Krondor the Betrayal (48 page)

‘‘He was,’’ said Gardan. ‘‘But he and his trackers are already heading into the woods.’’

‘‘What brought him here?’’ asked Locklear.

‘‘Tomas sent word to Crydee and suggested it might be a good idea for some special talents to appear here in the woods.’’ He pointed south. ‘‘Martin, his trackers, and a company of elves are out there skulking through the woods, looking for Dark Brothers.’’

‘‘So Delekhan’s on his way?’’ asked James.

‘‘He’s here,’’ said Gardan. His finger pointed out a point on the map, a ‘‘V’’ formed by two rivers that ran through the Dimwood. ‘‘He showed up behind us two days ago. I don’t know how he did it, but instead of being in front of us, he was behind us.’’

‘‘We think he’s using a rift machine,’’ said James.

‘‘Damn,’’ said Gardan. ‘‘If the Riftwar taught us anything, it was that once one of those damn gates is open, they can walk soldiers through as fast as they can get them lined up and on the march.’’

‘‘Can’t be a big one, though,’’ said Patrus.

‘‘Who’s this?’’ asked Gardan.

‘‘Patrus is my name,’’ answered the old magician. ‘‘If it was big, he’d be on the march.’’ Patrus pointed to a place to the southwest of where Gardan had pointed. ‘‘Is there a ford or bridge around there?’’

‘‘We’re trying to find out,’’ answered the Knight-Marshal.

‘‘Come on, boys,’’ said Patrus.

‘‘Wait!’’ said James. ‘‘Where are we going?’’

‘‘If that pointy-eared devil is already here, then he’s getting ready to move out. If he’s not here yet, and we can close that damn machine down before he comes through, his boys’ll start running north like their tails was on fire, if they had tails.’’ He 333

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grinned. ‘‘Those dark elves just don’t like being far from home.’’

Gardan looked at James. ‘‘Who
is
he?’’

‘‘It’s a long story,’’ said James. ‘‘I’ll tell you after all this is over. But he’s the only magician we’ve got, and unless Pug shows up, we’ve got to make do.’’

Patrus made a face. ‘‘Make do? I ought to go home and let you sort this out.’’

‘‘Sorry,’’ said James. ‘‘Tired, that’s all.’’

‘‘That’s all right, Jimmy. You get me to that damned machine, and I’ll shut it down.’’

Locklear looked skeptical. ‘‘I was under the impression that it was a special sort of magic, rifts, I mean.’’

Patrus said, ‘‘Special to make, no doubt. What little I’ve heard about rifts isn’t good; most of the time they show up because a magician made a mistake.’’ He winked. ‘‘But messing magic up, that’s easy.’’

James said, ‘‘I hope so, because if we can cut off most of Delekhan’s army before they get here, we just might keep the lid on this boiling kettle until Arutha and the rest of the army get here.’’

Gardan made a sweeping motion with his hands. ‘‘We have a very fluid front. They’re dug in here, here, and here,’’ he said, pointing at three different places along a river. ‘‘Lord Martin went this way.’’ He indicated a pass between the two closest points. ‘‘He thought he might be able to slip past the dark elves.’’

James shook his head. ‘‘If there’s a human who might slip through the woods past dark elves, it would be Martin Longbow, but even that’s a little hard for me to imagine.’’

Gardan smiled. ‘‘We’re providing him with some distractions.’’

James returned the grin. ‘‘Well, then, if it’s loud and lively, we might be able to follow after him.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Are we ever going to get any rest?’’

Patrus looked at the younger man with an expression of contempt. ‘‘Get killed, boy, and you’ll get all the rest you’ll ever need. Now, come on and let’s get after it.’’

Locklear nodded in resignation. James said, ‘‘We have a bet-334

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ter chance if we travel light. Do you have any scouts still in camp?’’

Gardan shook his head. ‘‘No, they’re working with Martin and the elves along that river. If you’re lucky, you’ll bump into them before you meet any of Delekhan’s forces.’’

James said, ‘‘Well, we’ve got a good half day’s light left, so we should probably head out.’’

‘‘How are you fixed for stores?’’ asked the Knight-Marshal.

‘‘We have enough food for a week,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We loaded up before we left the last change of horses.’’

Gardan said, ‘‘Then let me give you the current password,

‘Krondor’s Eagle,’ as we have some human renegades from Queg mixed in around here, too.’’

Locklear said, ‘‘After I got Gorath to Krondor, I was hoping I’d never see another bloody Quegan mercenary again.’’

