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

you.’ He studied Gorath’s face for a moment, as if trying to read something inside the moredhel chieftain. ‘But I would like the opportunity to learn some time. I can appreciate the drive to right a wrong, personally. When you are finished with Pug, return and I will welcome your sword.’

      Gorath said, ‘You are also more than I expected, Prince Arutha. I also would appreciate the opportunity to learn more of your people.’ He glanced at Owyn. ‘Though this boy and the other have shown me a great deal already that has made me question many of my people’s attitudes toward your race.’

      Arutha said, ‘That is a beginning. Perhaps one day we can have more.’ He came around the table and extended his hand to Gorath, who took it. They shook hands and it was more than a gesture.

      ‘Your Highness is gracious,’ said Gorath.

      ‘Rest, and tomorrow go with the patrol I send to Malac’s Cross. It is faster than trying to go straight through the woods toward Sethanon and around the mountains to Darkmoor. I’ll have documents drawn and you can commandeer an escort at Malac’s Cross and at Darkmoor. They should get you to Krondor safely. Once there, Pug will know what to do.’

      Owyn and Gorath departed, and a soldier escorted them to a tent. He held aside the tent flap and said, ‘The lads who sleep here are on patrol until tomorrow, so they won’t mind your sleeping here if you don’t steal nothing.’ He smiled to show he was joking, but Gorath fixed him with a stare that caused the smile to fade. He hurried away saying, ‘There’s food at the big fire near the Prince’s tent when you’re hungry.’

      Gorath said, ‘It will be good to eat hot food again.’ He glanced over to one of the bedrolls to find Owyn already face-down and snoring.

      

      James cursed all petty barons who answered only to the King as he negotiated his way along a frozen ridge, his breath forming clouds of white before him as he exhaled. The air stung each time he inhaled, his toes were numb, and his stomach reminded him he had not eaten yet.

      James had arrived within hours of Locklear at Baron Gabot’s fortress, a towering keep of stone which dominated one of the three major passes through the eastern half of the Teeth of the World. Unlike Highcastle, which had sat in the middle of the pass itself, providing a barrier that was a controlled gate, Northwarden rose up on a small peak, around which wound the pass known as Northland’s Door. A single road wound down the side of the large hill in a lazy s-curve, widening as it descended. Designed this way, the road gave the double benefit of allowing the Baron’s forces to spread out as they charged down to intercept any foe, while forcing any attackers to concentrate a smaller force in the van should they be foolish enough to attack up the road.

      What kept the road below in Baron Gabot’s control was a series of siege engines mounted on two walls, the north and the west. The western defences were the heaviest, while the northern were designed to harry any forces attempting to come down the pass and negotiate the turn up the road to the keep. Mangonels and catapults, as well as a trio of heavy ballistae over the main gate, ensured that any army attempting to pass would take critical casualties before they rounded the pass and got beyond the engines’ range. Some soldiers would get past, it was certain, but nothing resembling an organized force. And to deal with any who did win through, the Baron kept a small garrison of horse soldiers in a barracks near the small town of Dencamp-on-the-Teeth.

      Baron Gabot had felt confident that any threat coming through Northwarden could be dealt with by his command. That had been a welcome response to James, though he hoped fervently that Owyn and Gorath had reached Arutha in the Dimwood and help was on the way. He was beginning to worry. Had they reached Arutha and convinced him of the warning, the Prince’s army should have been arriving at Northwarden now.

      Instead, there was only silence. Gabot had sent another message to the Dimwood, at James’s urging, requesting support from the Prince, and had also sent word south via fast messenger to the King, his liege lord. At least, thought James, Gabot wasn’t as stiff-necked as old Baron Brian Highcastle, who had managed to get himself killed ignoring Arutha’s advice when Murmandamus had driven south over his position. With luck, Arutha would receive Gabot’s message even if Gorath and Owyn hadn’t survived.

      James found himself hoping that wasn’t the case; he had grown fond of the youth from Timons, and he was surprised to find he also had come to like something about the moredhel. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something definite about the dark elf, a lack of uncertainty about who or what he was; few men had it, and James admired it: even more, he admired the moredhel’s ability to put aside his own personal dislike for humans to seek their aid in opposing what he saw as a great wrong against his people.

      Locklear waved and pointed. As a favour for Baron Gabot, since dawn, he and James had been scouting ahead to see if advance moredhel units were anywhere in the north end of the pass. A patrol had headed out two days before, accompanied by a magician now in the Baron’s employ, and the Baron was concerned about their fate. It went unsaid that the two squires were no loss to the Baron should any harm befall them, while losing another patrol to the enemy would severely weaken Northwarden. James and Locklear couldn’t contrive a plausible reason to say no, so here on the second day of their trip they were working their way through the frozen dawn, with James silently cursing all border barons.

      A noise ahead had alerted them to a possible enemy position. Locklear was holding his horse while James climbed above the floor of the pass to a high ridge to get a look ahead. A single figure scampered along the trail, holding the hem of his ivory-coloured robe with one hand, exposing spindly legs as he hurried. In his other hand he held a large staff, shod at either end with iron caps.

      Every hundred feet or so, he would turn and pause, and when a pursuing figure would come into view, he’d unleash a bolt of energy, a blast of flame the size of a melon; a tactic that was producing little real damage, but which served to keep the pursuer from closing. James began scrambling down the hillside, while Locklear shouted, ‘What is it?’

      Sliding the last dozen yards, James hit the ground running and said, ‘I think we’ve found Gabot’s magician.’ He pulled a crossbow off the back of his horse and quickly cranked it up and placed a bolt in it, while Locklear drew his sword and waited.

      The old man rounded a corner and hesitated when he saw the two squires. Locklear signed for him to come on, and shouted, ‘This way!’

      The old man hurried and when the moredhel who was chasing him rounded the same corner, James drew a bead on him, then let fly with his crossbow. The bolt sped across the gap and took the moredhel right off his feet, propelling him backward.

      Locklear said, ‘You’ve been practising. I’m impressed.’

      ‘I’ll never learn to use the bow, but this thing is pretty easy,’ said James, putting away the crossbow.

      ‘Not very accurate, though.’

      James nodded. ‘Find a good one, then keep it. Some of them shoot all over the place; this one usually hits what I’m aiming at.’

      The old man was puffing a bit and when he reached them, he put his staff down and leaned on it. ‘Thanks, lads. That was a little closer than I care to think about.’

      ‘Are you Master Patrus?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Just Patrus,’ said the old man. ‘Yes, I’m he. Why, you looking for me?’

      James said, ‘And a company of Baron Gabot’s soldiers.’

      The old man was slender and sported a wispy grey moustache and goatee. He wore a hat that looked more like a nightcap than any sort of proper hat, and along with the ivory-coloured robe, it made him appear to be walking about in his nightclothes. Pointing back the way he had come, he said, ‘We got jumped a half-day back, by a mixed company of those damned Dark Brothers and trolls. Those trolls were a handful, I can tell you.’

      James said, ‘I’ve fought them. You’re the only one to get away?’

      ‘One or another of the lads may have found a way through. Some of them got up into