesitation, dodging to one side as a large black shape pounced from above, launching itself from a heavy branch a few feet above the duke’s head. Prince Vladic 148

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  let fly with one arrow, which split the space occupied an instant before by the big cat. The leopard hit the ground and spun, lashing out with one huge paw, raking the duke across the shoulder as he fell away.

  The cat gathered itself to spring as William reached Kazamir’s side. The duke’s son let fly with an arrow which barely missed his cousin’s back as it sped past Vladic and struck at the cat’s feet.

  William leapt to defend the duke as the leopard launched itself. His blade cut the air, and he felt it rake the cat’s side as it sprang. The animal screamed, and rather than attack the duke it bounded into the woods, as more arrows flew at it.

  William bent over the duke, who pushed away a helping hand. ‘‘After it!’’ he shouted.

  ‘‘Your Grace, no!’’

  The duke yelled, ‘‘Get out of the way, boy!’’ and shoved William aside.

  William grabbed the duke’s arm, swinging him around in a half circle. The duke’s eyes widened and he said, ‘‘You dare!’’

  ‘‘Sir, you’re wounded,’’ shouted William. ‘‘That creature will smell you coming a mile away.’’

  ‘‘I’ve been hunting cats since before your birth, boy! Let go of my arm!’’

  But William held tight as the duke’s son, daughter and nephew reached them, with the servants and soldiers closing quickly. ‘‘Your Grace, that was no cat.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ said the duke.

  ‘‘It was not a leopard.’’

  ‘‘I saw it!’’ said the duke, struggling with William.

  ‘‘It may have looked like a leopard, Your Grace, but it was not.’’

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  ‘‘What was it then?’’ asked Prince Vladic.

  ‘‘A magician,’’ said William, releasing the duke’s arm. ‘‘A lesser path magician.’’ He put up his sword.

  ‘‘A magician?’’ asked Paulina. ‘‘How can you be sure?’’

  William said, ‘‘As you know cats, milady, I know magicians.

  Trust me.’’

  ‘‘A shapeshifter?’’ asked Kazamir.

  William nodded. ‘‘Leopard totem. And a powerful one to be able to shape himself like that.’’

  ‘‘He did come into camp as if he knew what he was doing, Father,’’ observed Paulina.

  ‘‘He wanted you to go after him,’’ said William. ‘‘He was hunting you.’’ He pointed to the Pathfinder who stood a short distance away. ‘‘He was first on the trail, but the magician let him pass and tried to break your back.’’

  ‘‘Break my back?’’

  ‘‘He leapt so as to land high on your back. It would have crushed your spine. The fact you moved when I shouted saved Your Grace from a painful death.’’

  The Pathfinder said, ‘‘It’s truth, Your Grace. Had he landed on you, you’d be dead.’’

  ‘‘The claws as he departed were his way of making sure you followed,’’ said William.

  ‘‘Then I shall oblige him. I’ll hunt him in turn,’’ said the duke, ignoring the blood that was dripping from the cuts in his shoulder.

  ‘‘No, Your Grace,’’ said William. He motioned to Sergeant Matthews. ‘‘Your pleasure is hunting, but when it comes to hunting criminals, that’s my duty.’’ To Matthews he said, ‘‘Escort the duke back to his tent and see to his wounds. I want a dozen men up here, armed and ready.’’ To the Pathfinder he 150

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  said, ‘‘See if you can pick up his trail, but be wary. Remember, this is a man you’re hunting, not an animal.’’

  The Pathfinder gave a nod and headed up the forest track.

  The duke seemed on the verge of starting a second argument when Prince Vladic said, ‘‘Come, Uncle. Let’s tend to those wounds, then we’ll see about this hunting of magicians.’’

  William saw the duke study the trail, then give William a long, appraising look. With a nod of agreement, he turned and started the slow return to the camp. A short time later, a dozen men, armed and ready, appeared, and William signaled the way.

  Softly he said, ‘‘We look for an ambush, either from a man or a cat, and we won’t know which until he strikes. Keep your interval
on the trail.’’

  William led the way, each man waiting a moment before following the man in front of him. One by one they moved off into the misty woods.

  High above the sun shone, but deep in the woods there was nothing but gloom. ‘‘It’s queer,’’ whispered the Pathfinder. ‘‘It shouldn’t be this dark.’’