Gardan said, ‘‘You have my permission to kill as many as you like when you meet them, Squire, now get out of here.’’

James laughed and led Patrus and Locklear out of the tent.

He pointed to their horses, and asked a guard, ‘‘Any fresh remounts nearby?’’

The guard said, ‘‘Over there, Squire. Captain Philip’s taking care of cavalry for the Marshal. He can set you up.’’

They took their horses and led them toward the cavalry command, and Patrus said, ‘‘Oh, joy! Another horse to ride!’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Would you rather walk?’’

‘‘Right now, boy, you bet I would,’’ was his answer, followed by his signature nasty laugh.

James shook his head. He was trying to like the crusty old magician, but he was finding that as time wore on, it was getting harder to find reasons not to strangle him.

James motioned the others forward, and they rode within sight of a recent skirmish. Three renegade humans and one moredhel lay dead in a clearing, and from the number of arrows in the corpses, it was apparent they had been taken by surprise. Only elves would be able to ambush a moredhel scout, James was certain, so hopefully that meant Duke Martin and his companions were in the area.

‘‘Do you think the elves will remember us from our last visit 335

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to Elvandar, or mistake us for Quegan renegades and start shooting?’’ Locklear asked.

‘‘Why don’t you ask them?’’ replied a voice from behind a tree to his right, before James could speak.

Locklear and James reined in as a tall man dressed in brown-and-green leather stepped out from behind a tree.

‘‘Martin!’’ said James. ‘‘I’m pleased to see you, Your Grace.’’

Martin, Duke of Crydee, once known as Longbow, stood holding the weapon that had given him his name. ‘‘Well met, James, Locklear. Who is your friend?’’

Patrus looked around as a group of elves seemed to materialize out from behind a tree. ‘‘Patrus is my name.’’

‘‘He’s a magician, and he’s here to help us shut down the rift machine,’’ answered Locklear.

‘‘This is Lord Martin, Duke of Crydee.’’

Patrus nodded. ‘‘Odd-looking Duke, if you ask me.’’

Martin smiled a half smile very similar to his brother Arutha’s. ‘‘Court dress isn’t particularly useful when running through the woods, I have found.’’

‘‘Well, there is that,’’ said the old man, scratching his neck.

‘‘We’re looking for that machine. You have any idea where it is?’’

‘‘I know exactly where it is,’’ said Martin. ‘‘A large company of moredhel left for the south this morning, and we slipped in behind their lines and came back upriver. I didn’t see the machine, but I saw enough guards in a small area to be pretty sure where it is. Besides, there’s an odd feeling in the air, and it puts me in mind of that Tsurani machine in the Grey Towers back during that war. I’m sending word to Gardan so he can bring up the forces with Arutha when they get here.’’

‘‘Too late,’’ said James. ‘‘Patrus is of the opinion—’’

‘‘Patrus doesn’t need anyone to tell his opinion for him, boy,’’ said the old man. To Martin he said, ‘‘Duke, that pointy-eared bastard has probably only managed to get a few companies through with him, else they’d be cleaning up the woods with the Kingdom forces already here. He’s almost certainly on his way to Sethanon, which is where these boys say he wants to go, so you’re probably facing some rear guards. But, if that machine stays open until the Prince gets here, well, 336

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there’s no telling how many more goblins and trolls and other bloodsuckers you’re going to be looking at before you can battle your way down to Sethanon.’’

Martin was too concerned about what the old magician said to worry much about his lack of protocol. ‘‘What do you propose?’’

‘‘Get us close to that damn machine, then set up a diversion and draw as many off as you can, say fake a major attack then fall back slowly, and if we can slip in, I can disable that machine.’’

Martin glanced at James, who shrugged.

Martin said, ‘‘Very well, follow us, but you’ll have to come on foot.’’

The three riders dismounted, and one of the elves took the horses. ‘‘Lead them back to the Knight-Marshal and tell him what you heard here. Tell him also that I expect we could use some relief to the west of the old stone bridge.’’

The elf nodded, took the horses, and left. Martin glanced at the sky through the branches. ‘‘Good, this will bring us to the bridge at sundown, and you should be able to slip across the river in the dark while we distract them at the bridge.’’

‘‘Slip across the river?’’ said Patrus. ‘‘You mean as in get wet?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Martin with a smile. ‘‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wade. There’s a shallow ford about a mile upriver, and I doubt the goblins know of it.’’

‘‘Goblins?’’ asked Locklear.

‘‘We’re seeing mostly goblins and Quegan mercenaries. I think most of the moredhel went south with Delekhan or whoever is leading that detachment.’’

