Читать книгу The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 16

DRUMS THUNDERED ACROSS THE RIDGES.

Gorath stood rooted in confusion. Part of him knew this was a memory, yet the experience was as real as when he had lived it. He clutched his hands and looked at them. They were small, a child’s hands. He glanced down and saw bare feet, and he had not gone barefoot since he was a boy.

Atop the surrounding hills drummers pounded out their insistent rhythms as fires burned brightly in the night. Clans long at war with one another watched for signs of betrayal, but all had come to hear the Speaker. Gorath stumbled along, his feet leaden with mystic fatigue; no matter how hard he tried, he could not move quickly.

The peace had fractured; he knew this. He knew his father’s people had been betrayed. He was but twelve summers of age and it should be centuries before the mantle of leadership fell to him, but fate ruled otherwise. Without being told he knew his father was dead.

His mother came up behind him and said, ‘Move quickly. If you are to lead, you must first survive.’ Her voice echoed and was distant and when he turned to look back at her, she was gone.

Suddenly he stood dressed in armour and boots; too big for him yet they were his own. His father had fallen when the Speaker’s peace had dissolved in fury. Like others before him, the Speaker had sought to raise the banner of Murmandamus, the only leader ever to unite the numerous clans of the moredhel. Now Gorath, a boy barely able to hold his dead father’s sword, stood before the men of the Hawk Clan, as dispirited a lot as had ever gathered around the fire. Gorath’s mother tapped him on the shoulder and he turned. ‘You must say something,’ she whispered.

Looking at the men of his clan, Gorath could barely make a sound, yet these warriors, some alive more than a century, waited to hear a boy’s words. The words that were to lift them from the depths of their hopelessness. Looking from face to face, at last Gorath said, ‘We will endure.’

A wave of pain gripped Gorath and he fell to his knees, and suddenly he was a man, kneeling before Bardol, swearing alliance in exchange for protection. Bardol had no sons and needed a strong husband for his daughter. Gorath had proven himself a wily leader, taking his people high up into the great ice mountains, living in caves lined with lichen, hunting bear and reindeer. For twenty-five years his people had survived, healed, and when he returned home, he had hunted down his father’s betrayer. He had entered the camp of Jodwah and thrown down the head of his brother, Ashantuk, at his feet in defiance. Then he had killed Jodwah in fair combat, and the warriors of the Lahuta, the Eagle Clan of the Northern Lakes had joined with the Hawk Clan of the Ice Peaks, and Gorath had emerged the leader of the Ardanien, the flying hunters in the ancient tongue. And he was but a stripling of thirty-seven summers, yet he commanded more than a hundred warriors.

Twice more he had come to council called by chieftains who had claimed rights beyond their reach, and he had watched as battles had bled his people. He had been clever and kept his people outside such conflicts, and he had become a man to be sought out, to give counsel, because he had no ambitions of his own. Many trusted Gorath. He was approaching his prime and numbered a hundred and six years of age. A thousand swords did his bidding.

Time was a river, and he swam in it. Wives – two women who had borne him children – he had seen the first dead from a human arrow: the other had left him. He had sons and a daughter, though none alive now. For even Gorath, he who was trusted for his wise counsel and cautious ways, even he had been swept up in the madness that had been Murmandamus.

The one called Murmandamus had returned, as spoken of in the prophecies. He wore the mark of the dragon and possessed great powers. He was served by a priest of a far people, a creature who hid in heavy robes, and first among his followers was Murad, Chieftain of Clan Badger of the Teeth of the World. Gorath had seen Murad break a warrior’s back over his knee and knew that only the most powerful leader could command Murad’s allegiance. As a sign of Murmandamus’s potency, Murad had cut his own tongue, proof he would never betray his master.

For the only time in his life, Gorath was caught up in madness. The blood pounded in his ears in harmony with the thunder of war drums in the mountain. He had led his army to the edge of the great Edder, and had fought the mad ones, Old King Redtree’s barbarians, and had held the flank while Murmandamus assaulted the human city of Sar-Isbandia, what the humans called Armengar.