  William nodded. ‘‘It’s as if . . .’’ He paused. He knew what this spell was, but had no name for it. Despite having grown up on the Isle of Stardock, William had had no interest in the study of magic—a fact which had driven a wedge between William and his father, Pug—but some knowledge had stuck to the young man. ‘‘It’s a darkness spell, to make things gloomy so the caster can work his way past . . .’’ Suddenly he stood erect and shouted, ‘‘Back to the camp!’’

  ‘‘He’s circled us?’’

  ‘‘It’s the duke he wants!’’ shouted William, turning to run 151

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  past the soldier behind him. The others quickly followed. ‘‘At the double!’’

  The men set off at a quick trot. With no need for silence, they made quick time of the distance back to the point of the first attack. William held up his hand and they paused to catch their breath for a minute, then they were off again.

  For slow passing minutes, the only sound William heard was heavy boots pounding on the soil of the forest floor, the clanking of armor and weapons, and the labored breathing of the men. No one spoke as if they were conserving their energy, knowing a fight might await them at the end of their run.

  William was the first to hear the struggle. As they approached the camp the sounds of battle rang out. He had a dozen men with him, so eight soldiers and Sergeant Matthews had remained in camp with the servants and bearers. Kazamir and the Prince would mean eleven able-bodied fighters, and William was certain the duke could still give a good account of himself despite his wounds. William cursed his own stupidity.

  He had broken a cardinal rule of warfare: in the presence of an enemy, never split your forces unless by doing so you gain a clear and obvious advantage.

  He had thought he faced one magician. He was obviously wrong.

  Snarls and cat-screams sounded among the clash of weapons and William caught sight of the first cat as they came into camp. It was a large leopard, but spotted, not black like the magician in his cat form. As William ran at it, he sent his thoughts toward it, Run! Bad! Danger! But his mind hit a barrier, a mystic wall which kept his thoughts from reaching the cat’s mind, and prevented him from hearing the cat’s thoughts. Instead, the leopard snarled in rage and leapt at him.

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  William’s two-handed sword came up and he took the creature in the chest, letting its own momentum carry it past him, then turned and let the creature fall off the point of his sword.

  The animal howled and flailed with its claws at the air, then lay twitching until it died.

  There were men in the camp as well as animals. Three men stood near the center of the camp, each wearing a robe and carrying a large staff. Two seemed to be in a trance, and William was certain they were directing the half-dozen large leopards he could see—and however many others he couldn’t—while the third robed man stood guard over them. William made straight for the alert magician.

  Refusing to be diverted from his purpose, William didn’t see those men trapped in pairs and threes facing snarling animals who were working in concert with one another, fierce hunters now gifted with human-aided intelligence as they tried to pull down any soldier whose attentions wavered for an instant.

  The magician saw William coming at a run and raised his staff, pointing it at the young officer. William prepared to dodge to the side, but without knowing what spell was coming he had no means to judge his timing.

  Pain suddenly struck him in waves, and behind him he could hear the soldiers scream. William staggered a step, then realized that while he hurt from his toenails to his hair, he could still move. The magician who pointed his staff at him regarded him with alarm when he didn’t fall. Eyes wide, the magician dropped his staff and pulled a dagger from his belt, leaping toward the staggering young lieutenant with an animal-like snarl of anger.

  William had only to raise his sword, and as he had with the leopard, the point took the attacker in the chest. But rather 153

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  than swing to one side, William pushed with all his strength and the magician practically ran upon the blade. His eyes bulged and he dropped his dagger, then his eyes rolled up into his skull and he died.

  William let him fall and yanked his blade free. He turned and saw his companions lying on the ground, twitching in agony.

  Around him snarling animals and screaming men told William he had little time. He raised his sword and struck the nearest standing magician, the one he had met in the inn, who had named himself Jaquin Medosa. When his blade struck, it was like hitting an oak tree, and the man staggered but didn’t fall. William was not amazed, for he had seen what magic could accomplish all his life, and he knew his foe was empowered by more than mere sinew and bone. Some magicians who looked frail could muster the strength to lift a horse, or resist sword blows and arrow points.

  For an instant, the man’s concentration turned to William, but before he could marshal his resources against William, the young officer struck another blow with his sword, severing the man’s arm from his body. He screamed and fell over, blood spurting from his shoulder. Without mercy, William ended his life with the point of his blade in the man’s throat.

