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               Raymond E. Feist




         Tear of the Gods


               ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
    As with other projects, I am in debt to many
people, but more so with this than almost any
other work I've undertaken. That was due in
significant part to the evolution of the game,
"Return to Krondor," the core story of which also
serves as the core of this novel. I would be lax in
my crediting those responsible for that project,
upon which this rests, if I did not point to the work
of many people, some who will go uncredited upon
the game itself, for dealing with dozens of
potentially terminal problems, distractions, and
delays. Literally hundreds of hands touched
"Return to Krondor" in its evolution, too many to
single out here. Knowing this list is incomplete, I
would like to thank: Andy Ashcraft, Craig Boland,
Chuck Mitchell, Susan Deneker, Leanne Moen, and
Michael Lynch who at various times had to listen to
my opinion when they probably would rather have
been working.
    Scott Page, who found himself unexpectedly
dealing with other people's messes, but who stayed
the course.
    Bob Ezrin, who was the Father of Us All during
very trying times at 7th Level, who had to clean up
an impossible mess made by other people who
betrayed his trust, and who held my hand and kept
the company alive when he rather would have
been in the studio making music. St. John Bain,
who inherited a mess, and who with good humor
and determination made someone else's vision his
own; indefatigable is the only word that describes
his commitment to Krondor.
   Steve Abrams, old friend and partner-in-crime,
whose contributions to my work over the years
have often gone uncredited, but never
unappreciated.
    Jonathan Matson, my agent, for all the usual
reasons, and in this case, for all the unusual
reasons.
   My daughter, Jessica, and my son, James, for
making every day spent with them better.
     Jennifer Brehl and Jane Johnson, my editors in
New York and London, for so much more than the
job description requires. On a personal note: This
book was produced during a very difficult time for
me personally, the end of my twelve-year
marriage, and there are people out there who
helped me through that period, people who did not
have anything directly to do with the production of
this novel, but who, by keeping me relatively sane
during that period, helped me finish the project.
    So, special thanks to Steve Abrams, Andy
Abramson, Jim Curl, Jonathan Matson, Rich Spahl,
and Janny Wurts for keeping me together early on,
and being there for the long haul. There have been
others, but the aforementioned went above and
beyond the call. Words cannot express my
gratitude. I am blessed beyond belief by friends of
special quality. And to the "gang" at Flemming's in
La Jolla, the best steak house and wine bar in
California, for giving me a place to hang.
   Raymond E. Feist
    San Diego, CA
    August 30, 2000.




             For Bob Ezrin, who else?


                    PROLOGUE
                       Attack
    The weather worsened.
    Dark clouds roiled overhead as angry lightning
flashed, piercing the night's blackness on all
quarters. The lookout atop the highest mast of the
ship Ishap's Dawn thought he saw a flicker of
movement in the distance and squinted against the
murk. He tried to use his hand to shield his eyes as
the salt spray and biting cold wind filled them with
tears. He blinked them away and whatever
movement he thought he had seen was gone.
    Night and the threat of storms had forced the
lookout to spend a miserable watch aloft, against
the unlikely chance the captain had drifted off
course. It was hardly possible, considered the
lookout, as the captain was a knowledgeable
seaman, chosen for his skill at avoiding danger as
much as any other quality. And he knew as well as
any man how hazardous this passage was. The
Temple held the cargo's value second to none, and
rumors of possible raiders along the Quegan coast
had dictated a hazardous tack near Widow's Point,
a rocky area best avoided if possible.
     But Ishap's Dawn was crewed by experienced
sailors, who were now closely attentive to the
captain's orders, and each was quick to respond,
for every man aloft knew that, once upon the rocks
at Widow's Point, no ship survived. Each man
feared for his own life—that was only natural—but
these men were chosen not only for their
seamanship, but also for fealty to the Temple. And
they all knew how precious their cargo was to the
Temple.
