Krondor the Betrayal (30 page)

Gorath was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘‘It is. We will do it.’’

Irmelyn said, ‘‘Go then to the mine entrance. You will be challenged. Tell the guard you wish to speak to Venutrier. I will take your horses and weapons and meet you at a place Obkhar knows.’’

‘‘Care to tell us?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘If you do not free Obkhar, you have not kept your part of the bargain, human. You can fare as well as you may without our aid.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Come along, Owyn. We have a distance to walk.’’ Without looking back, he led the human away and set out for the mines.

Venutrier was a huge man, gross fat barely contained by a massive belt he wore around his waist. He looked over at Owyn, and said, ‘‘Where’d you catch him?’’

‘‘I didn’t,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘He’s a runaway kitchen whelp from the Kingdom who thought to come fight for gold. Well, he couldn’t play knucklebones, and it turns out he can’t pay his gambling debts.’’

‘‘He’s a bit scrawny,’’ said the slaver. ‘‘Come with me.’’

Without waiting to see if Gorath followed, he walked toward the mine entrance.

They entered the mine, and Venutrier asked, ‘‘Who are you, warrior?’’

‘‘I am Gorath of . . . the Balakhar, from the Green Heart.’’

‘‘Not from around here?’’ said Venutrier. ‘‘Good. We could use a strapping worker such as yourself.’’

Guards lowered spears and suddenly Gorath and Owyn 205

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were surrounded. ‘‘Had you been from here, my friend, you would have known that no one comes without allies to my mines. Lord Delekhan has ordered an impossible amount of naphtha for the invasion of the Kingdom, and I need workers.

Get them below.’’

Gorath and Owyn were hustled below by the guards and taken to the second level of the mines, as Irmelyn had predicted. Then they were taken to a large empty cavern.

One of the guards lingered as the others walked away, and he whispered, ‘‘Stay here.’’

They remained alone for a period, the darkness cut through by only one faint light, a lantern cleverly fashioned with a thin transparent membrane covering the flame. ‘‘I don’t expect we’re going to see a lot of torches around here,’’ observed Owyn.

‘‘If there are fumes of naphtha in the tunnels, I expect you’re correct.’’

Shortly a guard returned, carrying the bundles taken from Owyn and Gorath. He also carried a third bundle. ‘‘Here, take that tunnel there. You will be facing west. Find your friend and then go down to where you hear water. You must swim out.’’

The guard vanished, and Gorath picked up the new bundle.

It contained three odd-looking devices, obviously designed to wear over the nose and mouth. They gathered up their remaining possessions and departed.

The tunnel to the west went downhill, and abruptly Gorath stopped.

‘‘What is it?’’ asked Owyn.

‘‘We must be under the old city of Sar-Isbandia.’’

Owyn didn’t know what to say.

Gorath continued walking. Soon they came to a large gallery, where the sound of work could be heard. A single guard moved idly around the huge gallery, overseeing the wretches laboring to lift buckets of the thick oil that ran through the earth, to bubble to the surface.

Owyn’s eyes teared, and he said, ‘‘I can see why they need the mask if it gets much worse than this.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘Look for one of my people who wears his hair 206

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in a high fall, and who has a scar running down his face from forehead to chin.’’

When the guard was at the farthest point in his rounds, they slipped through the main gallery to another tunnel. Those who labored hardly spared them a glance, intent as they were upon their own miseries.

Not seeing Obkhar, Gorath said, ‘‘Let us continue to the west.’’

They moved down a long corridor that turned into another gallery, and in that one labored a small band of moredhel.

Owyn looked around, and said, ‘‘I don’t see any guards.’’

Wiping away tears, Gorath said, ‘‘I think they linger near the fresher air at the ends of the tunnels. Where would these prisoners flee to?’’

‘‘Nowhere, Gorath,’’ came a voice from behind them.

They spun to be confronted by a large, gaunt moredhel who possessed the scar Gorath had described. ‘‘Obkhar!’’

Looking Gorath up and down, Obkhar said, ‘‘At first I thought the fumes had finally taken my senses, but I see they have not. How is it you are here? I heard that your head had been spitted on a stake outside Sar-Sargoth.’’

Gorath folded his arms across his chest. ‘‘Not all who remain in the Northlands willingly bend to Delekhan’s will. And not all who rebel die. I had help in escaping, as you do now.

Others died so that I might win free.’’

‘‘You have a grave debt to repay.’’

‘‘All the more reason to see Delekhan’s reign ended, Obkhar!

He shall pay blood debt to me and mine.’’

