A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  “Maybe he wants to make sure no one else hires this Segersen?” ventured Locklear.

  “Maybe,” said Laurie. “But most likely he needs something Segersen can provide.”

  “Then we must make sure he doesn’t get it,” said Arutha.

  Roald said, “We go a half day to Tyr-Sog, then turn back?”

  Arutha only nodded.

  —

  Arutha signaled.

  Roald, Laurie, and Jimmy moved slowly forward, while Baru and Martin moved off, to circle around. Locklear stayed behind to tend the horses. They had spent half the day moving along the road to Tyr-Sog; at a little past noon, Martin had cut off the road and dropped back. He had returned with the news the man called Crowe had turned back. Now they stalked him through the night as the renegade met again with his moredhel employers.

  Arutha moved up silently to look over Jimmy’s shoulder. Again the Prince observed one of Murmandamus’s Black Slayers. The iron-clad moredhel spoke. “Did you follow that band?”

  “They trundled up the road to Tyr-Sog, right proper. Hell, I told you they was nothing. Wasted a whole day tagging after.”

  “You will do as our master orders.”

  Jimmy whispered, “That’s not the same voice. That’s the second voice.”

  Arutha nodded. The boy had explained the two voices, and they had seen Murmandamus take control of his servants before. “Good,” the Prince whispered back.

  The moredhel said, “Now wait for Segersen. You know—”

  The Black Slayer seemed to leap forward, to suddenly be caught by Crowe, who held him a moment, then dropped him. The startled renegade could only stare in wide-eyed wonder at the cloth-yard shaft protruding from below the edge of the creature’s helm. Martin’s arrow had punched through the Black Slayer’s neck coif of chain mail, killing him instantly.

  Before the other four moredhel could pull weapons, Martin had a second down, and Baru was leaping from the woods, his long sword blurring as he struck a moredhel down. Roald was across the clearing and killed another. Martin shot the last moredhel while Jimmy and Arutha charged the renegade, Crowe. He made little attempt to defend himself, being shocked by the sudden attack and recognizing quickly he was outnumbered. He seemed confused, especially as he saw Martin and Baru begin to pull off the Black Slayers’s armor.

  Fear was replaced by shock as he saw Martin cut open the Slayer’s chest and remove its heart. His eyes widened as he recognized who had taken the moredhel band. “You, then—” His eyes searched each face as they gathered around him, then they studied Arutha’s face. “You! You’re supposed to be dead!”

  Jimmy quickly stripped him of hidden weapons and searched about his neck. “No ebon hawk. He’s not one of them.”

  A feral light seemed to kindle in Crowe’s eyes. “Me, one of them? No, by no means, Your Worships. I’m only carrying messages, sir. Making a little gold for myself, is all, Your Kindness. You know how it can be.”

  Arutha waved Jimmy off. “Fetch Locky. I don’t want him out there alone if there are other Dark Brothers about.” He said to the prisoner, “What has Segersen to do with Murmandamus?”

  “Segersen? Who’s he?”

  Roald stepped forward and, with a heavy dagger hilt in his gloved fist, struck Crowe across the face, bloodying his nose and shattering his cheek.

  “Don’t break his jaw, for mercy’s sake,” said Laurie, “or he won’t be able to tell us anything.”

  Roald gave the man a kick as he lay writhing on the ground. “Listen, laddie, I don’t have time to be tender with you. Now, you’d best answer up, or we’ll be taking you back to the inn in little pieces.” He stroked the edge of his dagger for emphasis.

  “What has Segersen to do with Murmandamus?” Arutha repeated.

  “I don’t know,” said the man through bloody lips, and he yelled again when Roald kicked him. “Honestly I don’t. I was only told to meet him and give him a message.”

  “What message?” asked Laurie.

  “The message is simple. It was only ‘By the Inclindel Gap.’ ”

  Baru said, “Inclindel Gap is a narrow way through the mountains, directly north from here. If Murmandamus has seized it, he can keep it open long enough for Segersen’s crew to get through.”

  “But we still don’t know why Murmandamus needs a company of engineeers,” observed Laurie.

  Roald quipped, “For whatever you use them for, I would think.”

