The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection

‘They are in custody,’ said the moredhel chieftain, who had been alerted by Locklear. ‘These mercenaries saved you, master.’

Kroldech grabbed the papers from James and started inspecting them. After a moment, he came to the orders of battle, and smiled. ‘Good!’ He struck James on the arm, hard enough to hurt. ‘You are heroes!’ He stuck the battle plan under James’s nose. ‘Do you know what this is?’

James feigned ignorance. ‘No. We just grabbed what we could, master.’

‘If this had been lost, I would have had to redraw all our plans. You’ve saved me days of labour.’ Looking at the fire, he said, ‘And you saved my life. I am in your debt.’

‘Think nothing of it,’ said James.

‘Nonsense,’ said Kroldech. ‘Come to me tomorrow and I will reward you.’

‘Thank you, master,’ said James. ‘We will.’

The still-shaken moredhel leader allowed himself to be escorted away to new quarters as James turned to Locklear and said, ‘Where’s Patrus?’

‘He was with you. Maybe he’s over where our horses are waiting?’

They walked to where their horses were waiting. Patrus had a third horse and was mounting it. Locklear said, ‘Kroldech said we’re heroes. Wants us to come by tomorrow and collect a reward.’

‘You going to hang around for the reward, James?’ asked the old magician.

‘When trolls can fly. By tomorrow morning, I want to be halfway to Northwarden.’

As all eyes were on the burning inn, they slipped out of town, and managed to get down the road before being challenged. The bored-looking mercenary asked what they were doing on the road late at night and James said, ‘The elves can’t handle those trolls down south, so we’re being sent to sort them out.’

‘Heard there was some trouble down there,’ said the guard. ‘Good luck.’

‘Thanks,’ said James.

After they were out of earshot, Locklear said, ‘Patrus! Where did you get that horse?’

‘I borrowed it,’ said the old magician with a cackle. ‘Kroldech won’t miss it until tomorrow.’

Locklear’s only satisfaction on the way back was that James had to spend his pouch of gold to get past the trolls, but at least the trolls thought of them as friends now. The ride was difficult, as the weather had turned very cold and wet. The horses were tiring, and had to be walked at times.

Eventually they reached the road up to the keep and James said, ‘Where are our soldiers?’

Locklear said, ‘I thought some of the forward elements might be trying to keep out of the rain, but you’re right. We should have seen others by now.’

James set his heels hard against his horse’s sides and was off at a canter, demanding as much as the fatigued animal could give going up the steep road to the keep. When they were within sight of the keep, they saw the gate was up and the portcullis down, and torches burned on the walls.

‘They’ve crawled inside and buttoned up!’ said Locklear.

Reaching the edge of the moat, James called out, ‘Hello the castle!’

From above a sentry shouted, ‘Who goes there?’

‘Squire James, Squire Locklear and Patrus. Let us in.’

There was some discussion, but eventually the massive bridge was lowered while the iron lattice of the portcullis was raised. James and the others rode across the drawbridge.

Inside the barbican, a group of soldiers waited, and James dismounted. ‘What is wrong?’ he demanded.

A soldier said, ‘Assassins, squire. Nighthawks in the castle.’

Locklear said, ‘What has happened?’

‘Baron Gabot is dead, squire. Two captains, and our sergeant.’

‘Gods,’ said Locklear.

‘Who’s in charge?’ asked James.

The soldiers exchanged glances, and finally one said, ‘You are, squire.’

• FOURTEEN • (#ulink_9e3a02d7-6916-524e-bdcc-982e92297a91)

Instructions (#ulink_9e3a02d7-6916-524e-bdcc-982e92297a91)

RIDERS HURRIED ALONG THE HIGHWAY.

Owyn, Gorath and Ethan Graves rode quickly down the highway toward Krondor. They had spent one night at Darkmoor, in a decent inn, indulging themselves in a bottle of good wine – which Gorath grudgingly admitted was better than that served by Baron Cavell – and a hot meal before sleeping on down-stuffed mattresses. The rest of the journey had been less hospitable, sleeping under the stars away from the road, bundled up in sleeping cloaks on rocky ground, and only twice in the rain.

They had made good time from Malac’s Cross to Krondor – less than fifteen days – and hadn’t killed their horses in the process. Now they were within sight of Krondor.

As they slowed their horses to a walk, Graves said, ‘I must throw myself on the mercy of the Temple of Ishap and confess my sins.’

Owyn said, ‘What will they do?’

‘Execute me, perhaps, or exile me. I don’t know.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t much care, but before that I have to get Kat out of the city.’

‘Where will you send her?’

‘To Kesh. I have connections there. Old trading partners in Durbin.’

Owyn said, ‘From what I hear Durbin’s a rough place.’

‘So is Krondor if you have to live on the street,’ said Graves.

Owyn was still trying to piece together all the relationships he and his companions had uncovered since he had first met Locklear. He wished more than once that Squire James was still with them. He asked Graves, ‘What about the Prince’s justice?’

Graves shrugged. ‘If the Ishapians turn me over to Arutha, he’ll probably hang me.’

Owyn reflected on that. In the two weeks he had spent in Graves’s company he had come to like the gruff old man. He was unapologetic about his early past, simply admitting he had been involved in smuggling, extortion, and had killed more than one man on behalf of the Mockers of Krondor. He made no brief excusing his behaviour and only said that since he had heard the call of the temple, he was a changed man.

Owyn believed him, but also decided if a fight broke out he’d want Graves on his side. He was still a powerful-looking man despite his grey hair and lined features.

The gate to the city was manned by armed guards, one of whom put up his hand and said, ‘Halt!’