Krondor the Betrayal (20 page)

Owyn, on the other hand, had become quite adept at using his heavy staff from horseback, cracking skulls and breaking arms with quick efficiency.

Within minutes the raiders were on the run, heading back into the woods. James rode to where Gorath seemed poised to give chase, and shouted for him to halt. ‘‘It’ll be dark soon,’’

he said. ‘‘Even with your woodland skill, we don’t want to try chasing a half dozen angry Nighthawks into a dark forest.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Agreed,’’ and turned to find his horse.

James went to the house that was the obvious target of the raid and dismounted. He pounded on the door. ‘‘Open in the King’s name!’’ he shouted.

Through a viewing slit a pair of eyes, wide with fear, regarded him. The door opened, and Michael Waylander said,

‘‘Squire. What was all that noise about?’’

James said, ‘‘It looks like someone is taking the game to a higher stake. We just chased off a band of Nighthawks coming to see you.’’

Waylander turned pale. ‘‘Nighthawks?’’ His knees went weak, and he gripped the doorjamb to stay on his feet. ‘‘What have I gotten myself into?’’

James said, ‘‘That’s what we’ve come to talk about.’’

Gorath and Owyn tied their horses next to James’s and came to the door as Waylander stepped aside to admit them. It was a modest house, but James noticed at once it was well kept.

There was enough wealth evident in the furnishings and appointments that it was clear Michael Waylander was very well situated for a common worker in a small village. The house, while not large, had three rooms, a bedroom visible through a door, and James saw the bed was a well carved four-poster with a mesh netting and canopy. Through the other door James could see a kitchen. Waylander sat heavily on a chair, and James sat in the other one next to a table.

‘‘Someone wants you dead, Michael,’’ said James. ‘‘Who could that be?’’

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Waylander sat back, a look of defeat on his face. ‘‘I’m a dead man.’’

‘‘Maybe not,’’ said James. ‘‘I represent Prince Arutha, and while you’ve obviously irritated some powerful people, the Prince of Krondor is still the most powerful man in this nation after the King. If you cooperate, I may be able to get you under his protection.’’

Waylander stared off into space a moment, as if thinking.

‘‘I’m in over my head. I’ll do whatever I must to get out of this.’’

James leaned forward, and suggested, ‘‘Why don’t you start with what ‘this’ is.’’

‘‘About a year ago, some men came to me from Silden. They had an idea, and I took that idea to Arle Steelsoul.’’

‘‘What was the idea?’’

‘‘The idea was to take control of all the business along the river, from Silden to the small villages in the mountains.’’

‘‘How were they to accomplish this?’’ asked James.

‘‘They said they had connections in the Riverpullers, who had told them the guild was going to raise prices for hauling cargo up the river.’’

‘‘So the guild wanted to raise their rates?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Waylander. ‘‘They’re usually cautious about that, because if the rates go too high, merchants start using wagons to send goods north along the King’s Highway.’’

‘‘But if there was a lot of trouble on the Highway, merchants would be forced to use the barges and the Riverpullers,’’ finished James.

‘‘Yes.’’ Waylander nodded agreement. ‘‘These men said that they could ensure the Riverpullers would have no competition.

Then we, Arle Steelsoul and I, would organize the other guilds in Romney and the surrounding villages to stand against the Riverpullers. When things got bad enough, the King would declare martial law, and the Riverpullers would be put out of business.’’

‘‘And what does it matter if some heads get broken along the way?’’ asked Owyn dryly.

‘‘Waylander,’’ asked James, ‘‘what made you think the Riv-136

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erpullers would be out of business if the King declared martial law?’’

‘‘We planned on having Damon Reeves, head of the Riverpullers’ Guild, murdered.’’ He hung his head as if ashamed at this admission. ‘‘I didn’t want that, but by the time they told me of the plan, I was in too deep. They said they’d make it look like Nighthawks did it, so that no blame would fall to us. In fact, they said they’d make it look like someone within the guild did it, to get Reeves out of the way, and the guild would fall apart from dissension within. I’ve known Damon for years; he’s an old friend, but there was nothing I could do.’’

James glanced at Gorath and Owyn. ‘‘Whose idea was it to cast blame on the Nighthawks?’’

‘‘The men from Silden,’’ said Waylander. ‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Just that the notion is familiar to us.’’

Owyn realized James was talking about the false Nighthawks in the sewers of Krondor and nodded in understanding.