  Arutha said, “What is there to siege? Tyr-Sog? It’s too easy to reinforce from Yabon City, and he has to find a way past the Thunderhell nomads on the other side of the mountains. Ironpass and Northwarden are too far east of here, and he wouldn’t need engineers to take on the dwarves or elves. That leaves Highcastle.”

  Martin had finished his bloody work and said, “Perhaps, but it’s the largest of the Border Baron fortresses.”

  Arutha said, “I’d not bother with siege. It’s designed to withstand raids. You can swarm it, and there is nothing we’ve seen of Murmandamus that indicates he’s reluctant to spend lives. Besides, that would put him in the middle of the High Wold, with no place to go. No, this makes no sense.”

  “Look,” said the man on the ground, “I’m just a go-between, a fellow’s paid to do a job. Now, you can’t hold me responsible for what the Brotherhood’s up to, can you, Your Kindness?”

  Jimmy returned with Locklear in tow.

  Martin said to Arutha, “I don’t think he knows anything else.”

  A dark expression crossed Arutha’s face. “He knows who we are.”

  Martin nodded. “He does.”

  Suddenly Crowe’s face drained of color. “Look, you can rely on me. I’ll keep my gob shut, Your Highness. You don’t have to give me anything. Just let me go and I’ll light out of these parts. Honestly.”

  Locklear glanced about at his grim-looking companions, comprehension escaping him.

  Arutha noticed and nodded slightly to Jimmy. The older youth roughly grabbed Locklear by the upper arm and propelled him away. “What—?” said the younger squire.

  A short distance away, Jimmy halted. “We wait.”

  “For what?” said the boy, confusion apparent upon his face.

  “For them to do what they have to do.”

  “To do what?” insisted Locklear.

  “To kill the renegade.”

  Locklear looked sick. Jimmy’s tone became short. “Look, Locky, this is war and people are killed. And that Crowe is among the least of those who are going to die.” Locklear couldn’t believe the harsh expression he was seeing on Jimmy’s face. For over a year he had seen the rogue, the scoundrel, the charmer, but now he was seeing someone he had never expected to encounter, the cold, ruthless veteran of life, a young man who had killed and who would kill again. “That man must die,” said Jimmy flatly. “He knows who Arutha is, and do you think for a minute the Prince’s life’s worth spit if Crowe gets loose?”

  Locklear appeared shaken, his face pale. He slowly closed his eyes. “Couldn’t we…”

  “What?” demanded Jimmy savagely. “Wait for a patrol of militia to pass so we can turn him over for trial in Tyr-Sog? Pop in to give testimony? Tie him up for a few months? Look, if it helps, just keep in mind Crowe is an outlaw and traitor, and Arutha is dispensing High Justice. But any way you look at it, there’s no choice.”

  Locklear’s mind seemed to spin, then a strangled cry came from the clearing and the boy winced. His confusion seemed to vanish, and he only nodded. Jimmy placed his hand upon his friend’s shoulder and squeezed lightly.

  Suddenly he knew Locklear would never seem quite so young again.

  —

  They had returned to the inn and waited, to the delight of the somewhat perplexed Geoffrey. After three days a stranger appeared and approached Roald, who had taken to occupying the spot formerly used by Crowe. The stranger had spoken briefly and then left in a rage, as Roald had told him the contract between Murmandamus and Segersen was canceled. Martin had mention
ed to Geoffrey that a famous and wanted general of mercenaries might be camped in the area, and he was sure there would be a reward to any who let the local militia know where to find him. They had left next day, heading northward.

  As they had ridden out of sight of the inn, Jimmy had remarked, “Geoffrey’s in for a pleasant surprise.”

  Arutha had asked, “Why?”

  “Well, Crowe never paid for his last two days’ bill, so Geoffrey took his shield as security against the debt.”

  Roald laughed along with Jimmy. “You mean one of these days he’s going to look under that covering.”

  When everyone looked confused except Roald, Jimmy said, “It’s gold.”

  “That’s why Crowe had so much trouble lugging it along but never left it behind,” added Roald.

  “And why you buried everything save what Baru’s using, but brought that back with you,” said Martin.

