The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection

‘Depends on what it is, I guess,’ offered Owyn.

Gorath gave a slight nod, but still said nothing.

‘There would have to be a local contact, someone who knew where one disposes of something of value.’

‘And you expect to discover this person in the midst of the throng of this city and use him to trace this band of thieves?’ asked Gorath.

‘No,’ said Locklear waving away the comment. ‘The captain said the stolen item is a gem, which being from Kelewan isn’t a shock. There isn’t much on that world of value that’s also easy to transport that would fetch a high value here. So my thinking is that the best way to find this missing gem is to learn where it’s most likely to end up.’

‘A fence?’ asked Owyn.

‘No, for if as I suspect the value of the ruby is enough to give a band of desperate men a new start on a strange world, it would have to be the sort of man who has a legitimate enterprise, one likely to mask the movement of this item.’

‘You seem to understand this sort of business better than a noble of your race should,’ observed Gorath.

‘I said I kept the wrong sort of company. After buying a few drinks, I discovered there’s a merchant with less than a stellar reputation who deals in gems, jewellery, and other luxury items. He’s a man named Kiefer Alescook.’

‘Who told you this?’ asked Owyn.

‘Our host, actually,’ said Locklear, motioning it was time for them to depart. They rose and gathered their gear, and moved out down the stairs to the common room. With a wave goodbye to Sumani, they moved through the door. Once outside the inn, Locklear motioned for them to walk around the corner to the stabling yard next to the inn. They moved inside the door and found three men waiting for them, each holding two horses.

One said, ‘Switch cloaks, quickly!’

Each was of a like height with Locklear and his companions and the exchange was made. If the man playing the part of Gorath had any notion of whom he was impersonating, he kept such thoughts to himself, merely handing Gorath a large blue cloak, taking the dark grey one worn by the moredhel. The others switched cloaks and Locklear took the reins of one of the horses.

By the time the three impostors were mounted, the sound of hooves on the stones announced the arrival of the patrol that would head down toward Zūn this evening. From outside the gate of the stabling yard, a sergeant shouted, ‘We’re here to escort you south, Squire Locklear!’

Locklear took his cue and shouted back, ‘We’re ready!’ He nodded to the three men impersonating them who rode off and joined the van of the column. Locklear waited and after a few minutes said, ‘Owyn, you ride out, turn left and head straight out the gate. Ride a mile, then wait. Gorath and I will be behind you by a few minutes.’

Gorath grunted his approval. ‘So should anyone linger, he won’t see three riders.’

Locklear nodded and Owyn said, ‘Hold this, please.’ He handed his quarterstaff to Locklear, climbed into the saddle, then took the long oaken pole back. With a deft movement, he slung it over his shoulder, through his belt, then twisted it, so it hung across his shoulders and back, not encumbering him or the horse too much.

Gorath easily mounted, though he looked slightly ill at ease.

‘Don’t ride much?’ asked Locklear as Owyn departed.

‘Not really. It’s been a while, thirty or so years.’

‘Not a lot of horses in the Northlands?’

Without bitterness, Gorath said, ‘Not a lot of anything in the Northlands.’

Locklear said, ‘I remember.’

Gorath nodded. ‘We bled at Armengar.’

Locklear said, ‘Not enough. It didn’t keep you from coming through Highcastle.’

Gorath pointed with his chin. ‘We should go now.’ He didn’t wait for Locklear, but put heels to the sides of his horse and rode out.

Locklear hesitated a moment, then followed after. He overtook the dark elf as he rode easily through the foot traffic of the city. Men hurried home for evening meals while shops closed on every side. Travellers fresh in from the highway hurried toward the inn, eager to wash away the day’s trail dust with an ale, and women of the night began to appear on street corners.

Locklear and Gorath rode out the gate, ignored by the guards, and set their horses to cantering. A few minutes later they spied Owyn sitting on the side of the road.

When they reached him, he turned and said, ‘Now what?’

Locklear pointed toward a stand of woods a short distance away. ‘A cold camp, unfortunately, but at first light we ride north a few miles. There’s a mine road to the east that leads over the mountains. We’ll take that, then turn south on the other side. With luck we’ll avoid those seeking our friend here and make our way safely to the King’s Highway south of Quester’s View.’

Owyn said, ‘That means we’re going to come out near Loriel, right?’

‘Yes,’ said Locklear, with a smile. ‘Which means we’ll have the chance to visit one Kiefer Alescook along the way.’

‘Why involve ourselves in this matter?’ asked Gorath. ‘We need to hurry to Krondor.’

‘We are, and a few minutes’ conversation with Master Alescook may yield us a benefit. Should we discover the whereabouts of this missing gem, we win credit with Prince Arutha, for I am certain he wishes to be a gracious host to the visiting magicians from Kelewan.’

‘And if we don’t?’ asked Owyn as they rode toward the woods.

‘Then I still have to come up with a compelling reason why I left Tyr-Sog without his leave and returned with only this moredhel and an unlikely story.’

Owyn sighed aloud. ‘Well, you think of one to tell my father when I get back home and I’ll try to come up with something to tell the Prince.’

Gorath chuckled at this.

Owyn and Locklear exchanged glances. Locklear shook his head in the evening gloom. He had never considered the dark elves might have a sense of humour.

The wind was cold in the passes, for as winter was coming, in the elevations above them snow already clung tenaciously to the rocks and ice lurked in depressions in the road, making the footing dangerous.

They rode slowly, Locklear and Owyn both with their cloaks pulled tightly around them. Gorath kept his hood up, but rode without apparent discomfort.

‘How much longer?’ asked Owyn, his teeth chattering.

‘A half-hour less than the last time you asked,’ said Locklear.

‘Squire,’ said Owyn. ‘I’m freezing.’

Locklear said, ‘Really. How unusual.’

Gorath held up his hand. ‘Quiet,’ he said softly, with just enough authority and volume to carry to his companions, but no farther. He pointed up ahead. ‘In the rocks,’ he whispered.

‘What?’ asked Locklear in hushed tones.

Gorath only pointed. He held up four fingers.

‘Maybe they’re bandits,’ whispered Owyn.

‘They’re speaking my tongue,’ said Gorath.