  The last magician also died quickly, and suddenly the tone of combat changed around him. The animals’ sounds of rage now turned to those of terror. Even with the spell broken, the cats would continue to fight. ‘‘Back away from the leopards!’’

  William shouted. They were no less dangerous for being free of the enchantment, and William knew men might suffer more if he couldn’t quickly drive the cats off.

  He closed his eyes and conjured an image, an enraged male 154

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  lion, and imagined a roar of challenge, defying the leopard to enter its territory. No normal leopard would challenge an adult male lion if given a chance to flee.

  Instantly leopards began to flee the scene. Men shouted and while some sounds of struggle continued for a few moments longer, soon the camp was quiet.

  William shouted, ‘‘Sergeant Matthews!’’

  ‘‘Sir,’’ came the weak reply. The sergeant hove into view, his left arm shredded from claw-wounds and pouring blood.

  ‘‘Get yourself seen to, then report,’’ said William.

  Duke Radswil and his son emerged from their tent, both covered in blood. ‘‘Are you all right, Your Grace?’’

  The duke nodded, looking around. ‘‘All these damned cats.

  It doesn’t make sense. Leopards are solitary hunters—’’

  Kazamir went pale and said, ‘‘Look!’’

  William looked at the three magicians he had killed and saw that their bodies were transforming. He and the others were witnessing what few mortals ever saw: a magician returning to its totem form. The second magician William had killed, the one who had been surprisingly powerful, was a huge black leopard. William inspected it and said, ‘‘This was the one that raked you, Your Grace.’’

  ‘‘How can you tell?’’ asked the duke, as pale as his son.

  ‘‘This is where I wounded it before,’’ said William, pointing to a mark on its left side. He then showed the severed arm.

  ‘‘And this is where I cut off his arm. This was the man at the inn yesterday, Jaquin Medosa.’’

  Prince Vladic, with considerably fewer wounds than his uncle and cousin, stepped from behind and said, ‘‘I recognized him, also.’’

  ‘‘You survived,’’ said William with obvious relief.

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nbsp; Vladic said, ‘‘My uncle and cousin are heroes. They overturned the table and we fought from behind it. I fear they took serious wounds protecting me.’’

  ‘‘The Princess?’’ asked William.

  ‘‘She was behind me,’’ said Vladic. ‘‘She’s recovering in the tent.’’

  William surveyed the damage. ‘‘How many cats?’’

  ‘‘At least a dozen,’’ said a soldier. ‘‘Maybe more, sir.’’

  William shook his head. ‘‘Summon Totem. It’s a rare and powerful magic. Those who tried to kill you, Your Grace, employ men of great prowess. Only a few can do what these three did.’’

  The duke said, ‘‘You flatter me, lieutenant. These men didn’t come here to kill me.’’

  William said, ‘‘Sir?’’

  Vladic said, ‘‘They came here to kill me. They could have killed my uncle easily but they ignored him to come straight at me.’’

  William didn’t understand.

  The duke, wincing from his wounds said, ‘‘I think I can explain: had you not sent me back to camp, I would have been on the trail with you and your men when the leopards struck this camp. Almost certainly everyone here would have died. I can explain at greater length after I get these wounds dressed, but the short answer is that someone wants the Crown Prince of Olasko dead. And they want him dead on your prince’s doorstep.’’

  William felt a cold chill in the pit of his stomach. Someone was not trying to kill a noble from a neighboring kingdom; someone was trying to start a war.

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  EIGHT

  ATTACK

  m

  S

  ERVANTS rushed forward.

  William signaled to Matthews to sweep the perimeter around the inn before darkness, while the servants hurried inside with the duke and his family.

  Following the magicians’ attack, William had quickly taken stock of the situation, come to several realizations, and made a decision.

  The first realization was that two or three very powerful magicians had orchestrated an assault that had been planned and executed with painstaking care. Which meant they had known the duke was coming. With a sinking feeling, William wondered if there was a spy in the palace, or if it had simply been a case of someone observing the party leaving the city and sending word ahead by magical means. He wished James was here, for that sort of plotting was more his province. William just didn’t have the temperament to consider every possible turn and twist of a plot. His forte was battle: tactics and strategy, logistics and resupply, defense and assault.