     In the hold below, eight monks of the Temple
of Ishap in Krondor stood around a most holy
artifact, the Tear of the Gods. A jewel of
astonishing size, easily as long as a large man's
arm and twice as thick, it was illuminated from
within by a mystic light. Once every ten years a
new Tear was formed in a hidden monastery in a
tiny secret valley in the Grey Tower Mountains.
When it was ready and most holy rites completed,
a heavily armed caravan transported it to the
nearest port in the Free Cities of Natal. There it
was placed upon a ship and carried to Krondor.
From there, the Tear and an escort of warrior
monks, priests, and servants would continue on,
eventually reaching Salador to then be taken by
ship and transported to the mother Temple in
Rillanon where it replaced the previous Tear, as its
power waned.
    The true nature and purpose of the sacred gem
was known only to the highest ranking among
those serving within the Temple, and the sailor
high atop the main mast asked no questions. He
trusted in the power of the gods and knew that he
served a greater good. And he was being
handsomely paid not to ask questions as much as
to stand his watch. But after two weeks of battling
contrary winds and difficult seas, even the most
pious man found the blue-white light which shone
every night from below, and the monks' incessant
chanting, nerve-wracking. The duration of the
unseasonable winds and unexpected storms had
some of the crew muttering about sorcery and dark
magic. The lookout offered a silent prayer of
thanks to Killian, Goddess of Nature and Sailors
(and then added a short one to Eortis, who some
said was the true God of the Sea) that come dawn
they would reach their destination: Krondor. The
Tear and its escort would quickly leave the city for
the east, but the sailor would remain in Krondor,
with his family. What he was being paid would
allow him a long visit home.
    The sailor above thought of his wife and two
children, and he smiled briefly. His daughter was
now old enough to help her mother around the
kitchen and with her baby brother, and a third child
was due soon. As he had a hundred times before,
the sailor vowed he'd find other work near home,
so he could spend more time with his family. He
was pulled from his reverie by another flicker of
movement toward shore. Light from the ship
painted the storm-tossed combers and he could
sense the rhythm of the sea. Something had just
broken the rhythm. He peered through the murk,
trying to pierce the gloom by strength of will, to
see if they might be drifting too close to the rocks.
    Knute said, "The blue light coming from that
ship gives me a bad feeling, Captain."
    The man Knute addressed towered over him as
he looked down. At six foot eight inches tall he
dwarfed those around him. His massive shoulders
and arms lay exposed by the black leather cuirass
he favored, though he had added a pair of shoulder
pads studded with steel spikes—a prize taken off
the corpse of one of Queg's more renowned
gladiators. The exposed skin displayed dozens of
reminders of battles fought, traces of old wounds
intersecting one another. A scar that ran from
forehead to jawbone through his right eye, which
was milky white, marked his face. But his left
seemed to glow with an evil red light from within
and Knute knew that eye missed little. Save for the
spikes on his shoulders, his armor was plain and
serviceable, well oiled and cared for, but displaying
patches and repairs. An amulet hung around his
neck, bronze but darkened by more than time and
neglect, stained by ancient and black arts. The red
gem set in its middle pulsed with a faint inner light
of its own as Bear said, "Worry about keeping us
off the rocks, pilot. It's the only reason I keep you
alive." Turning to the rear of the ship, he spoke
softly, but his voice carried to the stern. "Now!" A
sailor at the rear spoke down to those in the hold
below, "Forward!" and the hortator raised one
hand, and then brought its heel down on the drum
between his knees.
    At the sound of the first beat, the slaves
chained to their seats raised their oars and on the
second beat they lowered them and pulled as one.
The word had been passed, but the Master of
Slaves who walked between the banks of oars
repeated it. "Silently, my darlings! I'll kill the first
of you who makes a sound above a whisper!" The
ship, a Quegan patrol galley seized in a raid the
year before, inched forward, picking up speed. At
the prow, Knute crouched, intently scanning the
water before him. He had positioned the ship so it
would come straight at the target, but there was
one turn that still needed to be made to port—not
difficult if one reckoned the timing correctly, but
dangerous nevertheless. Suddenly Knute turned
and said, "Now, hard to port!"