Thousands had died at Armengar, but his clan was whole. A few had fallen holding the flank against the forest and on the march through the pass the humans called Highcastle. There, at Highcastle, he had lost Melos, his blood kin, son to his mother’s sister. There at Highcastle, a third of the Ardanien had perished.

Then had come Sethanon. The fighting had been brutal, but the city had been theirs. Yet at the moment of triumph, victory had been taken from them. Murmandamus had vanished. According to some of the warriors one moment he had stood in the barbican of the castle at Sethanon, and the next he was gone. Then the Keshians had arrived, and the Tsurani, and the battle had turned. The giants recruited from their high villages had been the first to flee, then the goblins, courageous when victorious, but quick to panic, had left the battle. It had been Gorath, the only surviving chieftain at the castle who had been the first to call the withdrawal. He had come looking for the master, because fighting had erupted between two rival clans over spoils, and only Murmandamus could settle the dispute. Humans had escaped because of the fighting. No one could find the master, and Gorath had cursed all omens, prophecies and heralds of destruction, and had returned to gather the Ardanien and lead them northward.

Most of his warriors had survived, but many chieftains labelled Gorath and his followers as betrayers. For nine summers, the Ardanien lived in their valley, high up in the northern mountains, keeping their own counsel. Then had come the call.

The banners were again raised and it was Delekhan, sworn enemy – son of the man who had slain Gorath’s father, and who had died at Gorath’s hands in turn – blood enemy from birth, who rallied the clans. Delekhan who had eaten with Murad and the snake priest, and who had been the last surviving member of Murmandamus’s council. And it was Delekhan who vowed that Murmandamus still lived within a prison in the heart of Sethanon and only by freeing him could the Nations of the North take back the land seized by the hated humans.

And any who spoke against Delekhan was struck down. Dark magics were fashioned by the Six, and one by one the opponents of Delekhan’s plan vanished. Gorath knew his day was coming, and knew that he must carry word to his enemies to the south, for they were his people’s only hope.

Night, and he fled through ice and pain. Men who were once as brothers to him sought to hunt him down and end his life. Haseth, whom Gorath had taught to hold a sword, last among his blood kin, had led them. It had been by Gorath’s own hands that his last surviving kinsman had died.

Then again, he heard the thundering drums. Again he saw the fires on the hill, but now he felt his mind returning to the present, memories of his life fading away slowly …

The girl was young, not quite seventeen years of age, yet her hair was nearly white with only the faintest hint of gold in it. Pale eyes of blue regarded Gorath as she let go of his hands. Behind her stood the Prince of Krondor, the black-robed Tsurani, and another spell-caster, one who, while short of stature, was almost exuding power. Others were nearby, but those Gorath had travelled with, Owyn and Locklear, were in another room.

‘What did you see?’ asked the Prince.

‘I cannot find any falsehoods, Highness,’ said the girl in a weary tone. ‘But I cannot find the truth, either. His mind is … alien, chaotic.’

Prince Arutha’s brown eyes narrowed as he regarded Gorath. ‘He hides his thoughts?’

The bearded magician said, ‘Highness, Gorath is moredhel, and even with Gamina’s exceptional talents for reading thoughts, his mind may have many innate psychic defences. We have never had the privilege of studying a moredhel. From what I learned in my time with the eldar –’

At mention of the ancient elven lore keepers, Gorath’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are Pug,’ he said.

Pug nodded. ‘I am.’

‘We have heard of you, who studied with the eldar,’ said Gorath.

Arutha said, ‘The point?’

‘I think he’s telling the truth,’ said Pug.

