Читать книгу Krondor: The Betrayal - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 10

THE SENTRY BLINKED IN SURPRISE.

One moment the approach to the town was empty, the next three figures were standing before him. ‘What?’ he exclaimed, bringing his old spear to something resembling a stance of readiness.

‘Easy, friend,’ said Locklear. He leaned upon Owyn’s shoulder and looked as if he was close to death. They had encountered three more ambushes between the one where their horses had fled and Hawk’s Hollow. They had managed to avoid the first two, sneaking around human bandits. The last had been a squad of six moredhel who had been too alert. The fight had been bloody and costly. Gorath was wounded, a nasty cut to his left shoulder that Owyn had barely been able to staunch. Locklear had been injured again, nearly dying if not for Owyn’s intervention, and the young magician himself was sporting a half-dozen minor wounds.

‘Who are you?’ asked the confused sentry. He was obviously a farmer or worker from town, part of the city’s militia Locklear guessed.

‘Locklear, squire of the Prince’s court in Krondor, and these two are my companions.’

‘You look like brigands, to me,’ replied the guardsman.

‘We have proof,’ said Locklear, ‘but first I’d like to find someone who can help us before we bleed to death.’

‘Brother Malcolm of the Temple of Silban is in town, down at Logan’s Tavern. He comes through here every six months or so. He’ll help you out.’

‘Where is Logan’s?’ asked Owyn as Locklear seemed about to lapse into unconsciousness.

‘Just down the street. Can’t miss it. Sign out front of a dwarf.’

They made their way to the indicated establishment, which showed a faded sign of a comically drawn dwarf, obviously once painted with vivid colours.

They went inside and found several townspeople sitting by, waiting for a priest in the robes of the Order of Silban who was in the corner ministering to a sick child. A couple of local workers were waiting, one with a bandaged hand, the other looking pale and weak.

The priest looked up as he finished with the boy, who leaped down from his mother’s lap without prompting and raced for the door. The priest looked at Locklear and said, ‘Are you dying?’

‘Not quite,’ answered the squire.

‘Good, because these fellows were here first and I’ll only make them wait if you’re near death.’

Mustering as much dry wit as he could under the circumstances, Locklear replied, ‘I’ll try to let you know when I’m about to die.’

Gorath’s patience vanished. He moved to confront the priest and said, ‘You will see my companion now. These others can wait.’

The glowering dark elf towered over the small priest and his expression and voice left no room for argument this side of violence. The priest looked once more at Locklear and said, ‘Very well, if you think it urgent. Bring him over to this table.’

They half-carried Locklear to the table and laid him out on it. The priest said, ‘Who bandaged this?’

‘I did,’ said Owyn.

‘You did well enough,’ said the priest. ‘He’s alive, so that counts for much.’

After Locklear’s tunic and the bandages were removed, the priest said, ‘Silban preserve us! You’ve got three wounds fit to fell a bigger man.’ He sprinkled a powder on the wounds, which brought a gasp of pain from Locklear, then the priest began a chant and closed his eyes.

Owyn felt power manifest in the room and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had only been exposed to a little clerical magic in his life and it always seemed odd and exotic to him.

A faint glow from the priest’s hands threw illumination over Locklear’s wounds and as Brother Malcolm droned his chant, Owyn could see the wounds begin to heal. They were still visible, but no longer fresh and angry. When the priest stopped, they looked old, past the danger stage. The priest was pale from the exertion when he stopped. He said, ‘That’s all I can do now. Sleep and food will do the rest.’ Looking at Owyn and Gorath, he asked, ‘Do you have wounds, as well?’

‘We do,’ said Gorath. ‘But we can wait until you tend to those two.’ He pointed to the two locals waiting for treatment.

Malcolm nodded. ‘Good.’ As he moved past Gorath, he said, ‘Your manners may be in question, moredhel, but your instincts serve you well. He might have bled to death had we waited another hour.’

Gorath remained silent in the face of being recognized for what he was. He moved to sit next to Owyn and wait.

