Krondor: The Betrayal Page 7

  But while the others were clean and recently painted, this was faded and dirty.

  Locklear knocked loudly, and after a few minutes a sleepy voice from the other side of the door said, ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Isaac?’’ shouted Locklear, and the door opened.

  A young man with long blond hair stuck his head out the door and said, ‘‘Locky?’’ The door opened wide, and the young man bid them enter. He wore only a rumpled tunic and trousers, obviously having slept in them. ‘‘I was just getting up,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Right,’’ said Locklear, as if humoring him.

  The room was dark, with the shutters and sashes still closed, and the air was stale. Old food odors and sweat mixed with the sour aroma of spilled ale. The furniture was simple, one wooden table with four chairs, a single shelf behind the table, and another small table upon which a lamp rested. Stairs led to a sleeping loft above. A faded tapestry, once residing in surroundings far finer than those in which they hung now, was the sole item of any note. It hung behind Isaac, framing him with a tableau of a meeting between princes who were exchanging gifts while notables of that day looked on from all sides.

  ‘‘Locklear,’’ said Isaac, as if savoring the name. ‘‘What a pleasure. You’re wearing your years well. I like the moustache.

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  You always could manage the flamboyant.’’ He turned away and moved with a visible limp. ‘‘Sit down. I would offer you tea or coffee, but my cousin is temporarily visiting other relatives in Bas-Tyra, and I have just arrived last night, so we are not well provisioned.’’

  ‘‘That’s all right,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘How long’s it been? Since Arutha’s wedding?’’

  Isaac sat in a small wooden chair and crossed his legs so that he kept his weight on his good leg. ‘‘The very day. You should have heard the fit old Master of Ceremonies deLacy threw when he found out I wasn’t the Baron of Dorgin’s son.’’

  ‘‘That’s because there is no Baron of Dorgin,’’ supplied Locklear. ‘‘If you’d done your research, you would have avoided that gaffe.’’

  ‘‘How was I supposed to know the lands outside the dwarven enclave are the province of the Duke of the Southern Marches?’’

  ‘‘Study?’’ suggested Locklear.

  ‘‘Never my strong suit,’’ said Isaac with a wave of his hand.

  ‘‘Well, at least deLacy was too busy with the wedding to toss you out until the next day,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We had a good time that night. What have you been doing since?’’

  ‘‘I spent some time in the East with my family, then returned a few years ago to the West. Since then I’ve been doing odd jobs along the border. So, what brings a member of Krondor’s court so far from home with such unusual company?’’

  ‘‘Certain doings, some bloody, which unfortunately point to you.’’

  ‘‘Me?’’ said Isaac. ‘‘You’re not serious.’’

  ‘‘I’m as serious as a Royal Torturer, Isaac, and you’ll have a chance to make a firsthand comparison if you don’t answer me truthfully. I’ll have Gorath sit on you while I go fetch the local constable. We can have a pleasant talk here, or a very unpleasant one in Krondor.’’

  Locklear had no intention of summoning the local constable and trying to sort out his claim of rank and authority, especially with no royal writs or warrants. But Isaac didn’t know that, and Locklear wasn’t about to enlighten him.

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  ‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’’ said Isaac, starting to slowly rise.

  Gorath said softly, ‘‘Reach for that sword behind you, and you’ll have a leg to match the other before your fingers touch the hilt, human.’’

  ‘‘Damn,’’ said Isaac quietly, sitting back down in the chair.

  ‘‘The ruby,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘What ruby?’’ said Isaac.

  ‘‘The one you bought from Kiefer Alescook. The one you paid for with gold heading north to buy Delekhan weapons.

  The ruby stolen from an important Tsurani magician. The ruby that’s the latest in a series of such transactions.’’

  Isaac ran a hand over his face and back through his hair.

  ‘‘Locky, it’s been hard.’’

  Locklear’s expression turned dark, and his voice took on a menacing tone that had Owyn sitting back in surprise. ‘‘As hard as treason, Isaac? As hard as the jerk at the end of a hangman’s rope?’’