‘As do I,’ said Makala. ‘Forgive me,’ said the Tsurani magician to Prince Arutha, ‘but I presumed to use my own arts to watch as the Lady Gamina examined the moredhel. It is as she has stated; there is confusion and an alien mind there, but no guile. Despite his differences from us, he is as honest a creature as you will meet.’

‘For what cause did you presume to use your arts without leave?’ asked Arutha. His tone was one of pointed curiosity, rather than anger.

‘War in the Kingdom would have many wide-ranging consequences, not the least of which would be a disruption of trade between our two worlds, Your Highness. The Light of Heaven would be most displeased if such occurred, let alone the risk if such as these –’ he indicated Gorath ‘– gleaned the secrets of the rift.’

Arutha nodded, his expression thoughtful. Gorath spoke. ‘Trading agreements notwithstanding, war benefits no one, Prince. Despite that, you must prepare your army for war.’

Arutha’s words were pointed, but his tone was even. ‘What I must or must not do will be my burden, renegade. And my decisions will be based upon more than simply the word of one dissident chieftain. If not for Locklear’s faith in you, you’d be in our dungeon making the acquaintance of our torturer, not holding hands with Lady Gamina.’

Gorath glared at the Prince of Krondor. ‘I would tell you no different under hot iron, the lash, or the blade, human!’

Pug asked, ‘Then why do you betray your own, Gorath? Why come to Krondor with a warning when your nations have sought to dislodge humankind from this world as long as either race can remember? Why betray Delekhan to the Kingdom of the Isles? Are you seeking to have our army do what you cannot do by your own might, and destroy an enemy?’

The dark elf studied the magician. Despite his youthful appearance he was a man of great power, and to this point he had spoken to Gorath only in tones and terms of respect. Softly, Gorath said, ‘Delekhan may be a bitter draught to the Kingdom, but he is poison in the throats of our people. He enslaves and conquers, and he seeks to claim greatness, but –’ He took a deep breath.

‘My people are few in number,’ he said slowly. ‘We will never count as many swords and arrows as you humans. We rely upon those who willingly serve us, the goblins, mountain giants, trolls, and renegade men.’ His tone took on a bitter edge. ‘Two sons and a daughter I have mourned, and of two wives, one I have seen travel to join the Mothers and Fathers, while the other left me for being the one to call retreat at Sethanon. My last blood kin died at my own hands the night I met young Owyn.’ He looked directly into Arutha’s eyes. ‘I can never go back, Prince of Krondor. I will die in an alien land among people who despise my race.’

‘Then why?’ asked Arutha.

‘Because my people cannot withstand another war such as we had at Sethanon. Delekhan appears, wearing the dragon helm of Murmandamus, and swords are raised and blood oaths sworn, but while we have courage and dedication in abundance, we lack strength of numbers. Should enough of us die in futility again, the Northlands would lie open to human conquest. We would be as echoes on the wind, for within a hundred years no moredhel would remain alive.’

‘We are content to stay on this side of the Teeth of the World. We have no ambitions in the Northlands,’ said Arutha.

‘You may not, here in your warm castle in Krondor, Prince, but there are those among your race would conquer to win a title, and you know this. If one came to your King with word that he had seized the town of Raglam and had occupied Harlik, and now controlled a third of the Northlands, would your King offer him a hereditary title and income from those lands?’

‘He would,’ admitted Arutha.

‘Then you see my point,’ said Gorath.

Arutha rubbed his chin. He stood lost in thought a long moment, then said, ‘You are persuasive, Gorath. I will take what Makala and Gamina say at face value and assume you have no guile in you. But what now must be decided is if what you know to be true is, indeed, truth.’

‘What do you mean?’ demanded Gorath.

Pug said, ‘What he means is you may be an unwitting tool. If this Delekhan knew of your animosity, might he not have given you the information you seek to bring to us, to cause us to rush to meet him at some place of his choosing?’ Pug indicated the maps and notes Locklear had brought from the barn at Yellow Mule. ‘There are at least a half-dozen false messages here, to be conveniently found by the Prince’s agents, all stressing attacks at unlikely places, Tannerus, Eggly, Highcastle, even Romney.’

