Krondor the Betrayal (40 page)

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T HE QUEEN STOOD.

She stepped down to stand before Gorath, then she leaned over and placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘‘Rise,’’

she said gently.

Gorath did so, and the Queen studied his face. ‘‘When those of our lost cousins return to us, there is a recognition of this change within them.’’ Her smile was reassuring and her tone conciliatory, as she said, ‘‘But in you I sense something different.

You have not returned to us yet, Gorath, but you are returning.

Your journey back to your people is not yet complete.’’ She looked at the glamredhel leader, and said, ‘‘There are others here who also have not finished their journey, so you are not alone.

When you have completed your return to us, then you will be given a new name, but until then you are still Gorath. But now you are Gorath of Elvandar. You have come home.’’

She embraced him, holding him for a long, reassuring moment, and returned to her throne. Owyn watched as Gorath picked up his sword and returned it to his scabbard. The young nobleman said, ‘‘If it pleases Your Majesty, may I ask a question?’’

‘‘You may,’’ said the Queen as she sat upon her throne.

‘‘I bear a message to your husband from the wife of Pug the Magician.’’

Aglaranna said, ‘‘Son, please escort these two to my private apartment.’’

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Prince Calin indicated Gorath and Owyn should follow him.

They bowed once more to the Queen. She said, ‘‘You may go, and when you’ve finished speaking with Tomas, return and we shall feast.’’

Owyn walked next to Gorath, and said, ‘‘I don’t quite understand what I just saw.’’

‘‘I’ll explain it to you later,’’ said Gorath.

Calin said, ‘‘My mother’s husband was injured in a skirmish near the border with a band of moredhel who were trespassing on our lands as they raided south.’’

‘‘Those were not raiders,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘Those were members of Obkhar’s clan fleeing Delekhan for the Green Heart.’’

Calin inclined his head at the correction. ‘‘In any event, Tomas was struck by a poisoned arrow and is now resting.’’

He pushed aside a richly decorated tapestry and led them out onto a large private terrace that overlooked the splendor of Elvandar. In an alcove that could be masked off with a large curtain, a large man lay upon a bed. Calin said, ‘‘Let me see if he’s awake.’’

‘‘I am awake,’’ came a weak voice from the alcove.

Calin said, ‘‘Tomas, this is Owyn, from Timons, and Gorath, one of our people returning. They bear a message from Pug’s wife.’’

Owyn and Gorath approached and saw a large young-looking man, easily six inches past six feet in height, lying beneath a down comforter, with pillows propping up his head. Gorath faltered as he reached a point a few feet from the bed. ‘‘I had heard rumors,’’ he said softly, ‘‘though few counted them true.

But they are true. He is Valheru.’’

Calin said, ‘‘Not entirely, to our everlasting thanks.’’

Tomas said, ‘‘I would rise to greet you, but I am presently in little condition to do so.’’

‘‘Poison?’’ asked Gorath. ‘‘What manner?’’

‘‘A thin green substance unknown to us.’’

‘‘Coltari,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘It is rumored to be from the Tsurani world, named after the province from which it came. It came to us about the time Delekhan began to rally the clans.’’

Calin said, ‘‘Is there any antidote?’’

‘‘May I see the wound?’’

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Tomas motioned for Gorath to approach and Tomas moved, turned his head, showing an angry wound in his neck, on the right side, just above the shoulder. Gorath said, ‘‘By rights you should be dead.’’

Tomas smiled and Owyn was struck at his youthful expression. He was a striking man, with angular features, and his ears were almost as pointed as an elf’s. ‘‘I have discovered that I’m rather hard to kill. But I certainly can be brought to my knees. I haven’t the strength of a day-old puppy.’’

Gorath said, ‘‘If he’s lived this long, he will recover, but how long that will take I cannot say. Those who have suffered mild Coltari poisoning have lingered weeks before starting a slow recovery.’’

Tomas said, ‘‘I shall be myself in a few more days.’’

Calin said, ‘‘My mother’s husband is always optimistic. He shall be abed for weeks, I think. Our healers have done all they can.’’

‘‘What is this message you bear from Katala?’’ asked Tomas.

Owyn said, ‘‘She bids us tell you that Pug and Gamina have vanished from Krondor. Pug left behind a cryptic note: ‘To Tomas! The Book of Macros!’

