Read Krondor the Betrayal Online
Authors: Raymond E. Feist
Krondor the Betrayal
Other books by Raymond E. Feist
Magician
Silverthorn
A Darkness at Sethanon
Faerie Tale
Prince of the Blood
The King’s Buccaneer
Shadow of a Dark Queen
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Rage of a Demon King
Shards of a Broken Crown
With Janny Wurts:
Daughter of the Empire
Servant of the Empire
Mistress of the Empire
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL is based upon the game
"Betrayal at Krondor,"story by Neal Hallford, John Cutter, and Raymond E. Feist, published by Dynamix, Inc.
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL.
Copyright © 1998 by Raymond E. Feist.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduce in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Adobe E-Reader edition v 1. March 2001
ISBN 0-06-621031-3
1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For John Cutter and Neal Hallford,
with thanks for their creativity and enthusiasm.
Again I am in debt to many people.
The original Midkemians, for the universe in which I work, and for their understanding of what makes a good story, a good game, and how the two are different.
My agent, Jonathan Matson, for shepherding me through major difficulties in creating these games, with his usual deft touch and quick wit.
John Cutter, who thought it up in the first place.
Neal Hallford, who created a very nifty story for the core of the game which provided the basis for this book.
The rest of the creative team at Dynamix, who managed to squeeze the most out of the processor to give us music, pictures, sound, and story.
And to Jerry Lutrell, for keeping me apprised of what was what early on.
My wife, Kathlyn S. Starbuck, for being who she is.
My children, Jessica and James, for keeping me in touch with what’s important daily and for being the most wonderful children any father could ask for.
Raymond E. Feist
Rancho Santa Fe, CA
March 11, 1998
CONTENTS
MAP PAGE X
K r o n d o r : T e a r o f th e G o d s I
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XI
I
Warning
T HE WIND HOWLED.
Locklear, Squire of the Prince of Krondor’s Court, sat huddled under his heavy cloak, astride his horse. Summer was quick to flee in the Northlands and the passes through the mountains known as the Teeth of the World. Fall nights in the South might still be soft and warm, but up here in the North, Fall had been a brief visitor and Winter was early to arrive, and would be long in residence. Locklear cursed his own stupidity for leading him to this forlorn place.
Sergeant Bales said, ‘‘Gets nippy up here, Squire.’’ The sergeant had heard the rumor about the young noble’s sudden appearance in Tyr-Sog, some matter involving a young woman married to a well-connected merchant in Krondor. Locklear wouldn’t be the first young dandy sent to the frontier to get him out of an angry husband’s reach. ‘‘Not as balmy as Krondor, sorry to say, sir.’’
‘‘Really?’’ asked the young squire, dryly.
The patrol followed a narrow trail along the edge of the foothills, the northern border of the Kingdom of the Isles.
Locklear had been in court at Tyr-Sog less than a week when Baron Moyiet had suggested the young squire might benefit from accompanying the special patrol to the east of the city.
Rumors had been circulating that renegades and moredhel—
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dark elves known as the Brotherhood of the Dark Path—were infiltrating south under the cover of heavy rains and snow flurries. Trackers had reported few signs, but hearsay and the insistence of farmers that they had seen companies of dark-clad warriors hurrying south had prompted the Baron to order the patrol.
Locklear knew as well as the men garrisoned there that the chance of any activity along the small passes over the mountains in late fall or early winter was unusual. While the freeze had just come to the foothills, the higher passes would already be thick with snow, then choked with mud should a brief thaw occur.
Yet since the war known as the Great Uprising—the invasion of the Kingdom by the army of Murmandamus, the charismatic leader of the dark elves—ten years ago, any activity was to be investigated, and that order came directly from King Lyam.
‘‘Yes, must be a bit of a change from the Prince’s court, Squire,’’ prodded the sergeant. Locklear had looked the part of a Krondorian dandy—tall, slender, a finely garbed young man in his mid-twenties, affecting a moustache and long ring-lets—when he reached Tyr-Sog. Locklear thought the moustache and fine clothing made him look older, but if anything the impact was the opposite of his desired intent.
Locklear had enough of the sergeant’s playful baiting, and observed, ‘‘Still, it’s warmer than I remember the other side of the mountains being.’’
‘‘Other side, sir?’’ asked the sergeant.
‘‘The Northlands,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Even in the spring and summer the nights are cold.’’
The sergeant looked askance at the young man. ‘‘You’ve been there, Squire?’’ Few men who were not renegades or weapons runners had visited the Northlands and lived to return to the Kingdom.
‘‘With the Prince,’’ replied Locklear. ‘‘I was with him at Armengar and Highcastle.’’
The sergeant fell silent and looked ahead. The soldiers nearest Locklear exchanged glances and nods. One whispered to the man behind him. No soldier living in the North hadn’t heard of the fall of Armengar before the hosts of Murmanda-2
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
mus, the powerful moredhel leader who had destroyed the human city in the Northlands and then had invaded the Kingdom. Only his defeat at Sethanon, ten years before, had kept his army of dark elves, trolls, goblins, and giants from rending the Kingdom.
The survivors of Armengar had come to live in Yabon, not far from Tyr-Sog, and the telling of the great battle and the flight of the survivors, as well as the part played by Prince Arutha and his companions, had grown in the telling. Any man who had served with Prince Arutha and Guy du Bas-Tyra could only be judged a hero. With a reappraising glance at the young man, the sergeant kept his silence.
Locklear’s amusement at shutting up the voluble sergeant was short-lived, as the snow started to freshen, blowing harder by the minute. He might have gained enough stature with the garrison to be treated with more respect in days to come, but he was still a long way from the court in Krondor, the fine wines and pretty girls. It would take a miracle for him to get back in Arutha’s good graces anytime before the next winter found him still trapped in a rural court with dullards.
After ten minutes of silent travel, the sergeant said, ‘‘Another two miles, sir, and we can start back.’’
Locklear said nothing. By the time they returned to the garrison, it would be dark and even colder than it presently was.
He would welcome the warm fire in the soldiers’ commons and probably content himself sharing a meal with the troops, unless the Baron requested he dine with the household. Locklear judged that unlikely, as the Baron had a flirtatious young daughter who had fawned on the visiting young noble the first night he had appeared in Tyr-Sog, and the Baron full well knew why Locklear was at his court. The two times since he had dined with the Baron, the daughter had been conspicu-ously absent.
There was an inn not too far from the castle, but by the time he had returned to the castle, he knew he would be too sick of the cold and snow to brave the elements again, even for that short distance; besides, the only two barmaids there were fat and dull.
With a silent sigh of resignation, Locklear realized that by 3
Raymond E. Feist
the arrival of spring they might look lovely and charming to him.
Locklear just prayed he would be permitted to return to Krondor by the Midsummer’s Festival of Banapis. He would write to his best friend, Squire James, and ask him to use his influence to get Arutha to recall him early. Half a year up here was punishment enough.
‘‘Seigneur,’’ said Sergeant Bales, using Locklear’s formal title,
‘‘what’s that?’’ He pointed up the rocky path. Movement among the rocks had caught the sergeant’s eye.