  “It’s the payment for Segersen. No one would bother a disinherited fighter without two coppers to rub together, now would they?” said Jimmy as everyone laughed. “Seems proper Geoffrey should get it. Heaven knows, where we’re going, we can’t use it.”

  The laughter died away.

  —

  Arutha motioned a halt.

  They had been moving steadily northward from the inn for a week, twice staying in Hadati villages where Baru was known. He had been greeted with respect and honored, for somehow his killing of Murad had become known throughout the Hadati highlands. If the hillmen had been curious about Baru’s companions, they showed no sign. And Arutha and the others were certain no word of their passage would be spread.

  Now they found themselves before a narrow trail leading up into the mountains, the Inclindel Gap. Baru, who rode next to Arutha, told him, “Here we again enter enemy territory. If Segersen doesn’t appear, perhaps the moredhel will withdraw their watch upon the pass, but it may be we ride into their arms.”

  Arutha only nodded.

  Baru had tied his hair back behind his head and had wrapped his traditional swords in his plaid and hidden them in his bedroll. Now he wore Morgan Crowe’s sword at his side and the renegade’s chain mail over his tunic. It was as if the Hadati had ceased to exist and another common mercenary had taken his place. That was their story. They would be simply another band of renegades flocking to Murmandamus’s banner, and it was hoped that the story would withstand scrutiny. For days while traveling, they had discussed the problem of reaching Murmandamus. All had agreed that, even should he suspect Arutha to be still alive, the last thing Murmandamus would expect would be for the Prince of Krondor to come enlist in his army.

  Without further conversation they moved out, Martin and Baru taking the lead, Arutha and Jimmy behind, Laurie and Locklear, then Roald. The experienced mercenary kept a constant watch to the rear as they rode higher into the Inclindel Gap.

  —

  For two days they rode upward, until the trail turned to the northeast. It seemed to follow the rise of the mountains somewhat, though it still ran along the south face of the mountains. In some strange sense they had yet to leave the Kingdom, for the peaks above them were where royal cartographers had chosen to indicate the boundaries between the Kingdom and the Northlands. Jimmy had no illusions about such things. They were in hostile territory. Anyone they met was likely to attack them on sight.

  Martin was waiting at a bend in the road. He had resumed his habit from the trip to Moraelin of scouting on foot. The terrain was too rocky for the horses to move swiftly, so he could easily keep ahead of the party. He signaled, and the others dismounted. Jimmy and Locklear took the horses and began leading them a short way back down the trail, turning them in case it was necessary to flee. Though, Jimmy thought, that would prove a problem, for the trail was so narrow the only outlet was back where they had started.

  The others reached the Duke, and he held his hand up for silence. In the distance, they could hear what had caused him to halt the party: a deep growl, punctuated by barking, and counterpointed by other, less familiar growling.

  They drew weapons and crept forward. At a point less than ten yards beyond the turn they saw a meeting point of two trails, one continuing northeast, the other heading off to the west. A man lay upon the ground, whether dead or unconscious they could not judge. Over his still body stood a giant of a dog, resembling a bull mastiff but twice the size, standing almost waist-high to a man. Around his neck a leather collar studded with pointed iron spikes gave the impression of a steel mane, while he bared teeth and growled and barked. Before him crouched three trolls.

  Martin let fly with a cloth-yard arrow, taking the rearmost troll in the head. The shaft punched through the thick skull and the creature was dead without knowing it. The others turned, which proved a fatal mistake to the troll nearest the dog, for he leaped at it, setting terrible fangs in the creature’s throat. The third tried to flee when it saw the five men charging, but Baru was quickest to leap over the confusion of bodies on the ground and the troll died swiftly.

  In a moment the only sound was that of the dog worrying the dead troll. As the men approached, the dog released the dead troll and backed away, standing guard once more over the prone man.

  Baru regarded the animal, emitted a low whistle, and half whispered, “It is not possible.”

  Arutha said, “What?”

  “That dog.”

  Martin said, “Possible or not, if that man isn’t dead already, he may die because this monster won’t let us near him.”

  Baru spoke a strange-sounding word and the dog’s ears perked up. He turned his head slightly and ceased growling. Slowly the dog moved forward, and then Baru was kneeling, scratching the animal behind the ear.