‘‘We stopped at the Abbey of Sarth along the way, and they have no knowledge of such a book. Is it something you possess?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Tomas, ‘‘but it is not a book, in truth. Calin, would you bring me that box next to my weapons chest?’’

Calin did as he was requested and carried a small box to Tomas. Tomas opened it and took out a scroll. ‘‘Book of Macros is a phrase Pug and I agreed on to let me know he was in dire need of my help. He created this scroll so that whoever reads it will be taken to Pug.’’ He sat up. ‘‘Calin, help me on with my armor.’’

Calin said, ‘‘No, Tomas. You have no strength. You will not help your friend in your present condition.’’

‘‘But Pug would only send such a message if he was in dire need of help.’’

Calin said, ‘‘I will go.’’

‘‘No,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘We will go.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘Our mission from Prince Arutha was to find 279

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Pug, and if this takes us to him, then we have fulfilled our mission.’’

Looking at Calin, Gorath said, ‘‘No slight intended, Prince Calin, but if I am not a more experienced warrior than you, I will be surprised. And you have a duty to the people here, to lead the warriors while Tomas heals.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘And I know some magic, Lord Tomas, which may prove important.’’

Tomas said, ‘‘Or I could wait a few more days.’’

‘‘Time is fleeting,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘We have already been weeks on this journey, and soon Delekhan will launch his assault on the Kingdom. Arutha fears his magicians, which is why he wishes Pug’s counsel. Let us go. We may not be the best choice, but we are here and willing.’’

Owyn took the scroll, and said, ‘‘Please?’’

Tomas nodded, and Gorath said, ‘‘Tell the Queen we will feast when we return.’’

Owyn unrolled the scroll and glanced at it. ‘‘Gorath, stand behind me with your hands on my shoulders.’’

The scroll was written in an alien tongue, yet the writing captured his senses and forced his eyes to follow line by line, and as he did so symbols appeared in his mind’s eye, burning brightly like letters of fire. When at last he reached the final phrase, the area around them swam and flickered, then suddenly they were propelled through a glassy-looking plane hanging in a grey void.

Through a tunnel of light they raced, with sensations rushing through them like sounds and aromas, yet gone before they could be fully apprehended. Then suddenly they raced toward another shimmering pane of silver light and found themselves lurching forward onto the ground.

They stood upon grey powdery soil, with large reddish rocks rearing up on two sides. The sky was a vivid violet, rather than blue, and the air smelled of odd and alien odors.

The wind was dry and cold.

‘‘Where are we?’’ asked Gorath.

Owyn said, ‘‘Nowhere on the world we know. We are somewhere else.’’

‘‘Where?’’

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‘‘I don’t know,’’ said Owyn. To the east an angry small white sun was setting over the mountains, plunging the area into shadows of indigo and black. ‘‘But it appears night is falling and we need shelter of some sort.’’

Owyn attempted to activate the spell he knew that permitted him to create light, and suddenly he knew a terrible truth.

‘‘Gorath! Magic doesn’t work here!’’

James studied the map. ‘‘Are you sure?’’ he asked the soldier.

‘‘Yes, Squire. I saw at least three of their patrols moving along that goat trail and over the ridge.’’

Locklear looked at the positions on the map, and asked,

‘‘What are they doing?’’

‘‘They can’t move any significant number of warriors over that trail, so they must have been scouts. But scouting for what?’’

‘‘Perhaps they want to see if we’re being reinforced?’’ suggested the soldier.

‘‘Well, if they see reinforcements, I hope they have the courtesy to let us know,’’ said Locklear.

‘‘It’s if they don’t see reinforcements that we should expect to be attacked,’’ said Jimmy, not seeing any humor in the situation. To the soldier, he said, ‘‘Order a galloper to ride a day toward Dimwood and then back. I want word of any sign of the Prince being on the way. If not, I expect we’ll be attacked soon.’’

The soldier hurried out, and James turned to Locklear. ‘‘I think we have to assume that Gorath and Owyn didn’t make it.’’

‘‘So we must assume that we’re holding this position until . . . ?’’

‘‘We get relief or we get overrun.’’

Locklear was silent a moment, then asked, ‘‘Do we organize a retreat like we did at Highcastle if it becomes apparent we’re going to lose?’’

James was silent a very long time as he considered the question. ‘‘No. We stand or die.’’

Locklear let out a long, theatrical sigh, and said, ‘‘I guess that’s why we have offices.’’