    Bear turned and relayed the order and the
helmsman turned the ship. A moment later Knute
ordered the rudder amidships, and the galley
began to cut through the water.
     Knute's gaze lingered on Bear for a moment,
and then he returned his attention to the ship they
were about to take. Knute had never been so
frightened in his life. He was a born pirate, a dock-
rat from Port Natal who had worked his way up
from being an ordinary seaman to being one of the
best pilots in the Bitter Sea. He knew every rock,
shoal, reef, and tide pool between Ylith and
Krondor, and westward to the Straits of Darkness,
and along the coast of the Free Cities. And it was
that knowledge that had kept him alive more than
forty years while braver, stronger, and more
intelligent men had died. Knute felt Bear standing
behind him. He had worked for the enormous
pirate before, once taking Quegan prize ships as
they returned from raids along the Keshian coast.
Another time he had served with Bear as a
privateer, under marque from the Governor of
Durbin, plundering Kingdom ships.
   For the last four years Knute had run his own
gang, scavengers picking over wrecks drawn upon
the rocks by false lights here at Widow's Point. It
had been the knowledge of the rocks and how to
negotiate them that had brought him back into
Bear's service. The odd trader named Sidi, who
came to the Widow's Point area every year or so,
had asked him to find a ruthless man, one who
would not shirk from a dangerous mission and who
had no aversion to killing. Knute had spent a year
tracking down Bear and had sent him word that
there was a job of great risk and greater reward
waiting. Bear had answered and had come to meet
with Sidi. Knute had figured he'd either take a fee
for putting the two men in touch, or he might work
a split with Bear in exchange for use of his men
and his ship. But from that point where Knute had
brought Bear to meet with Sidi, on the beach at
Widow's Point, everything had changed. Instead of
working for himself, Knute was now again working
as Bear's galley-pilot and first mate—Knute's own
ship, a nimble little coaster, had been sunk to drive
home Bear's terms: riches to Knute and his men if
they joined him. If they refused, the alternative
was simple: death.
     Knute glanced at the strange blue light dancing
upon the water as they drew down upon the
Ishapian ship. The little man's heart beat with
enough force to make him fear it would somehow
break loose from within. He gripped the wooden
rail tightly as he called for a meaningless course
correction; the need to shout diverted into a sharp
command.
    Knute knew he was likely to die tonight. Since
Bear had expropriated Knute's crew, it had simply
been a matter of time. The man Knute had known
along the Keshian coast had been bad enough, but
something had changed Bear, made him far
blacker a soul than before. He had always been a
man of few scruples, but there had been an
economy in his business, a reluctance to waste
time with needless killing and destruction, even if
he was otherwise unfazed by it. Now Bear seemed
to relish it. Two men in Knute's crew had died
lingering, painful deaths for minor transgressions.
Bear had watched until they had died. The gem in
his amulet had shone brightly then, and Bear's one
good eye seemed alight with the same fire.
     Bear had made one thing clear above all else:
this mission's goal was to take a holy relic from the
Ishapians and any man who interfered with that
mission would die. But he had also promised that
the crew could keep all the rest of the Ishapian
treasure for themselves.
    When he heard that, Knute had begun to make
a plan. Knute had insisted upon several practice
sorties, claiming that the tides and rocks here were
treacherous enough in the daylight—at night a
thousand calamities could befall the unprepared.
Bear had grudgingly acquiesced to the plea. What
Knute had hoped would happen did: the crew
learned to take orders from him once Bear gave
over command of the ship. Bear's crew was made
up of thugs, bullies, and murderers, including one
cannibal, but they weren't terribly intelligent.
    Knute's was a daring plan, and dangerous, and
he needed more than a little luck. He glanced back
and saw Bear's eyes fixed on the blue light of the
Ishapian ship as they bore down on it. One quick
glance from face to face of his own six men was all
Knute could afford, and then he turned back to the
Ishapian ship. He gauged his distance and the
motion, then turned and shouted past Bear, "One
point to port! Ramming speed!" Bear echoed the
command, "Ramming speed!" Then he shouted,
"Catapults! Ready!"