  Martin and Arutha hurried to examine the man, while Roald and Laurie helped the boys bring the horses along. When everyone was gathered, Martin said, “He’s dead.”

  The dog looked at the dead man, and whined a bit, but allowed Baru to continue petting him.

  “Who is this?” said Laurie aloud. “What brings a man and a dog to such a desolate spot?”

  “And look at those trolls,” added Roald.

  Arutha nodded. “They are armed and armored.”

  “Mountain trolls,” said Baru. “More intelligent, cunning, and fierce than their lowland cousins. Those are little more than beasts; these are terrible foemen. Murmandamus has recruited allies.”

  “But this man?” said Arutha, pointing at the corpse upon the ground.

  Baru shrugged. “Who he is I cannot say. But what he is I may venture a guess.” He regarded the dog before him, who sat quietly, eyes closed in contentment as Baru scratched behind the ears. “This dog is like those in our villages, but greater, larger. Our dogs are descended from his breed, a breed not seen in Yabon in a century. This animal is called a Beasthound.

  “Ages ago, my people lived in small, scattered villages throughout these mountains, and the hills below. We had no cities, gathering in moot twice a year. To protect our herds from predators, we bred these, the Beasthounds. His master was the Beasthunter. The dogs were bred to a size to give even a cave bear pause.” He indicated the folds of skin around the eyes. “The dog will set teeth in an opponent’s neck, these folds channeling blood away from his eyes. And he will not release that hold until the opponent’s dead, or his master commands. This spiked collar prevents a larger predator from biting it about the neck.”

  Locklear looked astonished. “Larger! That thing’s near the size of a pony!”

  Baru smiled at the exaggeration. “They used them to hunt wyverns.”

  Locky said, “What’s a wyvern?”

  Jimmy answered. “A small stupid dragon—only about twelve feet high.” Locky looked to the others to see if Jimmy was joking. Baru shook his head, indicating he wasn’t.

  Martin said, “That man there was his master?”

  “Most likely,” agreed Baru. “See the black leather armor and coif. In his pack you should find an iron mask, with leather bands for the head,
so he can wear it over the coif. My father had such in his lodge, a reminder of the past handed down from our ancestors.” He glanced about and sighted something over by the fallen trolls. “There, fetch that.”

  Locklear ran over and came back with a giant crossbow. He handed it over to Martin, who whistled aloud. “That’s the damnedest thing.”

  “It’s half again the size of the heaviest crossbow I’ve ever seen,” remarked Roald.

  Baru nodded in agreement. “It is called a Bessy Mauler. Why it is named after Bessy is not known, but it is indeed a mauler. My people used to employ a Beasthunter at every village, to protect the herds from lions, cave bears, griffins, and other predators. When the Kingdom came to Yabon, and your nobles built cities and castles, and your patrols rode out and pacified the countryside, the need for a Beasthunter lessened, then died out. The Beasthounds also were allowed to diminish in size, bred as pets and to hunt smaller game.”

  Martin put down the crossbow. He examined a quarrel the man had in a hip quiver. It was steel-tipped and twice the size of a normal bolt. “This looks like it would punch a hole through a castle wall.”

  Baru smiled slightly. “Not quite, but it will put a dent the size of your fist in a wyvern’s scales. It might not kill the wyvern, but it would make him think twice about raiding a herd.”

  Arutha said, “But you say there are no more Beasthunters.”

  Baru patted the dog on the head and stood. “Or so it was supposed. Yet there lies one.” He was silent for a long moment. “When the Kingdom came to Yabon, we were a loose association of clans, and we were divided on our treatment of your people. Some of us welcomed your ancestors, some did not. For the most part, we Hadati kept to our old ways, living in the highlands and herding our sheep and cattle. But those in the towns quickly were absorbed as your countrymen came in increasing numbers, until there was little difference between Yabon city men and those of the Kingdom. Laurie and Roald are born of such stock. So Yabon became Kingdom.

  “But some resented the Kingdom, and resistance became open war. Your soldiers came in numbers, and the rebellion was quickly crushed. But there is a story, not well believed, that some chose neither to bow before the King nor to fight. Rather they chose to flee, going north to new homes beyond the control of the Kingdom.”