‘‘Most of my kin are now in the Green Heart, but should you raise your banner against Delekhan, Gorath, we will come to your cause.’’

Gorath smiled. ‘‘So you at last forgive me for giving you that scar?’’

Laughing, Obkhar said, ‘‘Never. I still intend to kill you for that, someday, but for the time being we need to be allies.’’

Owyn produced the masks. ‘‘Where is the tunnel of fumes?’’

‘‘This way,’’ said Obkhar, leading them down a side tunnel.

They reached a point where the fumes threatened to suffo-cate them, and Obkhar said, ‘‘Put on your mask. They will 207

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help your eyes not at all, but you will be able to breathe. We have a long way to go and an icy swim at the end of it. The tunnel out is half-flooded, and leads to a branch of the River Isbandi.’’

They put on the masks, and Owyn was surprised to discover they worked. The fumes burned his eyes, but by blinking rapidly he could see. He almost gave Obkhar a heart attack when he illuminated himself and his companions with his magic.

The old moredhel chieftain said, ‘‘For a moment I thought you had struck a flame, and we were all about to be incinerated.’’

They reached the tunnel that was flooded and entered icy water that rose to their knees. As they walked they moved deeper and soon they were up to their chests. Obkhar signaled and ducked his head underwater. Owyn and Gorath did likewise. They felt a tug and suddenly were swept into an underground stream.

Kicking hard, Owyn followed and when he came up, his head bumped stone. Fighting down panic, he moved a short distance away, and his head broke clear of water. Obkhar said,

‘‘You can take your mask off.’’

‘‘Good,’’ replied Owyn. ‘‘Because mine came off underwater.’’

Something that may have been a chuckle came from Gorath.

Obkhar said, ‘‘We have less than a mile to swim.’’

They set off, Owyn fearing he would be pulled down by the weight of his sodden clothing, but he mustered the strength to continue. Suddenly above he saw stars and he realized they had come outside.

A short way down the river torches burned, and when they swam toward them, voices softly called out.

‘‘It is I, Irmelyn.’’

They were helped out of the water, taken to a fire, and given heavy robes to wear while their clothes were dried. ‘‘Any alarm?’’ asked Obkhar.

‘‘None so far,’’ said a moredhel unknown to Owyn. ‘‘The guards we bribed will say nothing. It may go unnoticed for a very long time that you are not there. Many die in the mines and their bodies lie unnoticed in tunnels.’’

Gorath asked, ‘‘Now, what of Cullich?’’

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Obkhar said, ‘‘Is she still alive?’’

Irmelyn said, ‘‘Yes, and she lives nearby.’’

‘‘I was told I could see her on our way south,’’ said Gorath.

Obkhar looked at Irmelyn, who nodded. ‘‘A promise is a promise,’’ said the chieftain. ‘‘I must leave now, with those of my tribe who are to travel the passes with me. Irmelyn will guide you to Cullich and then on your way over the mountains.’’

‘‘Avoid Harlik,’’ said Irmelyn. ‘‘Moraeulf and The Six are there.’’

‘‘I will,’’ said Obkhar, as he finished changing into dry clothing. He said, ‘‘Gorath, fare you well, old foe. Let no one but me take your life.’’

‘‘You survive,’’ said Gorath, ‘‘so that I may take your head someday.’’

After they had gone, Owyn said, ‘‘You two sound almost fond of one another.’’

Gorath ate a piece of dried beef given him by Irmelyn, and said, ‘‘Of course. Friends can betray you, but with an old enemy, you always know where you stand.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I never thought of it that way.’’

Irmelyn said, ‘‘They are an odd race, aren’t they?’’

‘‘Very odd,’’ agreed Gorath.

The hut was primitive, barely four walls of scrap wood cobbled together and roofed with thatch. A stone chimney emitted a faint wisp of smoke, the only sign of anyone inside.

‘‘She’s in there?’’ asked Gorath.

Irmelyn nodded. ‘‘Yes.’’

Gorath dismounted, as did Owyn. Irmelyn said, ‘‘Delekhan has her watched occasionally. I had better stay here. If I call, come quickly.’’

Gorath nodded, and opened the door.

If the woman who waited inside was shocked at the unexpected appearance, she masked it well. She merely looked up from her corner next to the fire, and said, ‘‘Enter and close the door.’’

‘‘Is that your warmest welcome, Cullich? Your husband has returned.’’

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Owyn’s mouth dropped open.