    Flames appeared as torches were quickly lit,
and then those torches were put to large bundles
of skins full of Quegan Fire oil. They burst into
flame and the catapult officer shouted, "Ready,
Captain!"
    Bear's deep voice rumbled as he gave the
order: "Fire!"
     The lookout squinted against the wind-driven
salt spray. He was certain he saw something
shoreward. Suddenly a flame appeared.
     Then a second. For a moment size and distance
were difficult to judge, but the sailor quickly
realized with a surge of fear that two large balls of
fire sped toward the ship.
    Angry orange-red flames sizzled and cracked
as the first missile arced overhead, missing the
lookout by mere yards. As the fireball shot past, he
could feel the searing heat.
    "Attack!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.
    He knew full well the entire night watch had
seen the fiery missiles; nonetheless it was his task
to alert the crew. The second fireball struck mid-
decks, hitting the companionway that ran from
below to the foredeck, and an unfortunate priest of
Ishap was consumed in the sticky flames. He
screamed in agony and confusion as he died.
    The sailor knew that if they were being
boarded, staying aloft was not a good idea. He
swung from the crow's nest and slid down a stay
sheet to the deck below as another ball of flame
appeared in the sky, arcing down to strike the
foredeck.
    As his bare feet touched the wooden planks,
another sailor who shouted, "Quegan raiders!"
handed him a sword and buckler shield. The
thudding of a hortator's drum echoed across the
waves. Suddenly the night came alive with noise
and cries. From out of the gloom a ship reared,
lifted high by a huge swell, and the two sailors
could see the massive serrated iron ram extending
from the galley's prow. Once it slammed into its
victim's hull, its teeth would hold the rammed ship
close, until the signal was given for the galley
slaves to reverse their stroke. By backing water,
the galley would tear a massive hole in Ishap's
Dawn's side, quickly sending her to the bottom.
     For an instant the lookout feared he would
never see his children or wife again, and hastily
uttered a prayer to whatever gods listened that his
family be cared for. Then he resolved to fight, for if
the sailors could hold the raiders at the gunwale
until the priests emerged from below, their magic
might drive off the attackers. The ship heaved and
the sound of tearing wood and shrieking men filled
the night as the raider crashed into the Ishapian
ship. The lookout and his companions were thrown
to the deck. As the lookout rolled away from the
spreading fire, he saw two hands gripping the
ship's gunwale. The lookout gained his feet as a
dark-skinned pirate cleared the side of the ship,
and boarded with a leap to the deck, others
following.
   The first pirate carried a huge sword, curved
and weighted, and he grinned like a man
possessed. The lookout hurried toward him, his
sword and shield at the ready. The pirate's hair
hung in oiled locks that glistened in the light from
the flames. His wide eyes reflected the orange
firelight, which gave him a demonic cast. Then he
smiled and the lookout faltered, as the filed pointed
teeth revealed the man to be a cannibal from the
Shaskahan Islands. Then the lookout's eyes
widened as he saw another figure rear up behind
the first.
     It was the last thing the lookout saw, as the
first pirate swung his sword and impaled the
hapless man, who stood rooted in terror at the
sight before him. With his dying breath, he gasped,
"Bear."
     Bear glanced around the deck. Massive hands
flexed in anticipation as he spoke. His voice
seemed to rumble from deep within as he said,
"You know what I'm after; everything else is yours
for the taking!" Knute leaped from the raider's craft
to stand at Bear's side. "We hit 'em hard, so you
don't have much time!" he shouted to the crew. As
Knute had hoped, Bear's men rushed to kill the
Ishapian sailors, while Knute signaled to the
handful from his old crew, who headed toward the
hatches and the cargo nets.
   An Ishapian monk, climbing up the aft
companionway to answer the alarm, saw the
pirates spreading out in a half-circle around him.