‘‘What should I do?’’ asked Waylander.

‘‘Get Steelsoul, get to Romney, and sit down with the Riverpullers and make peace. If you don’t, the Earl will hang you two and Reeves, and start over with whoever replaces you.’’

‘‘The Earl’s never resorted to threats before. Why is he suddenly threatening us now?’’ asked Waylander.

‘‘Because someone just murdered fifty Royal Lancers in his city,’’ answered James.

Waylander’s eyes widened, and his face turned ashen.

‘‘Fifty! Gods of mercy!’’ He gripped the table, and said, ‘‘Who could do such a thing?’’

‘‘Chance has you crossing paths with the Nighthawks, it seems,’’ suggested James. ‘‘And by all appearances they don’t seem all that pleased by these attempts at implicating them in deeds for which they are not responsible. No matter how clever you gentlemen thought you were being, you were being played for fools by agents of a man who is called ‘the Crawler.’

He’s attempting to dislodge the Mockers in Krondor and seems to want to control the docks in the eastern cities, as well. They were not helping you; you were being set up to create a situation where they would emerge in control after you, Reeves, Steelsoul, and anyone else inconvenient to their goals were out 137

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of the way. It wouldn’t surprise me if the Crawler’s agents hadn’t leaked the information to the Nighthawks about your attempting to hang the blame for Reeves’s murder on them.’’

‘‘As if another charge of murder is going to make them any more hunted,’’ Gorath observed.

‘‘True,’’ said James, ‘‘but it’s been my experience that criminals take a certain pride in their own crime, but want nothing to do with blame for crimes for which they are not responsible.

It’s odd, I know, but that’s the way it is.’’

‘‘You talk as if you’ve known a lot of criminals,’’ said Waylander.

‘‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’’ James’s smile lacked even a suggestion of warmth.

‘‘What do I do after I see the Earl?’’

‘‘I suggest you beg for leniency,’’ said Owyn.

James nodded. ‘‘People have died as a result of your choices, and you and Steelsoul have much to answer for. But if you help the Earl restore order and help us uncover those behind this plot, we’ll do what we can to keep you off the gibbet.’’

‘‘Maybe I should just run,’’ said Waylander.

‘‘You won’t reach Silden,’’ said James. ‘‘They would be on you like hounds on a hare, and where would you go, anyway?’’

‘‘I have connections in Kesh,’’ said Waylander. ‘‘If I can get to Pointer’s Head, I can take a caravan over the Peaks of Tranquillity.’’

‘‘Well, don’t do anything rash,’’ said James. ‘‘If my friends and I have our way, the Nighthawks will not be a problem much longer. My advice is to see the Earl, then sit tight. I’ll get word to you when it’s safe.’’

‘‘But what about the men in Silden?’’

James stood up. ‘‘They’re also a problem.’’

‘‘But I only know them by sight and first names—Jacob, Linsey, and Franklin—and they may not even be their true names.’’

‘‘Probably not,’’ said James. He took the spyglass and the silver spider out of his travel bag, and said, ‘‘What can you tell me about these?’’

Waylander said, ‘‘The spider I got from a trader named Abuk. He travels the roads between Malac’s Cross and here, stopping in at Silden each way. I last saw him there, so he 138

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may be on his way toward us right now. He drives a painted trader’s wagon, green with his name in red letters on the side.’’

Owyn winced at the description. ‘‘We can hardly miss that.’’

James’s expression turned dark. ‘‘We found this spider this morning among the bodies of the dead lancers.’’

Waylander said, ‘‘It can’t be the same one, then!’’

‘‘Why?’’ demanded James.

‘‘I bought one from Abuk, but I gave ours to the false Nighthawks who were sent to kill Damon Reeves.’’

James looked at the device, and said, ‘‘There may be more than one, but you’ll need more proof of your innocence than that.’’

Waylander examined the spider, then said, ‘‘Look!’’ He pointed to the groove containing the poison. ‘‘I don’t know what this is, but mine had deadly nightshade in it!’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Silverthorn would be hard to locate this far south.’’

‘‘But not impossible,’’ said James. ‘‘Still, I’m inclined to believe you. What about the spyglass?’’

‘‘I don’t know anything about that,’’ said Waylander, ‘‘but it’s the sort of thing Abuk trades for as well.’’

James led the others to the door. ‘‘Get to the Earl, Michael,’’

he said. ‘‘You and Arle should be there before sundown tomorrow if you value your heads. We’re in the inn until dawn, and then we’re going south.’’

