Krondor the Betrayal (26 page)

They came the next night. James had again been reading the Cavell family history, and Owyn was meditating on the bed, his eyes closed as he was developing a method of casting the 176

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spell Nago had used on him. Gorath lay sleeping on the floor, having elected to sit the later watch.

One moment James was reading, and the next he was moving, his sword coming out of his scabbard. Owyn was shot forward by two heavy bodies hitting the other side of the door as the window shutters exploded inward. An assassin had tied a rope to the roof beam and swung out, so he could crash feetfirst through the wooden shutters into the room.

He caught James full in the chest, and the squire flew backwards into Gorath. Owyn came up on his knees, then fell back out of the way of a sword blow, while behind him someone was trying to force the door open.

Owyn had been halfway through constructing the spell in his mind and suddenly letters of fire seemed to burn in his mind’s eye. He raised his hand and pointed it at the assassin, who was again raising his sword. An evil purple-grey sphere, black veins of energy dancing across its surface, leaped from his hand, striking the assassin in the face. The man froze as if suddenly transformed into purple stone, blue sparkles of energy dancing across the surface of his body. A faint moan of pain escaped his lips.

James was up and ran to the window, thrusting his sword through it as another man tried to swing in. The second Nighthawk was impaled on the blade and fell into the stable yard below, striking the stones with a sickening wet thud.

Gorath regained his footing and threw his weight against the door. He shouted, ‘‘Do we try to hold the door?’’

James said, ‘‘When I yell, jump back and pull that last bed with you.’’

Owyn was staring at the entranced assassin in wide-eyed wonder. ‘‘It worked!’’ he whispered.

James struck the ensorcelled man as hard as he could across the back of the head with the flat of his sword, and he crum-pled to the ground, the energy around him vanishing. ‘‘Can you do it again?’’

‘‘I don’t know.’’

‘‘Then get out of the way! Gorath, now!’’

Gorath did as he was told, and Owyn grabbed the bed and 177

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pulled it away as well. The other two beds began to slide away from the door.

‘‘If I know my Nighthawks,’’ said James, ‘‘I suggest you duck . . . now!’’

Both men did so as James fell to the floor. The door burst open and two crossbow bolts flew into the room and vanished out the window. James instantly jumped atop the bed Gorath and Owyn had just moved. He bounced off the bed and crashed into the two men closest to the door, sending them through the railing of the stairs to the floor below. He slid over the edge of the landing, barely avoiding a fall by grabbing a part of a shattered post. His sword went clattering to the floor below, as an astonished and shocked Peter the Grey entered the room from behind the bar. ‘‘What?’’

James looked up from where he hung to see a Nighthawk standing over him, sword raised high. The assassin’s eyes went round as Gorath ran him through with his sword. The last Nighthawk tumbled over James to the floor below, landing at Peter’s feet.

‘‘Oh, my word!’’ said the innkeeper. ‘‘My word!’’

James hung by one hand, and said, ‘‘If it wouldn’t be too much trouble . . .’’

Gorath’s powerful hand seized him by the wrist and hauled him up to the landing. James said, ‘‘Thank you,’’ and hurried down the stairs, rubbing his sore shoulder. ‘‘I’m getting too old for that sort of thing,’’ he observed.

‘‘What is going on?’’ asked Peter.

James knelt next to the last assassin and began searching the body. ‘‘These men tried to kill us,’’ he answered calmly. ‘‘We didn’t let them.’’

‘‘Well . . .’’ said the innkeeper. ‘‘Well . . . I . . .’’ After a moment, he said, ‘‘Well,’’ one more time.

James said, ‘‘Get somebody in here to clean up the mess, Peter. Else your customers may be put off their meals.’’

The innkeeper turned and hurried off to do as he was bid.

Instructions like that he understood. To Owyn, James said,

‘‘You’d better go get your uncle and explain to him that we’ve just removed most of the Nighthawks who were stalking him.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘I think he might not even object too much to 178

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being awakened in the middle of the night for that bit of news.’’

After Owyn left, Gorath said, ‘‘I noticed you said, ‘most of the Nighthawks who were stalking him.’ ’’

James stood up after having found nothing useful on the bodies. ‘‘We still have one Nighthawk to go, I think. At least one who matters.’’

‘‘The leader?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘And how do you propose to find him?’’