His brothers followed after. For a moment, both
sides stood motionless, as they measured one
another. Bear stepped forward and in a voice like
grinding stones said to the first monk, "You there!
Bring me the Tear and I'll kill you quickly." The
monk's hands came up and moved rapidly in a
mystic pattern while enchanting a prayer to
summon magic. The other monks took up fighting
stances behind him.
    A bolt of white energy flashed at Bear, but
vanished harmlessly just inches before him as the
ship heeled over and started to dip at the bow.
With a scornful laugh, Bear said, "Your magic
means nothing to me!"
     With surprising speed for a man his size, Bear
lashed out with his sword. The monk, still
recovering from the shock of his magic's
impotence, stood helpless as Bear ran him through
as if cutting a melon with a kitchen knife. The
pirates let loose a roar of triumph and fell upon the
other monks.
    The monks, though empty-handed and
outnumbered, were all trained in the art of open-
handed fighting. In the end they could not stand up
to pole weapons and swords, knives and
crossbows, but they delayed the pirates long
enough that the forecastle was already underwater
before Bear could reach the companionway leading
below decks. Like a rat through a sewer grating,
Knute was past Bear and down the companionway.
Bear came second, the others behind. "We've got
no time!" shouted Knute, looking around the aft
crew quarters; from the abundant religious items in
view, he judged this area had been given over to
the monks for their personal use. Knute could hear
water rushing into the hole below the forecastle.
Knute knew ships; eventually a bulkhead between
the forecastle and the main cargo hold would give
way and then the ship would go down like a rock.
     A small wooden chest sitting in the corner
caught his eye and he made straight for it, while
Bear moved to a large door that led back to the
captain's cabin. Movement was becoming more
difficult as the deck was now tilting, and walking up
its slick surface was tricky. More than one pirate
fell, landing hard upon the wooden planks. Knute
opened the small chest, revealing enough gems to
keep him in luxury for the rest of his life. Like
moths to a flame, several raiders turned toward
the booty. Knute motioned to two other pirates
close by and said, "If you want a copper for all this
slaughter, get up on deck, help open the hatch,
and lower the cargo net!" Both men hesitated, then
looked to where Bear struggled to open the door.
They glanced at one another, then did as Knute
instructed. Knute knew they would find two of his
men already at the hatch and would fall in to help.
If Knute's plan were to work, everyone would have
to do his part without realizing that the order of
things on the ship had changed.
     Knute unlatched a trapdoor in the middle of the
deck, and let it swing open, revealing the
companionway leading down into the cargo hold.
As he stepped through the opening toward the
treasure below, the ship started to take on water,
and he knew she was fated to go down quickly by
the bow. He and his men would have to move fast.
Bear was smashing himself uphill against a door
that obviously had some sort of mystic lock upon
it, for it hardly moved under his tremendous bulk.
Knute cast a quick glance backward and saw the
wood near the hinges splintering. As he lowered
himself into the hold, Knute looked down. He knew
that there was enough treasure below to make
every man aboard a king, for the odd man named
Sidi who had told Bear about this ship had said that
ten years' worth of Temple wealth from the Far
Coast and Free Cities would accompany the magic
item Bear was to bring him. Knute regretted having
met Sidi; when he had first met him, he had no
idea the so-called trader trafficked in the magic
arts. Once he had discovered the truth, it was too
late. And Knute was certain there was far more to
Sidi than was obvious; Sidi had given Bear his
magic amulet, the one that he refused to remove,
day or night. Knute had always stayed away from
magic, temple, wizard, or witch. He had a nose for
it and it made him fearful, and no man in his
experience reeked of it like Sidi, and there was
nothing tender about that reek. The cargo hatch
above moved, and a voice shouted downward,
"Knute?"
    "Lower away!" commanded the little thief. The
cargo net descended and Knute quickly released it.
"Get down here!" he shouted as he spread the
large net across the center of the deck. "We're
taking on water fast!"
    Four sailors slid down ropes and started
moving the heavy cargo chests to the center of the
net. "Get the small one first!" instructed Knute.