Gorath’s head came up. ‘I have heard that name.’

‘Romney?’ said Arutha. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Only that I have heard Romney mentioned by those who are in service to Delekhan. There are agents working for him in that area.’

‘Would you know them?’

Gorath shook his head in the negative. ‘Only a few close to Delekhan might know who is working for him among the humans: Nago’s brother Narab, his seniormost advisor, his son Moraeulf, and the Six.’

‘Who are the Six?’ asked Pug. ‘You’ve mentioned them before.’

‘No one knows. They are swathed in robes as dark as those of your Tsurani friend and yourself, with deep hoods.’

‘Pantathians?’ suggested Pug.

‘Not snake priests, I’m certain,’ said Gorath. ‘They speak as you or I do, though there is an accent to their voices. Yet, they serve Delekhan and give him the might to unite the clans. Their magic was powerful enough to force Nago and Narab to heel on two occasions when they sought to distance themselves from Delekhan. And among our people, they were the mightiest of Spellweavers.’

Arutha said, ‘Pug, would you bring that map over here, please?’

Pug got the map indicated by the Prince, one of the central third of the Kingdom. He placed it on the table next to the one brought by Locklear from Yellow Mule. ‘What cause would Delekhan have to operate out of a river town in the heart of the Kingdom?’

Pug said, ‘Perhaps because it is in the heart of the Kingdom?’ He pointed to the location. ‘When Murmandamus came against us, he moved through Highcastle, and crossed the High Wold, moving to the southwest to enter the Dimwood and strike south to Sethanon. What if this time Delekhan ran this pass here, and came down the River Cheston by barge?’

Arutha nodded. ‘At Romney he could turn to the River Silden and north of the City of Silden he could turn westward and force march to Sethanon. It’s his fastest route and his easiest if I’ve got the Armies of the West tied up at LaMut and Tannerus and a dozen other places from here to Yabon. He’d be west of the King’s Armies, too.’

Arutha looked at Gorath. ‘At last something starts to make sense.’

Gorath said, ‘If I go to Romney, I may be able to find you the proof.’

Arutha said, ‘It’s a long step from belief to trust, Gorath. Our people have been enemies too many years for trust to come easily.’

‘Send me with your soldiers, then,’ said Gorath. ‘Delekhan must be stopped. If you blunt his attack, send him back to the north with his nose bloodied, his own supporters will throw him down and my people will be saved. As will yours.’

Arutha considered, and said, ‘I’ve got just the person to put on this task. But Jimmy is out conducting some other business for me right now –’

‘Nighthawks?’ asked Gorath.

‘What do you know of that?’ asked Arutha.

Gorath explained the encounters in the sewers with the false Nighthawks and Squire James.

Arutha nodded. ‘Someone’s anxious for me to send the army into the sewers, cleaning out the Mockers while I’m at it. The two things may be related, but they also may be coincidence.’

‘I think them related,’ said Gorath. ‘I have not heard anyone speak of the Nighthawks, but I have heard them speak of Delekhan having sources of information throughout the Kingdom.’

Makala said, ‘And from what young Locklear said, agents working within the Empire, as well.’ He held up the ruby Locklear had returned to him. ‘These thefts have been under way for some time now.’ The Tsurani magician looked at Arutha. ‘I think these events are all somehow related.’

Arutha nodded. He looked at Gorath and said, ‘I’m returning you to your room, under guard. I’ll send for you in the morning and we’ll map out your journey to Romney. It’s weeks out and back by even the fastest horses, and we need information in as timely a fashion as possible.’

Gorath rose from the table and with a slight nod to Gamina and Pug, he left the room.

Arutha let out a sigh of frustration. ‘So much of what he knows is based upon overheard conversations and rumour. I believe his warning is sincere, but is it accurate?’