‘‘I don’t,’’ said James with a satisfied smile. ‘‘He will find us. And I think it will be this weekend when a certain chess player arrives to pay court to Owyn’s cousin.’’

Gorath considered that, then nodded. ‘‘He’s a logical suspect, but how will you prove it? Accuse him in public?’’

‘‘Unlike your people, where I suspect an open challenge of honor carries some weight, this is a man whose honor is non-existent. He is one who lurks in shadows and kills from behind trees. He would only deny an accusation.’’

‘‘So then how do you get him to confess. Torture?’’

James laughed. ‘‘I’ve always considered torture to be of dubious benefit. Fanatics will die with a lie on their lips, and an innocent man will condemn himself to stop the pain.’’

‘‘I have found that torture, applied judiciously, can yield interesting results.’’

‘‘No doubt,’’ said James, with a look of mixed amusement and alarm.

Peter the Grey returned with his stable man and two workers, all of whom lost their sleepy slowness when they saw the bodies. ‘‘Take them out back and burn the bodies,’’ instructed the innkeeper. As they complied, he looked at the shattered balcony railing, and asked, ‘‘Who will pay for this?’’

James dug out a gold coin, and said, ‘‘I will. If I find the man behind this, I’ll recover my gold from him. No need for you to bear the burden of cost.’’

‘‘Thank you,’’ said Peter, greatly relieved.

Owyn returned with his uncle behind him, dressed in his nightclothes with a large cloak around his shoulders. He was still barefoot. ‘‘You’ve killed the Nighthawks?’’ he asked.

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James said, ‘‘I’m certain we’ve stamped out most of them in the area.’’

Baron Corvallis was almost beside himself with glee. Then his mood turned darker. ‘‘Most?’’

‘‘There’s some business I think needs to be finished by Sixthday, then I think you’ll be safe from the Guild of Assassins, m’lord.’’

Corvallis said, ‘‘Owyn, you couldn’t have awakened me for better cause.’’ To James he said, ‘‘I must pen a missive to Arutha, commending you to him for your good works this day.’’

‘‘Thank you, sir,’’ said James, ‘‘but I’ll be sending my own report to the Prince.’’

‘‘No false modesty, my boy.’’ He put a fatherly hand on James’s shoulder. ‘‘You must take praise where it comes. You might not be a squire all your life. Who knows, with a friend in court, and with recommendations such as mine, why someday you might rise to the rank of Baronet or even Baron!’’

James grinned. ‘‘One never knows.’’

‘‘Well, then,’’ said the Baron, turning toward the door. To Peter he said, ‘‘Provide these gentlemen with whatever they need.’’ To Owyn he said, ‘‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am.

I look forward to your company on Sixthday.’’

He hurried out, and Owyn asked, ‘‘What now?’’

James looked at the mess, and said, ‘‘I think some sleep is in order.’’

He retrieved his sword from where it had landed, cleaned it off on the tunic of the last dead Nighthawk, and as Peter the Grey returned to the commons, said, ‘‘Master Grey, there’s another dead one up in our room. Please remove it as well.’’

‘‘Oh, my word!’’ said the innkeeper.

‘‘He’s here,’’ said Owyn, hurrying into the room. Gorath and James had been resting on their beds, trying to relax after the fury of the night before.

James said, ‘‘You’re certain it’s him?’’

‘‘Dandy, wearing fine clothing, and Ugyne is riding behind him with her head on his shoulder, just to annoy her father.’’

‘‘That’s our man,’’ said James. ‘‘Let him find us already half-drunk.’’

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They hurried downstairs to an empty commons, and found things ready as James had requested. A chessboard had been set up, and James had positioned the men as he wanted. Several empty tankards had been left nearby, and he signaled for Peter to bring over three half-filled.

Owyn sat opposite James, and said, ‘‘I hope you don’t expect me to comment on this game. I have no idea what I’m looking at.’’

‘‘Good,’’ said James, ‘‘because your part is to do nothing but look confused.’’

Owyn’s brow furrowed as he said, ‘‘Well, I can do that with conviction.’’

The door opened a short while later and Ugyne came in, almost skipping, leading by the hand a person who could only be Navon du Sandau. He was what James expected: tall, dressed in black with a white scarf around his neck. He wore a neatly trimmed pointed beard, a golden earring with a large diamond, and several golden chains which hung down his chest. He walked easily, with his left hand upon his sword hilt. James noted that while the hilt of the sword was decorative, too, it was well worn, and the blade was almost certainly sharp and well oiled. It was a rapier, and the only other man James knew who preferred the rapier as a weapon of choice was the Prince of Krondor. Light and agile, the rapier was a deadly weapon in the hands of a master, but in the hands of a novice, it was an easy way to get killed.