"They'll be gems. Worth more than gold, pound for
pound." The sailors were driven by two goals:
greed and fear of Bear. The massive captain was
smashing through the door above with inhuman
strength, and everyone in the crew knew as well as
Knute that Bear was becoming more violent by the
day. Even his own crew now feared to be noticed
by Bear.
    One of the men paused to listen to the fiendish
shout as Bear finally smashed through the door. A
half-dozen pirates, finished with butchering the
ship's crew, descended the ropes from the deck
above and looked questioningly at the pilot. Knute
said, "The captain said everything else was ours for
the taking if he got that damn stone the priests
were guarding. You going to let all this sink?" They
shook their heads and set to, working in pairs to
move the larger chests and sacks into the nets,
although Knute could see the doubt on their faces.
But they hurried and got most of the booty in the
net and tied it off.
    "Haul away!" Knute shouted to the men above.
Pirates grabbed small chests and sacks and
attempted to get back to the forward ladder. The
ship was now heading down by the bow, picking up
speed and rocking slightly from side to side. "Tell
them to back water!" shouted Knute, as he
negotiated the ladder to the upper deck, clutching
the small wooden chest as a mother would a baby.
He saw a brilliant light coming through the
captain's cabin door and his eyes widened. Bear
stood outlined against the glare, obviously
struggling through the water as if engaged with a
foe of some kind. "Get out!" shouted Knute.
"You're going to drown!" Not that Knute would
shed a tear if that happened, but if Bear somehow
came to his senses and made good his escape,
Knute wanted to appear convincing in his role as
loyal and concerned pilot.
    Knute hurried to the gunwale and nimbly
leaped atop it. Glancing at those behind him who
were sliding across the deck, trying for the boat
below, he called, "Hurry!" The galley was backing
away, and water rushed quickly into the hull of the
Ishapian ship. Knute knew that, had he not given
the order to back the galley, the weight of the
dying ship might have pulled its bow under the
waves.
    A longboat bobbed on the water a few yards
below and he muttered, "By the gods, I've gotta
get out of this business."
    He glanced upward and saw the cargo boom
with the net loaded with treasure being lowered to
the deck of the galley. With a quick prayer to every
god he could remember, Knute leaped from the
sinking ship, hitting the water while he clutched the
small chest with all his might. Weight pulled him
downward and he struggled, and finally his head
broke the surface as voices echoed across the
water. With his free arm he struck out for the
longboat, reaching it quickly. Strong hands reached
over the side and pulled him aboard. "The ship
sinks!" men yelled as they leaped from the deck
into the foam.
    "Leave the rest!" shouted a man holding what
appeared to be a large sack of gold coins. He hit
the water, and after a minute his head broke the
surface. He struggled mightily to get the sack
aboard Knute's boat.
    "No! Noooo!" came Bear's anguished cry from
the bowels of the sinking ship as Knute helped the
pirate aboard the boat. "Sounds like the boss is
having a problem," said the drenched pirate.
"Row," instructed Knute. The sailor complied and
Knute looked over his shoulder. "Whatever the
boss's problems, they're no longer ours."
    "You going to leave him?" said one of Knute's
men. "Let's see if that cursed amulet keeps him
alive on the bottom of the sea."
    One of the pirates grinned. Like the rest of his
brethren he had been obedient out of fear as much
as any loyalty to Bear. "If it does, he's going to kill
you, Knute."
    "He's got to find me first," said the wily pilot.
"I've sailed with that murdering lunatic three
times, which is two too many. You've been his
slaves long enough. Now it's our turn to live the
high life!" The pirates rowed. One of Bear's crew
said, "If he does make it out alive, he'll find others
to follow him, you know that? Why shouldn't I cut
your throat now and gain his favor?"