When the two farmers, one with a smashed finger courtesy of a badly-aimed hammer and the other with a bad case of fever, were finished, Malcolm turned to Gorath and Owyn. ‘Who’s next?’

Gorath indicated Owyn and the magician went to sit before the priest. He watched with interest as the priest quickly treated and bound his wounds. They spoke little, for Owyn was almost out on his feet.

When Gorath replaced him before the priest, the dark elf said, ‘You recognize my race, yet you do not call for the town guard. Why?’

The priest shrugged as he examined Gorath’s wounds. ‘You travel with men who do not look like renegades to me. You are not here killing and burning, so I assume your mission a peaceful one.’

‘Why do you assume I have a mission?’ asked Gorath.

‘Why else would you travel in the human world?’ Malcolm asked rhetorically. ‘I have never known the moredhel to travel for pleasure.’

Gorath grunted, forgoing comment.

Malcolm was quickly done and said, ‘You should have come second; this wound was more severe than your friend’s. But you’ll live.’ He washed his hands and dried them with a towel. ‘It is my mission to aid and serve, but it is custom that those served donate.’

Gorath indicated Locklear, who was now sitting upright at the table upon which he had lain. Locklear said, ‘Brother, I fear I may only give you a scant token of our debt, but should you come to Krondor any time soon, visit me and I will repay you tenfold.’

Locklear dug into his purse and judged how much he would need for a room that night, and other costs, then drew out a golden sovereign and two silver royals. ‘It is all we can spare.’

‘It will do,’ said the priest. ‘In Krondor, where might I find you?’

‘At the palace. I am one of the Prince’s men. I am Squire Locklear.’

‘Then I shall call upon you when next I’m in Krondor, young squire, and you can settle accounts with me then.’ Glancing at Locklear’s freshly-bound wounds, he said, ‘Go easy on those cuts for another day. By tomorrow you’ll feel better. If you avoid being stabbed again any time soon, you’ll feel like your old self by week’s end. Now, I must go rest. This is more healing in one afternoon than I usually experience in a week.’

The priest left and Locklear slowly rose to cross to the bar and found the innkeeper cleaning up. The portly man said, ‘Welcome to The Dusty Dwarf, my friends. What may I do for you?’

‘Food and a room,’ said Locklear.

They returned to a table and the innkeeper followed soon after, putting down a large platter of cold meats, breads baked earlier that morning, cheese and fruits. ‘I’ve got some hot food cooking for later this evening, but this early in the day, cold fare is all I have.’

Owyn and Gorath were already stuffing food into their mouths as Locklear was saying, ‘That will be fine. Some ale, please.’

‘Right away.’

The man was back with the ale in a moment, and Owyn asked, ‘Sir, what is the story behind the name of this place?’

‘The Dusty Dwarf?’ said the man.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, truth to tell, it’s not much of a story. Man named Struble owned this place. Called it The Merry Dwarf. Don’t know why. But it had a bright sign. He never had the sign repainted in all the years he owned the place, so by the time I bought it from him, the sign was badly faded. All the locals called it The Dusty Dwarf by then, so I just went along. Saves me the cost of getting the sign painted, too.’

Owyn smiled at the story, as the barkeep hurried off to meet the demands of another customer. Locklear looked nearly asleep as he said, ‘All right. We have two choices. We can take the main road down to Questor’s View, or the back way through Eggly and Tannerus and lose a few days.’

Owyn said, ‘I’m only guessing, but from what Gorath has said, this Nago or Narab is keeping in contact with their agents by mind speech. As I said before, I know only a little about this speech, but what I do know is it can be very taxing. The magician Pug’s daughter is known to be among the most gifted in the world at this and can speak across vast distances, but she is rare, even unique. For lesser magicians, it requires much rest.’

Gorath looked on impassively, but Locklear said, ‘Come to the point, if you don’t mind. I’m having trouble staying awake.’