James had no doubt that Navon was a master. As Ugyne approached, she said, ‘‘Owyn, I have someone I want you to meet.’’

Owyn looked up, and said, ‘‘Good. You can save me from humiliation.’’

Ugyne introduced Owyn, James, and Gorath, and said, ‘‘This is my friend, Navon du Sandau.’’

James nodded, doing his best imitation of a man who had started drinking early. He nodded slightly to Owyn, who said,

‘‘I think I should resign.’’

With a smile, du Sandau said, ‘‘Don’t resign. Your position is difficult, but not hopeless.’’

Owyn looked at James, who again nodded slightly, and 181

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Owyn said, ‘‘Would you care to take over? I’m out of my depth.’’

Navon said, ‘‘If James doesn’t mind?’’

James shrugged. ‘‘By all means. It was simply a friendly game; no stakes.’’

Owyn stood up and stepped aside and Navon took his place.

He studied the board, and said, ‘‘My move?’’

James nodded. ‘‘It’s black’s move.’’

Navon studied the board and moved exactly as James had expected. James knew Navon was almost certainly a far better chess player than he was, but he had positioned the pieces as they had been during a game with the Keshian Ambassador, Lord Abdur Memo Hazara-Khan, only he had been in Navon’s position then. The ambassador had taken great pains to explain James’s mistake to him after the match, and the game was etched in James’s memory. Navon had moved exactly as Lord Hazara-Khan had told James he should have moved in that long-ago game.

Ugyne showed Owyn a silver locket with a tiny emerald in it. ‘‘See what Navon brought me?’’

Owyn nodded appreciatively and watched the match. Both men took great pains to consider every option before they moved. After three moves James was convinced that should this game run its course, Navon would eventually win. Only by starting from a position of dominance was he able to appear competent enough to keep Navon’s interest.

Gorath stood up, as if bored, and moved toward the door.

‘‘I’ll be back shortly,’’ he said to no one in particular.

This was Owyn’s cue, and he said, ‘‘Oh, Ugyne, do you remember that odd book on the family?’’

‘‘Which book?’’ asked the girl.

‘‘The one with all those strange stories in it. You showed it to me when we were little. It was written by some cleric.’’

‘‘Oh!’’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘‘You mean
The Abbot’s Journal
! Yes, I do. It’s funny, but I lent it to Navon here, a while ago, so he could learn about the family.’’

Owyn said, ‘‘Oh, I was hoping to read something in it I remembered from when I was a boy.’’

James studied his opponent. If he was paying attention to 182

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the exchange behind him, he was a master of control. Not a twitch or flinch or even the slightest urge to turn and look at Owyn was evident. He was fixed upon the board before him.

Owyn asked, ‘‘Navon, do you have the book with you?’’

‘‘What?’’ he asked, looking over. ‘‘Book?’’

‘‘The family journal,’’ said Ugyne. ‘‘I lent it to you a month ago.’’

‘‘Oh, that,’’ he said offhandedly. ‘‘I left it at home. I’ll return it next week.’’

James nodded slightly, and Owyn returned the nod. He went to his backpack, which was on the floor behind Navon, and withdrew the journal from the pack. He put the book upon the table next to the board.

Suddenly Navon rose, overturning the table as he did so, knocking James on his back. He threw an elbow at Owyn’s chin, stunning the young magician.

Ugyne shrieked in alarm, and said, ‘‘Navon! What is it?’’

The man grabbed her by the wrist and turned her arm behind her back. He held her before him as he began backing toward the door. James came to his feet with his sword drawn, and saw Navon retreating. ‘‘Stand back or I’ll kill her,’’ he shouted, drawing his sword.

Ugyne shouted, ‘‘You bastard!’’ and stepped down as hard as she could on his instep. While he hopped backward, she twisted away.

James reached out, as quickly as possible, and yanked the girl free, sending her sprawling toward Owyn, who caught her.

Navon glanced backward, and said, ‘‘I suppose your elf friend is standing outside the door.’’ He circled away from the door, putting his back to the wall.

James advanced, sword at the ready. ‘‘Put that down, and we’ll have a chat. There are some questions that must be answered.’’