The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection

Locklear sighed. ‘They’re covering all the roads, then.’

‘How do we proceed?’ asked Owyn.

Pulling his sword, Gorath said, ‘We kill them.’ He spurred his horse forward, with Locklear hesitating only an instant before following.

Owyn reached up and quickly pulled out his staff, tucking it under his arm like a lance, then urging his horse forward. He heard a shout as he rounded a turn in the trail and entered a widening in the road where one dark elf lay dying in the road as Gorath sped past him.

The other three were not so quickly taken, but rather hurried up into higher rocks where the horses couldn’t follow. Locklear didn’t hesitate and in a move that startled Owyn, the squire jumped up on his saddle and leaped off the running horse’s back, knocking a moredhel from the rock he was climbing.

On his right Owyn saw another one turn, rapidly stringing his bow, then reaching in a hip quiver for an arrow. Owyn urged his horse forward, and swept his staff, striking the bowman below the knee. The bowman went down, his feet shooting out from under him, and struck the rocks with the back of his head.

Owyn’s mount shied from the sudden motion near his head and suddenly Owyn found himself falling backwards. ‘Ahhhh!’ he cried, and then he struck something softer than the rocks. A stunned ‘oof’ accompanied the impact, and a groan told him he had landed atop the already injured dark elf.

As if scorched by the touch of a flame, Owyn turned over and sat up, scrambling backward. Suddenly he was struck from behind by his horse as the animal turned and sped down the trail. ‘Hey!’ Owyn shouted, as if he could order the animal to stop.

He then realized there was a struggle going on, and the twice-struck moredhel was attempting to rise. Owyn looked around for a weapon and saw the fallen archer’s bow. Owyn grabbed it, and using it like a club, struck the moredhel in the head with as much strength as he could muster. The bow shattered and the warrior’s head snapped back. Owyn was certain he wouldn’t rise again.

The young magician turned to see Locklear standing away from a now dead dark elf, while Gorath likewise stood over a fallen foe. The moredhel turned and looked in all directions, as if seeking another foe. After a moment, he put up his sword and said, ‘They are alone.’

‘How can you tell?’ asked Locklear.

‘These are my people,’ said Gorath without apparent bitterness. ‘It is unusual for even this many to travel together this far south of our lands.’ He motioned toward a small fire. ‘They didn’t expect to encounter us.’

‘Then what were they doing here?’ asked Locklear.

‘Waiting for someone?’

‘Who?’ asked Owyn.

Gorath looked around in the late-afternoon light as if seeing something in the distant peaks, or through the rocks on either side of the trail. ‘I don’t know. But they were waiting here.’

Locklear said, ‘Where is your horse, Owyn?’

Owyn looked over his shoulder and said, ‘Back down there somewhere. I fell off.’

Gorath smiled. ‘I saw you land on that one over there.’ He indicated the body.

Locklear said, ‘Hurry back down the trail and see if you can find him. If he’s heading back toward LaMut, we’ll have to ride in rotation. I don’t want to be slowed any more than necessary.’

As Owyn ran off, Gorath said, ‘Why don’t you leave him behind?’

Locklear studied the moredhel’s expression as if trying to read him, then at last he said, ‘It’s not our way.’

Gorath laughed mockingly. ‘My experience with your kind tells me otherwise.’

Locklear said, ‘Then it’s not my way.’

Gorath shrugged. ‘I can accept that.’ He set to examining the corpse at Locklear’s feet and after a moment said, ‘This is interesting.’ He held out an object for Locklear’s examination.

‘What is this?’ asked Locklear, looking at a multi-faceted stone of an odd blue hue.

‘A snow sapphire.’

‘Sapphire!’ said Locklear. ‘It’s as big as an egg!’

‘It’s not a particularly valuable stone,’ said Gorath. ‘They are common north of the Teeth of the World.’

‘So it’s, what? A keepsake?’

‘Perhaps, but when a war party leaves our homeland, we travel light. Weapons, rations, extra bowstrings, and little else. We easily live by forage.’

‘Maybe this isn’t a war party,’ suggested Locklear. ‘Maybe they live around here?’

Gorath shook his head. ‘The last of my people south of the Teeth of the World lived in the Grey Towers and they fled to the Northlands with the coming of the Tsurani. None of my race has lived this near the Bitter Sea since before the Kingdom came to these mountains. No, while not of my clan, these are from the Northlands.’ He put the gem in his belt pouch and continued to examine the bodies.

Time passed and finally Owyn put in an appearance, leading his horse. ‘Damn all horses,’ he swore. ‘He made me chase him until he got bored.’

Locklear smiled. ‘Next time, don’t fall off.’

‘I didn’t plan on it this time,’ said Owyn.

Gorath said, ‘We need to hide these.’ He pointed to the four dead moredhel. He picked up one and carried it a short way down the trail then unceremoniously threw the corpse over the side of a ravine.

Owyn looked at Locklear, and the young magician tied his horse’s reins to a nearby bush. He picked up the feet of the nearest corpse while Locklear lifted the creature under the shoulders.

Soon all four bodies were consigned to the ravine hundreds of feet below. Locklear mounted as did Gorath and Owyn. Leaving for the time being the mystery of why these moredhel were waiting at this lonely spot on a rarely used trail, they rode on.

Loriel appeared before them, a small city – really a large town – nestled into the large valley which ran eastward. Another valley intersected from the south.

Gorath said, ‘We need food.’

‘A fact of which my stomach is well aware,’ answered Locklear.

Owyn said, ‘Not that I’m in a hurry to face my father, but this is turning into a roundabout journey, squire.’

Locklear pointed to the southern valley. ‘There’s a road through there that’s a very straight course to Hawk’s Hollow. From there we have our choice of routes, south along a narrow ridge trail, or southwest back to the King’s Highway.’

Gorath said, ‘And then to Krondor?’

‘And then to Krondor,’ agreed Locklear. ‘Something in all this is making what my friend Jimmy calls his “bump of trouble” itch like I’ve been attacked there by fleas.

‘Gorath, this stolen ruby, the Tsurani magicians, all of it is somehow … more than coincidence.’

‘How?’ asked Owyn.

‘If I knew,’ said Locklear, ‘we wouldn’t be stopping off to visit Mr Alescook. He may know something or know someone who knows what it’s about, but the more I think on this mystery, the more it bothers me that I don’t know what’s behind all this.

‘But we’re going to find out or die trying.’