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‘‘I believe Arutha would say, ‘It’s time to earn our pay.’ ’’

Locklear seemed to muster resolve from within, and said,

‘‘Very well, let’s make sure we earn it with distinction.’’

They left the late Baron’s office and set about the many tasks before them in preparation for the coming battle.

The sun rose on a desolate and alien world. The few minutes the quickly vanishing sun afforded them the evening before had been spent finding a shallow cave. It provided slight shelter, but they had spent a cold and hungry night in the dark.

As the sky lightened, Gorath woke Owyn. The young magician had been in a near-frantic state after discovering his magic wouldn’t work on this world.

And that was the other shock that had almost reduced Owyn to mindless panic: they were on another world. There was no doubt about it. Gorath knew the northern night sky of Midkemia as well as anyone who lived much of his life out of doors, but even Owyn knew there were three moons on Midkemia, and not a single large one that bulked in the sky twice the size of the largest one at home.

‘‘Where is Pug?’’ asked Gorath.

Owyn said, ‘‘If the spell was designed to bring Tomas to him, he must be close.’’

Gorath looked at the ground as the sky lightened above him.

‘‘Look,’’ he said, pointing at the ground. ‘‘Tracks.’’

Owyn looked and saw scuff marks in the dirt. ‘‘Perhaps this was where Pug appeared, and that’s as close as the spell can bring someone.’’ He winced as he considered what he just said.

‘‘What am I babbling about? I have no idea what has occurred to us, or to Pug before us.’’

Gorath knelt and studied the tracks. ‘‘One pair of tracks begins there.’’ He pointed to a place roughly where they had appeared, then his hand traced a line. ‘‘Whoever left those tracks went that way.’’

He stood and began following the tracks while Owyn glanced around. The light appeared wrong, and the sky was almost clear, with a few wispy high clouds barely visible in the upper atmosphere. The wind was dry and cold, and there was scant vegetation in sight, and most of it reminded Owyn 282

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of the high rocky hills through which he had traveled in the Northlands with Gorath.

Gorath said, ‘‘Other tracks join here.’’ He pointed to a place on the ground that looked like nothing more than a few scuff marks in the soil. ‘‘If those first tracks belonged to Pug, he was met or followed by at least four others. They all moved off in that direction.’’

He pointed to a series of small hills in the distance. ‘‘Then I guess that’s where we go,’’ said Gorath.

As the sun rose the day’s temperature began to increase.

‘‘This is a desert,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘I’ve heard stories from those who’ve traveled in the Jal-Pur. The cold night fooled me.’’ He stopped and opened his travel pack. He removed an extra tunic and tied it over his head, like a hood. ‘‘Before we do anything else, we need to find water.’’

Gorath looked around, and finally said, ‘‘You are right. I see no open water anywhere.’’ He looked at their apparent goal.

‘‘I know little of deserts, but I would think if there was water to be found, it would as likely be found in those hills as anywhere else. Let us continue on that course.’’

Without a better option to offer, Owyn agreed. They trudged over a landscape of hardpan, broken rocks, and eroded ridges.

‘‘If anything ever flourished in this land, it has long since died out,’’ observed Gorath. As they walked, he asked, ‘‘Have you any insight into why your magic will not work here?’’

‘‘No,’’ said Owyn, looking dispirited. ‘‘I have tried every cantrip and incantation, meditation and exercise I could remember. All seem to function as they were designed to, but there was no . . . magic!’’ He shook his head. ‘‘It’s as if there is no mana here.’’

‘‘Mana?’’ asked Gorath.

‘‘It’s one term for it,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘At least that’s what Patrus called it. I don’t know if other magicians do. But it’s the energy that binds with everything else, yet can be manipulated to create magic. Most people don’t understand how magic works. I don’t have the power within me. All I know are series of words, actions, images, things that help me gather the power, or mana, from the world around me. It’s as if the mana doesn’t exist here. It makes me wish I was a Lesser Path.’’

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‘‘What is that?’’ asked Gorath, letting the boy instruct him rather than trudge along in silence.

‘‘They operate on a different path of magic. Patrus is a Lesser Path who suggested I go to Stardock when it was clear he was teaching me the ‘wrong’ magic. Before Pug had traveled to the Tsurani world, no one knew of the differences between the two paths of magic; at least no one on Midkemia.