Knight-Marshal Gardan, who had remained silent while the moredhel was in the room, said, ‘I don’t trust him, Highness. We fought them too often over the years to trust any of them.’

‘But what other choice do I have, Marshal?’ asked Arutha. ‘If his warning is true, we face another Great Uprising, and if we don’t guess right, we may be in the same situation as we were last time, with armies racing to converge on Sethanon, with the moredhel already there.’

‘Why Sethanon?’ asked Makala, looking at the map. ‘Why do they believe this Murmandamus is imprisoned there?’

Arutha glanced at Pug and said, ‘That is where he disappeared. There’s some rumour about the place, and Murmandamus was deluded into thinking that if he seized that city he would cut the Kingdom in half and defeat us.’

It was a weak lie, and Pug knew it, but Makala said, ‘Often in war decisions are based on bad assumptions. Is there some proof, though, that Murmandamus is indeed dead?’

‘Only my word,’ said Arutha. ‘For I was the one who killed him.’

Makala looked at Arutha and said, ‘And we can pretty safely assume they will not take you at your word, correct?’

Arutha nodded.

Pug shook his head in frustration. ‘My daughter and I must leave for a while, but we’ll be back, Arutha. I am more concerned by these mysterious six magicians than all the other news brought by Gorath.’

‘Yes,’ said Makala. ‘The mysterious magic-users. We of the Assembly will be glad to aid you, Pug, if we can. Just call on us.’

Pug asked, ‘Are you coming to Stardock?’

Makala said, ‘I have some messages to pen to those back on Kelewan. I will join you at Stardock soon.’

Pug nodded, took an orb out of his robe and placed his arm around his daughter’s waist. He activated the orb, and, with a buzz, the pair vanished.

Arutha said, ‘Would that the rest of us could flit from place to place with such speed.’

Makala said, ‘To prevent armies from doing just that is one reason my brotherhood of magicians guards these devices so, Highness. We shall have to be cautious of our part in such matters, though given our Emperor’s disposition –’ he referred to the fact that Ichindar, Emperor of Tsuranuanni, was in favour of close ties with the Kingdom ‘– you can expect aid quickly, should you need it.’

Arutha gave him thanks, and Makala and Gardan departed. Prince Arutha sat in his chamber late into the night, weighing and judging the warning brought by the renegade moredhel chieftain, and no matter how often he wanted to put it aside as a charade, or nothing more than the jockeying for domination between factions in the moredhel nations, he couldn’t. Another war was coming; he could feel it in his bones.

Unless his prized agent, a former thief turned courtier, could somehow steal that war out of the very hands of those who sought to unleash it.

Arutha picked up a bell on his table and rang it. Instantly a page appeared at the door. ‘Highness?’

‘Send word to the guard to notify me the moment Seigneur James returns to the palace, whatever the hour.’

‘Highness,’ said the page, closing the door as he left to do as he was bid.

Arutha still didn’t return to his own quarters, for even having made the decision to send Jimmy with Gorath to Romney, he had a thousand other questions to consider, and foremost among them was ‘Who are the Six?’

Gorath was awake as soon as the door began to open. He rose, fists ready, for while unarmed, he was ready to defend himself. He was not confident that no assassin could find his way into the palace. He remembered events from many years ago where the Princess of Krondor almost died at the hands of one employed by Murmandamus.

Gorath relaxed when he saw his visitor was Squire James. ‘Greetings,’ said the young man.

‘Greetings,’ said Gorath. He sat down in a chair next to a window overlooking a garden. ‘Am I to be questioned again?’

‘No,’ said James. ‘We’re going on a trip to Romney.’

Gorath rose. ‘As I have nothing to pack, I am ready.’

‘Provisions are prepared, though we will be travelling light.’

Gorath said, ‘I expected an escort of at least a full company against attack on the road to Romney.’