James was silent a moment, then said, ‘‘Locklear, how’s your Quegan?’’

Locklear said, ‘‘Pretty fair. How’s yours?’’

‘‘Not as good as yours,’’ said James. ‘‘I didn’t grow up in a port town like you did.’’

‘‘What’s Krondor? Landlocked?’’ asked the younger squire.

‘‘You don’t see many Quegan traders in the sewer, is my point.’’

‘‘Oh,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Why?’’

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‘‘Just that I don’t think we were likely to run into too many goblins or dark elves who spoke Quegan up at Northwarden, but I’m willing to bet you a good meal we’re going to find some of those damn Quegans around here.’’

‘‘You’re not thinking of doing the ‘we Quegan mercenaries’

thing again, are you?’’ said Locklear with a look of concern on his face. ‘‘That worked fine when we were lying to trolls, but if there are some real mercenaries here . . . I don’t speak it well enough to fool a Quegan.’’

‘‘We’ll worry about that problem if we come to it,’’ said James.

Locklear rolled his eyes upward, and said, ‘‘Great.’’

James said, ‘‘Martin, instead of trying to mount an attack, why don’t you chase us into the enemy’s arms?’’

Martin raised an eyebrow in curiosity. ‘‘Are you sure?’’

‘‘No, but let’s do it anyway,’’ said James with a grin.

As the sun set in the west, the sound of men running and shouting in Quegan for help reached the mercenaries at the bridge. Three men, two young and one old, raced for the bridge, and in the distance pursuing soldiers were evident in the haze.

James was first to reach the bridge, out of breath and looking desperate. He pointed, and, in Quegan, shouted, ‘‘Attack!’’

The second young man said, ‘‘Hold this bridge! We’ll get help!’’

The mercenary leader turned to the troll who commanded his company and was about to ask what to do when an arrow arched overhead, landing nearby. Ducking behind the scant shelter afforded by the sides of the old stone bridge, he turned his attention to the attacking elves as the three who carried the warning ran for help.

James kept going and looked over his shoulder. Martin and the elves were doing their best to convince those at the bridge there was a major offensive being launched at them.

James halted and motioned for Locklear to stop, allowing Patrus to catch up. The old man was clearly winded, and James asked, ‘‘You all right?’’

Patrus nodded. ‘‘Not quite as fast as I once was. Give me a 338

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moment, then let’s do it again.’’ He smiled his evil smile. They paused while Patrus caught his breath, then he nodded and they hurried off.

They were running toward where they thought the rift machine was hidden, in a small depression between two sheltering hills. A group of moredhel ran toward them, and Locklear shouted in Quegan, ‘‘The bridge is under attack!’’

The leader was a tall moredhel, with a set of shoulders to match Gorath’s. He wore a heavy fur jacket which left his massive chest uncovered, and he shouted, ‘‘I don’t speak your Quegan dog’s tongue.’’

James paused, and took a deep breath. ‘‘I speak the King’s Tongue,’’ he replied, trying to accent his words. ‘‘The bridge is under attack. The trolls sent us for reinforcements.’’

‘‘Attack?’’ He turned to one of his warriors and sent him toward the bridge. ‘‘I am Moraeulf, son of Delekhan and second-in-command to my father. I command here while Delekhan travels to Sethanon. Whom do you serve?’’

Locklear glanced at James, and James said, ‘‘We serve—’’

‘‘Tell him about the elves!’’ shouted Locklear, interrupting James as they had rehearsed.

‘‘Elves?’’ said Moraeulf. ‘‘What is this of elves?’’

‘‘And a tall human with a bow, able to hit a man at a thousand yards, is with them,’’ said James.

‘‘Longbow!’’ said Moraeulf. ‘‘It can be only Longbow. His death will bring me honor.’’

James said, ‘‘What did he call the other?’’

‘‘Calin, I think,’’ said Locklear.

‘‘The Prince of Elvandar is here!’’ he shouted, grabbing James by the shirt and easily lifting him off the ground.

‘‘That’s the name,’’ said James, not having to work to look fearful. ‘‘Prince Calin, is what he said.’’

‘‘Call my guards! We go to kill the eledhel prince and his human friend! I shall eat their hearts!’’ shouted Moraeulf, dropping James. ‘‘Where are they?’’

‘‘At the bridge to the west,’’ said James, sitting in the dirt.

The six moredhel ran toward the bridge, and James shouted after, ‘‘I’ll send the rest after you!’’

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Locklear helped him to his feet, and said to James, ‘‘I can’t believe that worked.’’