‘‘I’ll walk with you as far as Arle’s house,’’ said Waylander.

‘‘And then we’ll see the Earl tomorrow. Where south are you going?’’

‘‘First to Silden to find Abuk and those three men you mentioned. If we have any luck, we’ll put paid to this mess within a few days.’’ Waylander said nothing, and James knew it was because even if all the Nighthawks and Crawler’s men vanished overnight, there would still be crimes to pay for. But even years in a dungeon, thought James, were better than dying. At least in a dungeon there was the chance of escape.

The last thought made him smile as he headed up the road toward the inn.

As they neared the town of Silden, they slowed. A band of men were also riding toward the town, coming in from the 139

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west. ‘‘We don’t know they’re looking for us,’’ said James.

‘‘But as many times as you’ve been attacked, Gorath, I’d just as soon wait to see what they’re up to.’’

Gorath had no disagreement, so he remained silent. The riders crossed over the bridge which arched over the River Rom into the town proper. Because it was built on a bluff that sloped down to a deep harbor, Silden had no foulbourgh outside the city walls. Rather, a series of small villages dotted the coastline around the bay of Silden, and a large village dominated the western shore of the bay, on the other side of the bridge.

They rode into the northern gate of the city, and passed a bored-looking pair of city watchmen. James turned to Owyn, and asked, ‘‘Any friends or relatives here?’’

‘‘Not that I’m aware of,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Or at least none my father would admit to.’’

James laughed. ‘‘I can understand that. This isn’t exactly a garden spot, is it?’’

Silden was only important to two groups: those who lived in it and smugglers. The majority of trade coming up the river to the north entered through the much larger trading port of Cheam, which had spacious docks, a huge warehouse district, and was the second largest port on the north shore of the Kingdom Sea after Bas-Tyra. Silden was therefore a far more profitable destination for those seeking to conduct business without benefit of Kingdom Customs officers. They made an attempt to curtail smuggling, but with the host of villages within a day’s ride to the east and west, keeping smuggling under control was impossible. As a result, control of Silden had for years been an ongoing goal of competing criminal gangs, from the Mockers of Krondor, Keshian drug smugglers, and bully gangs from Rillanon, to an alliance of local thieves.

This constant struggle had turned Silden into the closest thing to an open city seen in the Eastern Realm of the Kingdom.

The Earldom of Silden, while a reasonably attractive fiefdom, with rents and income sufficient to keep a noble family in style, was an absentee office. The last Earl of Silden had died during the Riftwar, in the great attack by King Rodric IV

against the Tsurani in the final year of the war. King Lyam 140

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had yet to award the Earldom to anyone, which was fine with the Duke of Cheam, who presently enjoyed the income from the property in the Earldom. James was of the opinion it should be turned into a proper Duchy and run from here in the city. A resident noble would clear up a lot of the problems of this valuable port city. He would have to mention it to the Prince when he returned, but for the moment, it was still a neglected backwater town without proper oversight.

The upshot of this situation was an almost complete absence of law and order in Silden beyond that which was enforced by the local constabulary. And from what James could tell, it ended where the market district of the city turned into the waterfront, and at a boulevard marked by a sign of four gulls in flight. One side of the street was marked by prosperous-looking shops and homes, the other by inns and warehouses. Down the middle of the street a long red line had been painted.

‘‘What is that?’’ asked Gorath as they rode across it.

‘‘A deadline,’’ said James. ‘‘If you’re brawling over there, no one cares. Brawl on this side, and you’re off to the work gangs.’’

He motioned for them to cross the deadline, and as they entered the dock district, he said, ‘‘Ah, I love a town where they let you know how things stand with no apology.’’

Gorath looked at Owyn and shrugged. Then he asked, ‘‘Why is it called a deadline?’’

Owyn said, ‘‘In the past if you were caught after curfew on the wrong side by the soldiers of the King, you were hanged.’’

They rode through a series of dark streets, bounded on either side by high warehouses, and crossed another fairly large street, rumbling with wagons and large men pushing carts piled high with goods. Then they were looking at the harbor below, a jumble of docks and jetties, some stone, mostly wood, pushed hard against one another. Small boats were moving in and out of the harbor. Silden was blessed with one saving grace, the high bluffs upon which the three riders now stood, which provided shelter from the harshest winter storms.