James smiled and said, ‘Too much noise and bother.’ He reached into his tunic and pulled out an odd-looking device, an orb with tiny levers on it that could be adjusted by one’s thumb. ‘And we’re not riding.’

‘How are we getting there?’ came a voice from behind James.

James turned to find Owyn standing behind him.

‘We are not going. Gorath and I are. You are staying here or heading home to Timons, as pleases you.’

‘I can’t stay here,’ said Owyn. ‘I’ve got nothing to do and I’m not in the Prince’s service. And I can’t go back to Timons. What if I’m captured along the way and made to talk?’

James smiled. ‘What do you know?’

‘I know you’re bound for Romney,’ said Owyn.

‘How do you know that?’

‘I know how to read a map and I overheard enough between Gorath and Locklear to know that’s where I’d be heading next.’

Owyn hurried on in his pleading, ‘Besides, I’m from the east and know my way around back there. I’ve got cousins in Ran, Cavell and Dolth and have visited Silden and Romney.’

James shook his head as if remembering something, and said, ‘Never mind. I seem to recall that Locklear and I made a similar brief to someone who didn’t want us along, as well, many years ago. Very well, you can come. It’s better to have you underfoot than out of sight and dead, I guess.’

James led them to an empty room in another part of the castle, where weapons and travel items were piled. Gorath picked up one sword and said, ‘A lamprey!’

‘That’s a bloodsucker, all right,’ said James, ‘but why do you call it that?’

‘A name, that’s all,’ said Gorath. ‘My people did not always live in the mountains, human. Once we abided on the shores of the Bitter Sea.’ He admired the curve of the blade and weighed the heft of the hilt in his hand. He put the sword back in its scabbard and said, ‘I will not ask how you came to possess a blade fashioned by my people.’

James said, ‘As you might expect.’ He pointed to three backpacks. ‘Food and other stores, for we may have to do some travelling, but for the most part I hope we’re able to conduct our business quickly and be out of Romney.’

‘Where’s Locky?’ asked Owyn.

‘He leaves in an hour on another mission for the Prince. I will meet with him after we’re done in Romney. This isn’t the only iron in the fire, so to speak, though it may be the most important.’

They picked up their belongings, and Owyn asked, ‘Now what?’

Again James produced the orb and said, ‘Stand close by. Gorath, place your hand on my shoulder, and Owyn, yours on his.’ James put his left hand on Owyn’s shoulder, and with the right, activated the orb.

There was a buzz in the air and the room around them seemed to shimmer. Suddenly they were in a different room. ‘Where are we?’ asked Gorath.

‘Malac’s Cross.’ James crossed to open the door and peered out. ‘We are in a building owned by friends of the Prince, and I had best lead, else you may find your head split before you can identify yourself.’

They were on the second floor of a building. As they descended the stairs, a monk in plain grey robes turned a corner and stared openmouthed at them. ‘Ah –’ he began.

James held up his hand. ‘Tell Abbot Graves we’re here, brother.’

The monk turned and hurried off to do as he was bid. James led them into what had obviously once been the common room of an inn. A large man with a short, grey-shot beard hurried over and said, ‘Jimmy, you scoundrel! What is all this?’ He indicated Gorath and Owyn.

‘Hello, Ethan. A person of some consequence desires to see us quickly on our way to the east, and back again. Using that Tsurani device was our fastest start.’

‘So you come from Krondor?’

James nodded yes. ‘Have you horses we might borrow?’

‘No, but I’ll send a brother over to Yancy’s stable and get three. Care to tell me what this is about?’

‘No,’ said James. ‘Trust me.’

The man named Ethan Graves said, ‘We go back a long way, together, lad, to darker days when I was another man. But while I hold your master in high regard, my loyalty now lies exclusively with the temple. If this is some matter of concern to the Temple of Ishap, you should tell me.’

James shrugged. ‘If I can, I will, but at this point all I have is conjecture and speculation. Still, let me say that it’s time to be wary.’