‘The point is whoever this magician is, he’s lying low in one place, probably guarded, and probably has one or two key agents in a given area. The rest of his orders are being run by messengers, I’m thinking. So they know where we’ve been, and may have even guessed where we are today, but they don’t know which way we’ll be going.’

Locklear said, ‘Fine, but what does that mean about our choice of route?’

Gorath said, ‘It means he must spread his men equally between the two routes, so the best solution is to take the route where we will be best able to defend ourselves or travel with a larger band, such as a trading caravan.’

Locklear motioned to the innkeeper, who came and gave him a key, indicating the room at the top of the stairs. As they mounted the stairs, Locklear observed, ‘If we were trying to come back from Kesh, a caravan might be a good cover, but as the King’s Highway is usually well patrolled, most traders feel comfortable travelling with a few mercenary guards or none at all. Most commerce along the coast is by ship.’

As they reached the room, Owyn said, ‘Could we make for Questor’s View and hire a ship?’

‘With what?’ asked Locklear. ‘Captain Belford’s letter of introduction isn’t exactly the King’s writ. If a fleet ship is at anchor, I know I could talk our way aboard and get it bound for Krondor, but I’m not anxious to sit around waiting for one to show up. I’m not anxious for anything but a good night’s sleep, finding Isaac and getting this riddle of a special ruby solved, and then figuring out how to get to Krondor as fast as we can.’

Owyn said, ‘I can’t argue about that night’s sleep.’

Gorath said nothing.

An hour after dawn they left the inn and Locklear felt remarkably recovered. Where searing agony had accompanied his every movement the day before, he now only felt slightly stiff and weak.

He indicated a journey toward the north end of the town as he said, ‘If I know Isaac, he’s probably staying at the house of his cousin, a certain young gentleman named Austin Delacroix.’

‘From Bas-Tyra?’ asked Owyn as they started up the busy street. Windows were opening as vendors put out their wares for display, or housewives opened up their homes to the morning air and sun.

‘Originally,’ said Locklear. ‘A family of marginal nobility, descended from a one time hero of some forgotten war when Bas-Tyra was a city-state; their house rank is all based upon that.’

‘Your human issues of rank and status are … difficult to understand,’ observed Gorath.

‘Why?’ asked Owyn. ‘Don’t you have chieftains?’

‘We do,’ said Gorath. ‘But it is a rank earned by deeds, not one conferred by birth. Delekhan rose by betrayal and bloodshed, yet he was sheltered by his early service to Murmandamus and Murad.’ He almost spat the last two names. ‘If his son Moraeulf gains his ambition to inherit from his father, it will be over the bodies of many such as I. In better times, he would be a valued sword against our people’s enemy, but these are not better times.’

‘This is the house, I think,’ said Locklear, pointing to a once-prosperous dwelling fallen on hard times. The house, like those on either side, was a small but well-built structure of wood and stone, with a sturdy door and shuttered windows. 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 light brown 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 humouring him.

The room was dark, with the shutters and sashes still closed, and the air was stale. Old food odours 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 savouring the name. ‘What a pleasure. You’re wearing your years well. I like the moustache. 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 first-hand 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.

‘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 favour,’ 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 jewellery that has … 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.’

‘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 in 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 first storey 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. ‘This ruby has been prepared.’

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

‘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 named Patrus, a sour old character. But my father objected and last I heard Patrus headed north—’ He shook himself out of his reverie. ‘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?’

‘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 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 bully-boys 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 favour, 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 theatre 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—’

Locklear pressed forward with the sword point and Isaac 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 Questor’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 humour. 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.’

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 colour 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 plants 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.’

‘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 here. 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.

They left the inn and hurried on the road toward the town of Eggly. Locklear glanced upward, considered the rapidly rising ridge above the trees on the western side of the trail and considered the wisdom of hiking up to that elevation and over the mountains down into a nest of killers over which presided a murderous moredhel sorcerer. Finally he was left with the only answer which he could come up with: there wasn’t a better idea presenting itself.

Resigning himself to a long walk and cold nights, he followed Gorath, with Owyn at his side.