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

Owyn felt his knees go weak and he faltered. Strong hands grabbed him, holding him upright. He blinked and was again standing before the statue. ‘What?’

      ‘Are you all right?’ asked Gorath. ‘You touched the statue and seemed to falter.’

      ‘I was someplace else,’ said Owyn. ‘How long was I gone?’

      ‘Gone?’ said Gorath. ‘You weren’t gone. You but touched the statue and staggered slightly, then I grabbed your arm.’

      ‘It seemed longer,’ said Owyn.

      ‘It happens that way, sometimes,’ said James, touching the stone. He withdrew his hand a moment later. ‘Who gets to speak to the Oracle is the Oracle’s choice. What did she say to you?’

      Owyn glanced at Gorath and James. ‘Only that I must trust … you both.’

      ‘Did the Oracle say anything useful?’ asked James, gripping Owyn by the arm.

      ‘Only that the days ahead are filled with hardship.’

      Gorath snorted in contempt. ‘As if we need an oracle to tell us that.’

      James said, ‘Let’s get back to the abbey and see if our horses are ready. We still have a fair ride ahead.’

      ‘Where are we bound? Salador?’ asked Owyn.

      ‘No, the high road to Silden. It’s less travelled and more dangerous for that, but anyone looking for us is still hanging about outside Krondor, I wager, waiting for us to stick our heads out of the palace. With luck, we will be on the road to Romney before our enemies finally learn we are no longer in the palace.’

      Owyn nodded, and as they began their return to the inn-turned-abbey, he cast a backward glance over his shoulder toward the clearing in which the dragon statue rested. There was something he had sensed in his dream state, something he had not spoken of: the Oracle was afraid.

       • SIX •

       Journey

      THE ABBOT WAVED A GREETING.

      They climbed the trail from the dragon statue to the converted inn, and found Abbot Graves waiting for them. ‘You’d better get into town before you leave, James,’ he said.

      ‘Why?’ asked James, looking for signs of trouble in the Abbot’s manner.

      ‘About five minutes after you vanished down that trail, a column of riders came past here, heading into the city.’

      James squinted towards town, as if trying to see the riders. ‘Something was notable about them, else you wouldn’t be remarking on them. What?’

      ‘They wore the King’s colours. And unless I don’t remember my days as a thief in Krondor, old Guy du Bas-Tyra himself rode at their head.’

      ‘That’s something we need to see then,’ said James. He motioned for Gorath and Owyn to follow him and started walking toward town. ‘We’ll be back in a while, Graves.’

      The Abbot waved goodbye, and turned back into the building.

      They hurried into the town, heading down the main boulevard, and reached the town square. There, a full squad of riders were dismounting and tending to their horses before an inn with a chess piece – a white queen – on its sign. The soldiers were all attired in the livery of the royal house, black trousers and boots, grey tunics over which each wore a scarlet tabard with a white circle and scarlet lion rampant, crowned gold and holding a sword: the King’s coat-of-arms. A line of purple around the edge of the circle and upon the cuffs of the tunic showed these were palace guards, those whose first duty was to the Royal Family. Two guards stood at the door, and one said, ‘Easy now, friend. The Duke of Rillanon is taking his ease in the commons and no one goes in until he’s left or without the Duke’s say-so.’

      ‘Then get yourself inside, soldier, and tell him Seigneur James of Krondor is here on the Prince’s business.’

      The soldier gave James and his companions an appraising look, then went inside.

      A moment later a large man, his grey hair flowing to his shoulders and a black patch over his left eye, appeared before them. He stood with his hand upon the door a moment, then waved them in.

      Inside the common room, James and the others could see the soldiers of the King’s Royal Guard were efficiently checking out the surroundings.

      Guy du Bas-Tyra, Duke of Rillanon and First Counsellor to the King of Isles, waved them to a table where he sat down heavily. ‘Get me something to drink!’ he shouted, and a soldier detailed to be his orderly hurried to where an intimidated-looking barman waited. The man almost hurt himself on the edge of the bar trying to bring out a tray of pewter jacks. He filled them quickly and ran over to place the first one before Bas-Tyra and then served the others at the table. He said, ‘Would m’lord care for something to eat?’

      ‘Later,’ said Guy, slowly removing his heavy gloves. ‘Something hot for me and my men. Cook up a side of beef.’ The innkeeper bowed and backed away, knocking over a chair at the next table, which he quickly righted. Guy looked at James and nodded.

      James’s brow furrowed but he returned the nod. Duke Guy said, ‘So, Arutha is sending you east to snoop around?’

      James said, ‘That’s one way of putting it, Your Grace.’

      Guy pointed to Gorath. ‘Now, explain to me why I shouldn’t cut his heart out and hang you for being a black-hearted rogue and traitor to the Crown?’

      Gorath’s hand tightened slightly on the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t move. Owyn’s face drained of colour, but he saw James smile.

      ‘Because it would irritate Arutha?’

      Guy laughed. ‘You haven’t lost any of that mouth, have you, Jimmy?’

      The young man said, ‘I probably never will. We’ve been through too much for you to seriously wonder about where my loyalties lie, so I judged you were taking out your bad temper on me because you couldn’t take it out on Arutha. Why’s he got you so peeved?’

      The Duke of Rillanon, most powerful noble in the Kingdom after the Royal Family, leaned back in his plain wooden chair and made an all-encompassing gesture around him. ‘This. Because I’m here in a town whose only excuse for existing is its location between Krondor and Salador, and because Lyam is concerned about reports that have been coming to the court of renegade moredhel –’ he locked his one good eye on Gorath ‘– and some other unsavoury types running loose between here and Romney.’

      ‘Why you?’

      ‘A variety of reasons,’ said the Duke. He took a long drink of ale. ‘I usually don’t drink this early in the day, but I’m usually not riding all night, either.’

      ‘Those other unsavoury types wouldn’t be Nighthawks, would they?’ asked James.

      ‘They might be,’ said Guy. ‘What’s Arutha hearing?’

      ‘Nothing until I get back and report,’ said James. ‘But on the way into the city, Locky and these two found a pair of frauds playing the part of the Guild of Death.’

      Guy looked off into the distance for a moment, as if weighing his words. ‘If you were trying to revive the Nighthawks,’ he posed to James, ‘and you wanted someone to think that you weren’t, how useful would it be to have a bunch of bunglers found out as false Nighthawks?’

      James’s eyes widened. ‘Brilliant! It would take attention off what I was really trying to do, I would have some pawns to offer up as a sacrifice, and the people I’m the most worried about wouldn’t take me seriously.’

      ‘Look deep,