Graves laughed. ‘We are always wary. Why else buy this inn and turn it into an abbey on the fly?’

‘Are things … well?’

Graves said, ‘Go see yourself. You know the spot.’

‘Will you have horses ready when we return?’

‘And whatever else you need.’

‘Just horses. We have our necessaries in hand.’ He indicated the packs they carried.

He removed his pack and said to the others, ‘Come with me. We’ll be back for these in an hour.’

They left the inn and Owyn looked over his shoulder. It was a modest building, two storeys tall, with a stabling yard, a pair of outbuildings near the barn, and a storage shed. It sat on the outskirts of a modest-looking town, which stretched off to the east. Monks of Ishap were hard at work replacing the wooden fence around the end of the property with stone.

‘What is all this?’ asked Gorath as they walked southward, down a path through some woodlands.

‘An abandoned inn, which has been taken over by the Temple of Ishap. They are converting it to an abbey.’

‘To what ends?’ asked Gorath.

‘There’s something not too far from here they wish to keep an eye on.’

‘Which is?’ asked Owyn.

‘Something neither of you needs to know about.’

They walked for about ten minutes along a path through the woods. They reached a clearing and Gorath halted, momentarily startled by what he saw. Rising up before them was a statue, perfect in detail, of a recumbent dragon, its head upon the ground, its wings unfolding as if it was just about to rise up.

‘What is this?’ asked the dark elf. He walked around it, inspecting it closely.

‘This is the Oracle of Aal,’ said James. He indicated a votive offering plate on the ground before the dragon.

Owyn said, ‘I thought it but a legend.’

‘Like many legends, one based in truth,’ said James. He motioned to the plate. ‘Toss in a coin and touch the dragon.’

Owyn fished out a silver coin from his pouch and tossed it into the plate. A moment before it touched the surface of the plate, the coin vanished. Owyn reached out and touched the dragon …

And was someplace else. It was a large chamber; immense was more accurate, thought Owyn. Air moved in the chamber with the stately leisure of ages, and before Owyn reared up a dragon of gigantic proportions, the head resting upon the ground larger than the largest waggon Owyn had ever seen. The creature’s body was resplendent with gems of all hues. Diamonds predominated, but emeralds, sapphires, rubies and opals formed patterns that swirled on the dragon’s back, and made her look as though she wore a shimmering rainbow. It was hard to look away.

‘I’m asleep?’ asked Owyn.

‘In a fashion. But quickly, you tread a dangerous path. What would you ask of the Oracle of Aal?’

‘I find myself caught up in something I don’t understand, yet I feel compelled to continue with my companions. Is this wise?’

‘At journey’s end you shall not be as you are now, nor may you ever return the way you have come. The days ahead of you are filled with hardship and many times to come you will think yourself less significant than you truly are.’

‘Can I trust the moredhel, Gorath?’

‘He is more than even he knows himself to be. Trust him, though he will not always trust himself. He will become a great champion, even to those who curse his name and will never know of his greatness.’

Suddenly Owyn felt his knees go weak and he faltered. Strong hands grabbed him, holding him upright. He blinked and was again standing before the statue. ‘What?’

‘Are you all right?’ asked Gorath. ‘You touched the statue and seemed to falter.’

‘I was someplace else,’ said Owyn. ‘How long was I gone?’

‘Gone?’ said Gorath. ‘You weren’t gone. You but touched the statue and staggered slightly, then I grabbed your arm.’

‘It seemed longer,’ said Owyn.

‘It happens that way, sometimes,’ said James, touching the stone. He withdrew his hand a moment later. ‘Who gets to speak to the Oracle is the Oracle’s choice. What did she say to you?’

Owyn glanced at Gorath and James. ‘Only that I must trust … you both.’

‘Did the Oracle say anything useful?’ asked James, gripping Owyn by the arm.

‘Only that the days ahead are filled with hardship.’

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 travelled 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 inn-turned-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.