  ‘‘Who said anything about treason, Locky?’’ Isaac’s manner turned to pleading. ‘‘Look, we were boyhood friends before I had my accident. If our positions had been reversed, you’d know; you’d understand what it’s like to be a hired sword with a bad leg. Locky, I was nearly starving when this opportunity came along. I was too far in before I discovered who was behind it.’’

  ‘‘Tell us what you know, and I’ll do you a favor,’’ said Locklear.

  Isaac looked downfallen, and said in a contrite fashion, ‘‘I was in over my head before I knew who I was dealing with.

  Alescook is an old acquaintance. I know that from time to time he ‘finds’ gems and jewelry that have . . . ah, ‘clouded’ title is a polite way of putting it.’’

  ‘‘Stolen,’’ said Locklear.

  Isaac squirmed. ‘‘Whatever the cause, the market in the Kingdom is difficult, so those gems find their way south, to Kesh or over the water to Queg or the Free Cities. I’m just a middleman, someone who can take a little trip down to the Vale or over to Krondor or Sarth and put something on a ship.

  That’s all.’’

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  ‘‘The ruby?’’ said Locklear.

  Isaac started to rise and hesitated as Gorath leaned forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Isaac continued rising slowly, then mounted the stairs to the loft above. Locklear motioned with his head to Owyn, who stood up and hurried through a small door on the wall next to the tapestry. He found himself in a tiny kitchen, one dirty enough he would have to be far hungrier than he presently was to consider eating anything prepared there. He ducked through the back door and looked up, at a window above, where he saw the head of Isaac disappear back inside. Owyn smiled; Locklear’s instincts had been correct. The lame ex-fighter might attempt to escape from a second-story window, but he knew he wasn’t quick enough to pull off his escape if someone was waiting below.

  A moment later, Locklear called for Owyn’s return, and the young magician complied. He entered the room and stopped.

  The hairs on his arm stood up, and he said, ‘‘Let me see the stone.’’

  Isaac handed it to him, and said, ‘‘It’s really not a very valuable item, but I get paid well.’’

  Owyn replied, ‘‘I don’t know anything about stones and their worth, but I know this one is more than it appears to be.’’ He looked at it closely, and continued, ‘‘This ruby has been prepared.’’

  ‘‘Prepared for what?’’ asked Locklear. ‘‘Jewelry?’’

  ‘‘No, as a matrix of some kind for magic. I don’t know much about this sort of thing.’’ He put the stone down. ‘‘Truth to tell, I don’t know much about any sort of thing magical, which is why I left Stardock. The only magic I’ve learned so far was from a field magician name Patrus, a sour old character. But my father objected, and last I heard Patrus headed north—’’

  He shook himself out of his revery. ‘‘It doesn’t matter, but what he told me is that some magic is harmonic and can be focused by gems. Or stored in them. He claimed once that magic itself might exist in gem form under the right conditions.

  For example, you can rig a trap with certain gems, so that whoever steps into a given area is imprisoned.’’

  ‘‘Can you tell what this was used for?’’

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  ‘‘No,’’ said Owyn with a shake to his head. ‘‘It may be something that will be used in the future
.’’

  ‘‘So you think it important?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘I can now see why the Tsurani magician was so angry about its disappearance.’’

  Locklear picked up the stone and tossed it in the air a couple of times while he was thinking. After a moment he put away the stone and turned to Isaac. ‘‘Tell us what else you know.’’

  Isaac looked defeated, and said, ‘‘Very well. The stones come through the rift on an irregular basis. Sometimes a bunch, sometimes a single one like this one. Money comes to me in Krondor by various means; never the same twice. There’s a new gang in Krondor, run by someone calling himself the Crawler, and he’s causing the Mockers fits.’’

  ‘‘Mockers?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘Thieves,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘I’ll explain it later. Go on,’’ he said, looking at Isaac.

  ‘‘Someone in Krondor is paying for gems. The Tsurani bring them in and hand them over to the moredhel. They run them over to Alescook, and I go get them and bring them to Krondor. It’s a fairly simple arrangement.’’

