Krondor: The Betrayal. Raymond E. Feist

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.

      Locklear sighed. ‘They’re covering all the roads, then.’

      ‘How do we proceed?’ asked Owyn.

      Pulling his sword, Gorath said, ‘We kill them.’ He spurred his horse forward, with Locklear hesitating only an instant before following.

      Owyn reached up and quickly pulled out his staff, tucking it under his arm like a lance, then urging his horse forward. He heard a shout as he rounded a turn in the trail and entered a widening in the road where one dark elf lay dying in the road as Gorath sped past him.

      The other three were not so quickly taken, but rather hurried up into higher rocks where the horses couldn’t follow. Locklear didn’t hesitate and in a move that startled Owyn, the squire jumped up on his saddle and leaped off the running horse’s back, knocking a moredhel from the rock he was climbing.

      On his right Owyn saw another one turn, rapidly stringing his bow, then reaching in a hip quiver for an arrow. Owyn urged his horse forward, and swept his staff, striking the bowman below the knee. The bowman went down, his feet shooting out from under him, and struck the rocks with the back of his head.

      Owyn’s mount shied from the sudden motion near his head and suddenly Owyn found himself falling backwards. ‘Ahhhh!’ he cried, and then he struck something softer than the rocks. A stunned ‘oof’ accompanied the impact, and a groan told him he had landed atop the already injured dark elf.

      As if scorched by the touch of a flame, Owyn turned over and sat up, scrambling backwards. Suddenly he was struck from behind by his horse as the animal turned and sped down the trail. ‘Hey!’ Owyn shouted, as if he could order the animal to stop.

      He then realized there was a struggle going on, and the twice-struck moredhel was attempting to rise. Owyn looked around for a weapon and saw the fallen archer’s bow. Owyn grabbed it, and using it like a club, struck the moredhel in the head with as much strength as he could muster. The bow shattered and the warrior’s head snapped back. Owyn was certain he wouldn’t rise again.

      The young magician turned to see Locklear standing away from a now dead dark elf, while Gorath likewise stood over a fallen foe. The moredhel turned and looked in all directions, as if seeking another foe. After a moment, he put up his sword and said, ‘They are alone.’

      ‘How can you tell?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘These are my people,’ said Gorath without apparent bitterness. ‘It is unusual for even this many to travel together this far south of our lands.’ He motioned toward a small fire. ‘They didn’t expect to encounter us.’

      ‘Then what were they doing here?’ asked Locklear.

      ‘Waiting for someone?’

      ‘Who?’ asked Owyn.

      Gorath looked around in the late-afternoon light as if seeing something in the distant peaks, or through the rocks on either side of the trail. ‘I don’t know. But they were waiting here.’

      Locklear said, ‘Where is your horse, Owyn?’

      Owyn looked over his shoulder and said, ‘Back down there somewhere. I fell off.’

      Gorath smiled. ‘I saw you land on that one over there.’ He indicated the body.

      Locklear said, ‘Hurry back down the trail and see if you can find him. If he’s heading back toward LaMut, we’ll have to ride in rotation. I don’t want to be slowed any more than necessary.’

      As Owyn ran off, Gorath said, ‘Why don’t you leave him behind?’

      Locklear studied the moredhel’s expression as if trying to read him, then at last he said, ‘It’s not our way.’

      Gorath laughed mockingly. ‘My experience with your kind tells me otherwise.’