She rose, sinuous and powerful in her movement, and while her gown was in tatters and her hair dirty and matted, Owyn was struck by the resemblance between this woman and Liallan. This woman’s hair was raven dark, while Liallan’s was red. While Liallan had been slender and lithe, Cullich was buxom and wide of hip. Her face was wide-boned, but there was something in common with the sunken-cheeked leader of the Snow Leopard Clan. Both women radiated power.

‘‘Husband?’’ said the woman in mocking tones, her blue eyes fastened on Gorath. ‘‘How so? Clan leader? By what right? Ruler of a host? No more. Once you held those titles and had earned that rank, with guile and bravery, cunning and strength. Around you the Clan Ardanien lay curled like a sleeping dragon, awaiting your word to rise up and crush whoever opposed us. Where is that dragon now?’’

‘‘Gone, scattered to the north, across the Teeth of the World, hiding.’’

‘‘Then call yourself clan chief and husband no more, Gorath.

You lost the right to those titles when you gave the order to flee Sethanon, when you refused my wisdom.’’

‘‘Wisdom, old witch? You counsel murder and madness. Do you still dream of conquest, of all the ranting of Murmandamus? Did you learn nothing by the obliteration of our people at Armengar and Sethanon? Two sons did I see fall along the way. One of them was
our
son.’’

‘‘What would you have of me, old man?’’ asked the woman.

‘‘I seek to end the madness. Will you aid me?’’

‘‘How, by dying and having my head placed on a spear outside Sar-Sargoth?’’

‘‘Delekhan must be stopped.’’

‘‘Why? What destiny would you choose for our people, Gorath? Would you have us bend our heads to the earth once more? Should we serve the eledhel Queen as we once did the Valheru? We are a free people! Or do you feel the tug of the Returning?’’

‘‘No!’’ said Gorath, his eyes flashing in anger. ‘‘But I have heard things, learned things.’’ Pointing to Owyn, he said, ‘‘Not all humans are our enemies.’’

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‘‘No,’’ said Cullich. ‘‘There are those who will serve us for gold.’’

‘‘No, I mean there are those who would live with us as neighbors, in peace.’’

‘‘Peace?’’ said the woman, with a laugh of contempt. ‘‘When have the moredhel spoken of peace? You sound like one returned to Elvandar. They who were once rampaging bulls are now gelded oxen, serving the Queen, no better than slaves.’’

‘‘This is not so, wife,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘The glamredhel have joined the eledhel, and not as slaves, but as welcomed brethren.’’

‘‘The mad ones!’’ said the moredhel woman. ‘‘You think it true, then you go. I will abide. Here is my home, and eventually I will find someone who can use my talents, and my knowledge, and he will be a warrior, and I will show him how to rise and take power and how to hold it. I will have other sons, sons that will live.’’

Gorath sighed. ‘‘I feared that such would be your reply.’’

‘‘Then why have you come here? Surely not to rekindle a love long dead between us.’’

‘‘No . . . I need your help. For a short time, then I shall be gone from your life, one way or another.’’

‘‘For the sake of that love, now dead, I will listen,’’ she said, openly surprised by Gorath’s admission.

‘‘Where are Delekhan’s forces now?’’

Cullich looked out her frosted window. ‘‘Massed on the Kingdom border. The banners of Clans Krieda, Dargelas, and Oeirdu are held in reserve near Raglam. I hear both Liallan’s and Narab’s forces are to march soon.’’

Gorath smiled. ‘‘Narab has turned on his master, like a rabid wolf.’’

‘‘Nevertheless, there are ample armies along the border to make crossing difficult.’’

‘‘We have a way,’’ said Gorath.

‘‘Then what would you have of me?’’

‘‘You know things, witch. What do you know of The Six?’’

‘‘I once sought to scry on them, and for my troubles I was rendered senseless for more than a day. I know only that they possess arts beyond my understanding. Of all the things Delek-211

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han has his hand in, this may be the most dangerous. He thinks he controls them; I wonder.’’

From outside the house, Irmelyn shouted. ‘‘We must leave.’’

‘‘Go,’’ said the witch. ‘‘I think we shall never see one another again, and for that I am not sad. Too much pain has passed between us. These will be our last words as husband and wife.

When you pass through that door, our marriage will end. But know this: I wish you well in whatever life awaits you.’’

‘‘As do I,’’ said Gorath sadly. ‘‘Be well, wife.’’

‘‘And you, husband.’’

Gorath left the hut and when the door slammed shut, ending his marriage, he hesitated an instant, then he and Owyn mounted and rode off. Irmelyn shouted as they rode, ‘‘We must clear a pass before sundown, else those who will look the other way when we go by will have been replaced.’’