  ‘‘But someone’s running this. Who and where?’’

  Isaac sighed. ‘‘There’s a village south of Sarth. Called Yellow Mule. Know it?’’

  ‘‘Villages like that don’t put up signs, but if it’s on the King’s Highway, I’ve ridden through it.’’

  ‘‘It’s not. About twenty miles south of Sarth, there’s a fork in the road, and if you go inland, you’re heading toward an old trail up into the mountains. About five miles along that road is where you’ll find Yellow Mule. It’s why the moredhel are using it. No one travels through there, and it’s easy for his kin‘‘—he indicated Gorath with a jerk of his chin—’’to get there without being seen.

  ‘‘There’s an old smuggler turned farmer named Cedric Rowe now living there. He knows nothing of loyalty to anyone, or anything but gold. He rents out his barn to a Dark Brother named Nago.’’

  ‘‘Nago!’’ said Gorath. ‘‘If we take him, then we have an 57

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  opportunity to escape his minions. Without him, they are blind, and we can get to Krondor.’’

  ‘‘Maybe,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘But certainly, if we leave him there, the closer we get to Krondor, the easier it is for his agents to find us.’’

  ‘‘Why?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘He’s tightening the noose, lad,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘Less land for his men to cover.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘Now Quegans make sense. This Rowe has probably been dealing with Quegan pirates all his life and just sent word to someone in Sarth. First ship outbound to Queg passes word, and within a month he’s got as many sea-hardened bullyboys as he needs. And if Nago is throwing gold around, there are more Quegans along the roads to Krondor than a beggar has lice.’’

  ‘‘And Quegans aren’t likely to run to the King’s soldiers if something goes sour; worst they do is skulk back to the nearest port and find a ship heading out. Little chance of being betrayed by someone going cold in the feet,’’ added Isaac.

  ‘‘What else?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Nothing,’’ said Isaac. He stood up and took a cloak off the peg. ‘‘As soon as I pen a note to my cousin, I’m bound for Kesh. I’ve just set Nago’s assassin on my trail, but he doesn’t know it yet. Each hour I steal before he does, I stand a better chance of reaching Kesh.’’

  ‘‘I said I’d do you a favor, Isaac, and I will. I’ll let you run for Kesh, for old times’ sake and for keeping up your end of the bargain, but only if you tell us everything.’’

  ‘‘What makes you think there’s anything else?’’

  Locklear pulled his sword suddenly and had the point at Isaac’s throat. ‘‘Because I know you. You always hold something back, just in case you need an edge. I’m guessing this little bit of theater is to give you a chance to be out of town before us, just in case you can find one of Nago’s agents and get him set on us before they figure out you’ve sold them out.

  Something like that.’’

  Isaac grinned. ‘‘Locky! Why I wouldn’t—’’

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  stopped talking so suddenly he almost swallowed his own tongue. ‘‘All of it,’’ demanded Locklear in a menacing whisper.

  Slowly Isaac raised his hand and gently pushed aside the sword point. ‘‘There’s a lockchest—’’

  ‘‘What?’’ asked Locklear.

  Gorath said, ‘‘A chest in which to lock valuables. My people make them to transport items of importance.’’

  ‘‘Go on,’’ said Locklear.

  ‘‘There’s a lockchest outside of town. Go five miles down the road toward Quester’s View. To the right side of the road you’ll see a lightning-struck tree. Beyond that is a small clump of brush. Look there, and you’ll see the chest. I am to leave the ruby there tonight, and when I return tomorrow, my gold is supposed to be waiting for me.’’

  ‘‘So you never see your contact from Krondor?’’

  ‘‘Never. That was part of Nago’s instructions to me.’’

  ‘‘You’ve seen this moredhel?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘Met him,’’ said Isaac. ‘‘At Yellow Mule. He’s a big one, like your friend here, not slight like some of them can be. Nasty moods and no humor. Odd fire in his eyes if you know what I mean.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘I can imagine. What can you tell us about his company?’’

  ‘‘He only keeps a couple of soldiers around him—I’ve never seen more than three at any time—because it might be noticed.

