The Riftwar Legacy: The Complete 4-Book Collection. Raymond E. Feist

old man, his voice rising.

      Locklear held up his hand. ‘I suggest nothing, but I am seeking a particular stone.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘A ruby, unusual in size and character. I seek to return it to its rightful owner, no questions asked. If you came by it, no fault will be placed at your feet, if you help us recover it. If you don’t, then I suggest you may receive a visit from a royal magistrate and some very disapproving guardsmen from the garrison at Tyr-Sog.’

      The old man’s expression turned calculating. His balding pate shone in the light of a single lantern that hung overhead. With feigned indifference he said, ‘I have nothing to hide. But I may be able to help you.’

      ‘What do you know?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Lately, my business has been brisk, but it’s an unusual sort of trade, and I’ve been in this business for fifty years, lad.

      ‘Recently, I’ve been handling transactions for parties I have not met, through agents and couriers. Most unusual, but profitable. Gems of high quality, many of them very rare, even remarkable, have passed through my hands.’

      ‘Tsurani gems?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Precisely!’ said the old man. ‘Yes, similar enough to our own rubies, sapphires, emeralds and the like to be recognized as such, but with slight variations only an expert might notice. And also, other gems unlike any found on this world.’

      ‘Whom do you represent?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘No one known to me,’ said the old man. ‘At irregular intervals of late, dark elves like your companion have come here, and they drop off gems. Later a man comes from the south and brings me gold. I take a commission and wait for the dark elves to return and take the gold.’

      Gorath turned to Locklear. ‘Delekhan. He’s using the gold to arm our people.’

      Locklear held his hand up, requesting silence. ‘We’ll talk later.’ To the old man he said, ‘Who buys the gems?’

      ‘I don’t know, but the man who receives them is known as Isaac. He lives down in Hawk’s Hollow.’

      ‘Have you seen this Isaac?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Many times. He’s a young man, about your height. Light brown hair he wears long to his shoulders.’

      ‘Does he speak like an Easterner?’

      ‘Yes, now that you mention it. He sounds court bred at times.’

      Locklear said, ‘Thank you. I will mention your aid should any official investigation come of this.’

      ‘I am always eager to help the authorities. I run a lawful enterprise.’

      ‘Good.’ Locklear motioned toward Gorath’s purse and said, ‘Sell him the stone.’

      Gorath took out the snow sapphire he had taken from the dead moredhel and put it down before Alescook.

      The merchant picked it up and examined it. ‘Ah, a nice one. I have a buyer for these down south. I’ll give you a golden sovereign for it.’

      ‘Five,’ said Locklear.

      ‘These are not that rare,’ said Alescook, tossing it back to Gorath, who started to put it away. ‘But, on the other hand … two sovereigns.’

      ‘Four,’ said Locklear.

      ‘Three, and that’s done with it.’

      They took the gold, enough for a meal along the way, left and went outside. To his companions Locklear said, ‘We’re passing through Hawk’s Hollow on our way to Krondor, so our next choice is easy. We find Isaac.’

      As he mounted his horse, Gorath said, ‘This Isaac is known to you, then?’

      Locklear said, ‘Yes. He’s the second biggest rogue I’ve known in my life. A fine companion for drinking and brawling. If he’s caught up in something dodgy, it wouldn’t surprise me.’

      They turned their horses southward and left the large, rolling valley of Loriel, entering the narrow river valley leading southward. Locklear had been able to purchase a little food at the inn, but the lack of funds was starting to worry him. He knew they could hunt, but his sense of something dark approaching was growing by the day. A renegade moredhel chieftain bringing warning of possible invasion, money moving to the north to buy weapons from weapons runners, and somehow the Tsurani were involved. Any way he looked at this, it was a bad situation.

      Unable to put aside his foreboding, he kept his thoughts to himself.

      

      Gorath held up his hand and pointed. Softly he said, ‘Something there.’

      ‘I don’t see anything,’ said Owyn.

      ‘If you did, I would not need to warn you,’ suggested the dark elf.

      ‘What do you see?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘An ambush. See those trees. Some lower branches have been hacked off, but not by a woodsman’s axe or saw.’

      ‘Owyn,’ Locklear asked, ‘can you still do that blinding trick?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Owyn, ‘if I can see the man I’m trying to blind.’

      ‘Well, as we’re sitting here, pointing at them, I expect in a moment whoever’s behind that brush is going to figure out we’ve spotted their ambush –’

      Locklear was interrupted by six figures rushing forward from the brush on foot. ‘Moredhel!’ shouted Locklear as he charged.

      He felt the sizzling energy speed past him as Owyn sought to blind an advancing dark elf. The spell took effect, for the creature faltered, reaching up to his eyes in alarm.

      Locklear leaned over the neck of his horse as an arrow flew past him. ‘Get the bowman,’ he shouted to Owyn.

      Gorath shouted a war cry and rode down one attacker while slashing at a second. Locklear engaged a dark elf who seemed indifferent to facing a mounted opponent, and Locklear knew from bitter experience how deadly the moredhel could be. While rarely mounted themselves, they had faced human cavalry for hundreds of years and were adept at pulling riders from horseback. Knowing their tactics, Locklear spurred his mount suddenly, turning it hard to the left. This knocked back the attacker he faced and revealed the one poised to leap and drag him down. Locklear slashed out with his sword, taking the creature in the throat, above his metal breastplate. Locklear kept his horse circling, so he quickly faced his first attacker.

      The sizzling sensation told him Owyn was once more blinding an opponent, and Locklear hoped it was the bowman. The moredhel who had fallen back as the horse spun pressed forward with a vicious slash at Locklear’s leg.

      He barely got his sword down in time and felt the shock run up through his arm. His stiff ribs hindered his parry and the flat of his own blade slammed into his horse’s side, causing the animal to shy.

      Locklear used his left leg and moved the animal back into a straight line, twisting his body to keep his eyes upon his foe. His ribs hurt from the effort, but he stayed alive as the moredhel swung at him again. He knocked that blow aside and delivered a weak counter which slapped his opponent in the face, irritating him more than doing any real damage.

      But the blow did slow the moredhel’s advance, and Locklear got his horse turned to face his foe. Locklear remembered something his father had drilled into him and his brothers; a soldier who has a weapon and doesn’t use it is either an idiot or dead.

      His horse was a weapon, and Locklear put his legs hard against his horse’s flanks and tugged hard on the reins with his off hand. The horse picked up a canter, and to the moredhel it was as if the horse suddenly leaped at him.

      The warrior was a veteran and dodged to one side, but Locklear reined his horse in, turning hard to the left. To the moredhel, it looked