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

      Owyn said, ‘I can’t argue about that night’s sleep.’

      Gorath said nothing.

      

      An hour after dawn they left the inn and Locklear felt remarkably recovered. Where searing agony had accompanied his every movement the day before, he now only felt slightly stiff and weak.

      He indicated a journey toward the north end of the town as he said, ‘If I know Isaac, he’s probably staying at the house of his cousin, a certain young gentleman named Austin Delacroix.’

      ‘From Bas-Tyra?’ asked Owyn as they started up the busy street. Windows were opening as vendors put out their wares for display, or housewives opened up their homes to the morning air and sun.

      ‘Originally,’ said Locklear. ‘A family of marginal nobility, descended from a one time hero of some forgotten war when Bas-Tyra was a city-state; their house rank is all based upon that.’

      ‘Your human issues of rank and status are … difficult to understand,’ observed Gorath.

      ‘Why?’ asked Owyn. ‘Don’t you have chieftains?’

      ‘We do,’ said Gorath. ‘But it is a rank earned by deeds, not one conferred by birth. Delekhan rose by betrayal and bloodshed, yet he was sheltered by his early service to Murmandamus and Murad.’ He almost spat the last two names. ‘If his son Moraeulf gains his ambition to inherit from his father, it will be over the bodies of many such as I. In better times, he would be a valued sword against our people’s enemy, but these are not better times.’

      ‘This is the house, I think,’ said Locklear, pointing to a once-prosperous dwelling fallen on hard times. The house, like those on either side, was a small but well-built structure of wood and stone, with a sturdy door and shuttered windows. But while the others were clean and recently painted, this was faded and dirty.

      Locklear knocked loudly and after a few minutes a sleepy voice from the other side of the door said, ‘What?’

      ‘Isaac?’ shouted Locklear, and the door opened.

      A young man with light brown hair stuck his head out the door and said, ‘Locky?’ The door opened wide and the young man bid them enter. He wore only a rumpled tunic and trousers, obviously having slept in them. ‘I was just getting up,’ he said.

      ‘Right,’ said Locklear, as if humouring him.

      The room was dark, with the shutters and sashes still closed, and the air was stale. Old food odours and sweat mixed with the sour aroma of spilled ale. The furniture was simple, one wooden table with four chairs, a single shelf behind the table, and another small table upon which a lamp rested. Stairs led to a sleeping loft above. A faded tapestry, once residing in surroundings far finer than those in which they hung now, was the sole item of any note. It hung behind Isaac, framing him with a tableau of a meeting between princes who were exchanging gifts while notables of that day looked on from all sides.

      ‘Locklear,’ said Isaac, as if savouring the name. ‘What a pleasure. You’re wearing your years well. I like the moustache. You always could manage the flamboyant.’ He turned away and moved with a visible limp. ‘Sit down. I would offer you tea or coffee, but my cousin is temporarily visiting other relatives in Bas-Tyra, and I have just arrived last night, so we are not well provisioned.’

      ‘That’s all right,’ said Locklear. ‘How long’s it been? Since Arutha’s wedding?’

      Isaac sat in a small wooden chair, and crossed his legs so that he kept his weight on his good leg. ‘The very day. You should have heard the fit old Master of Ceremonies deLacy threw when he found out I wasn’t the Baron of Dorgin’s son.’

      ‘That’s because there is no Baron of Dorgin,’ supplied Locklear. ‘If you’d done your research, you would have avoided that gaffe.’

      ‘How was I supposed to know the lands outside the dwarven enclave are the province of the Duke of the Southern Marches?’

      ‘Study?’ suggested Locklear.

      ‘Never my strong suit,’ said Isaac with a wave of his hand.

      ‘Well, at least deLacy was too busy with the wedding to toss you out until the next day,’ said Locklear. ‘We had a good time that night. What have you been doing since?’

      ‘I spent some time in the east with my family, then returned a few years ago to the west. Since then I’ve been doing odd jobs along the border. So, what brings a member of Krondor’s court so far from home with such unusual company?’

      ‘Certain doings, some bloody, which unfortunately point to you.’

      ‘Me?’ said Isaac. ‘You’re not serious.’

      ‘I’m as serious as a royal torturer, Isaac, and you’ll have a chance to make a first-hand comparison if you don’t answer me truthfully. I’ll have Gorath sit on you while I go fetch the local constable. We can have a pleasant talk here, or a very unpleasant one in Krondor.’

      Locklear had no intention of summoning the local constable and trying to sort out his claim of rank and authority, especially with no royal writs or warrants. But Isaac didn’t know that, and Locklear wasn’t about to enlighten him.

      ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Isaac, starting to slowly rise.

      Gorath said softly, ‘Reach for that sword behind you and you’ll have a leg to match the other before your fingers touch the hilt, human.’

      ‘Damn,’ said Isaac quietly, sitting back down in the chair.

      ‘The ruby,’ said Locklear.

      ‘What ruby?’ said Isaac.

      ‘The one you bought from Kiefer Alescook. The one you paid for with gold heading north to buy Delekhan weapons. The ruby stolen from an important Tsurani magician. The ruby that’s the latest in a series of such transactions.’

      Isaac ran a hand over his face and back through his hair. ‘Locky, it’s been hard.’

      Locklear’s expression turned dark and his voice took on a menacing tone that had Owyn sitting back in surprise. ‘As hard as treason, Isaac? As hard as the jerk at the end of a hangman’s rope?’

      ‘Who said anything about treason, Locky?’ Isaac’s manner turned to pleading. ‘Look, we were boyhood friends before I had my accident. If our positions had been reversed, you’d know; you’d understand what it’s like to be a hired sword with a bad leg. Locky, I was nearly starving when this opportunity came along. I was too far in before I discovered who was behind it.’

      ‘Tell us what you know and I’ll do you a favour,’ said Locklear.

      Isaac looked downfallen, and said in a contrite fashion, ‘I was in over my head before I knew who I was dealing with. Alescook is an old acquaintance. I know that from time to time he “finds” gems and jewellery that has … ah, “clouded” title is a polite way of putting it.’

      ‘Stolen,’ said Locklear.

      Isaac squirmed. ‘Whatever the cause, the market in the Kingdom is difficult, so those gems find their way south, to Kesh or over the water to Queg or the Free Cities. I’m just a middleman, someone who can take a little trip down to the Vale or over to Krondor or Sarth and put something on a ship. That’s all.’

      ‘The ruby?’ said Locklear.

      Isaac started to rise and hesitated as Gorath leaned forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. Isaac continued rising slowly, then mounted the stairs to the loft above. Locklear motioned with his head to Owyn, who stood up and hurried through a small door in the wall next to the tapestry. He found himself in a tiny kitchen, one dirty enough he would have to be far hungrier than he presently was to consider eating anything prepared there. He ducked through the back door and looked up at a window above, where he saw the head of Isaac disappear back inside. Owyn smiled; Locklear’s instincts