  And there are enough Quegans coming through there that if he needs swords, he can get them in a hurry. But he’s a magic user, Locky, a right nasty witch, and if you cross him, he can fry you as soon as look at you.’’

  Locklear glanced at Gorath, who gave a slight nod of agreement to what was being said. Locklear said, ‘‘Very well, Isaac, here’s what you’re doing. Get something to write with.’’

  Isaac glanced around the room and saw an old scrap of faded leather sitting in a corner. He crossed to the small fireplace and fished out some charcoal. He said, ‘‘What do I write?’’

  ‘‘Write this: ‘Ruby taken by Prince’s man. Three you seek are on the way to Eggly. I am undone and must flee.’ Then sign your name.’’

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  Isaac signed, looking pale as he put down those words.

  ‘‘This marks me, Locky.’’

  ‘‘You were marked the moment you took gold to turn your hand against your king. You deserve to be hanged, and eventually you will be unless you change your ways, but it will be for another crime, not for this.’’

  ‘‘Unless Nago’s agents find you first,’’ added Gorath.

  That was all Isaac needed. ‘‘What do I do with this?’’

  ‘‘Put it in the chest where you are to leave the ruby, then I suggest you start running. If you don’t put that note there, and I get to Krondor, I’ll hire assassins even if they have to travel to the farthest reaches of Kesh to find you. You can cut your hair and color it, grow a beard, and wear furs like a Brijainer, but you can’t hide that leg, Isaac. Now get out of here.’’

  Isaac didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his sword, his cloak, and the note and hurried out the back door.

  ‘‘How could you spare that traitor?’’ asked Gorath.

  ‘‘Dead he is of little use to us, and alive he may direct our foes to another path.’’ Locklear looked at Gorath. ‘‘And isn’t it a little odd you’re showing contempt for a traitor?’’

  The look Gorath returned could only be called murderous.

  ‘‘I am no traitor. I’m trying to save my people, human.’’ He offered no further embellishment, but turned, and said, ‘‘We must be away. That one cannot be trusted and may attempt to bargain for his life.’’

  Locklear said, ‘‘I know, but either way he either plant
s the note, or he is found and tells them what he knows, which isn’t much. They were trying to kill us before we got the ruby. They can’t make us any more dead for having it.’’

  ‘‘I think I have a way for us to avoid detection for a while and perhaps reach Nago unseen,’’ Gorath said.

  ‘‘How?’’ asked Locklear.

  ‘‘I know the way they reach this village of Yellow Mule. If we take the ridge road toward the town you call Eggly, leaving as we told in the note, there’s a trail a day’s quick run south of here that leads into the higher ridges. It is, I believe, the same trail that empties out near Rowe’s farm.’’

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  ‘‘How could you know that?’’ asked Locklear, suddenly suspicious.

  Gorath’s patience appeared near its end, but he managed to reply evenly. ‘‘Because I lived in these mountains as a child, before you humans came to plague us. Before this land became infested with your kind, my people lived in these mountains.

  I’ve fished along these rivers and hunted in these mountains.’’

  His voice lowered, and he said, ‘‘I may have built my campfire on the spot you humans have built this house. Now, let us go.

  It’s no long journey for a moredhel, but you humans tire easily, and besides, your wounds will slow you even more.’’

  ‘‘And yours won’t?’’ asked Owyn.

  ‘‘Not so that you would notice,’’ replied the dark elf, turning to the door without waiting for a response and leaving the building.

  Locklear and Owyn hurried after and found Gorath waiting.

  ‘‘We need to buy food. Have we enough gold?’’

  ‘‘For food, yes,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘For horses, no.’’

  They headed to an inn at the east end of town, and Locklear arranged for travel rations, food bound in parchment heavily coated with beeswax, mostly dried or heavily salted to prevent spoilage. While they waited Locklear asked what conditions were like on the road to Eggly, pointedly being loud enough that a few suspicious-looking men hanging about the commons early in the day could overhear. Should anyone ask about them, he was certain this would only reinforce the false information in Isaac’s note.