    "Because you're greedy, like me. If you cut my
throat, you'll never get that galley safely out of
these rocks. Besides, even if Bear lives, it'll be too
late," said Knute. "We'll all be safely gone." They
reached the galley and quickly climbed aboard,
other longboats and a few swimmers reaching the
ship at the same time. The ship creaked as the
longboats were hoisted aboard. Men scrambled up
ropes while others lowered nets to haul the riches
taken from the Ishapian ship. The crew moved with
an efficiency rarely seen, spurred on by equal
shares of avarice and the fear that Bear would
suddenly appear. Finally they lashed the cargo to
the center deck and Knute said, "Get underway!"
   "Where are we going?" asked one of the pirates
who had rowed Knute to the galley.
     "To a rendezvous down the coast. I've got
some men waiting for us who will offload this
cargo, then we row this galley out to sea and sink
it."
     "Why?" asked another man as the crew
gathered around Knute. "Why?" echoed Knute. "I'll
tell you why, fool. That ship we took was the
property of the Temple of Ishap. In a few days the
entire world is going to be looking for the men who
sank it. Bear's got that ward against priests, but
we don't. We'll divide up our shares and go our
separate ways, tonight!"
   "Sounds good," said one of the sailors.
   "Then get to the oars! The slaves are half dead
and I want us split up and every man on his own
by sunrise!" shouted Knute. Just then, Bear's voice
cut through the storm. "It's mine!! I had it in my
hands!"
     All eyes turned to the sinking ship, and against
a lightning flash they could see Bear standing at
the rail. Slowly, he climbed atop it, shook his fist as
the retreating galley, and leaped into the water.
Like a spur to a horse, the sight of Bear plunging
into the water as if to swim after them caused the
sailors to spring to action. Below, the hortator's
drum began to sound as slaves were unchained
and pushed aside by frantic pirates. Knute paused
a moment to look where Bear had stood outlined
against the lightning flashes. For an instant Knute
could have sworn Bear's eye had been glowing red.
Knute shuddered and turned his mind away from
Bear. The man was terrible in his anger and his
strength was unmatched, but even Bear wouldn't
be able to storm into the Prince's city and find
Knute. Knute smiled. The men waiting for him were
expecting a ship full of riches and a dead crew.
Poisoned wine and ale waited below, and Knute
would pass it out minutes before reaching the
rendezvous. By the time the cargo was offloaded
and aboard the wagons, every pirate and slave
below would be a corpse. His own men would also
be departed, but that was an unfortunate
circumstance he couldn't avoid. Besides, it meant
more for him and those driving the wagons. All his
life he had waited for an opportunity like this and
he was going to be ruthless in taking advantage of
it. None of these men would lift a finger to help
Knute, he knew, if his life was at risk, so what did
he owe them? Honor among thieves might exist
with the Mockers, where the Upright Man's bashers
ensured honorable behavior, but on a ship like
Bear's, the rule was strictly survival by strength, or
by wits.
      Knute shouted orders and the ship heeled over
as it turned against the waves, striking for a safer
course away from the rocks of Widow's Point. Soon
the ship was clear of the last of the underwater
rocks, and the rowers struck a steady pace. The
little pilot moved to the stern of the galley and
looked over the fantail.
     In a brief flash, for an instant, he thought he
saw something in the water. It was a swimmer,
following after the ship with a powerful stroke.
Knute's eyes strained as he peered through the
darkness, but nothing more was glimpsed of the
swimmer. He rubbed his eyes. It must be the
excitement, he thought, the chance to at last be
rich and out from under the heel of men like Bear.
     Turning his mind to the future, he again
grinned. He had made deals before. He would pay
off the wagoners, have them killed if necessary,
and by the time he reached Krondor, every silver
coin, every golden chain, every sparkling gem
would be his.
    "Where are we going?" asked a pirate.
    "Captain," said Knute.
    "What?"
    "Where are we going, Captain," Knute
repeated, coolly. The pirate shrugged, as if it didn't
matter, and said, "Where are we going, Captain?
How far down the coast are your men?" Knute
grinned, knowing that this man—like every other
man in the crew—would happily let him play at
command up to the minute they'd cut his throat if
they thought he would make them rich. He played
along. "We're meeting a gang at the beach north of
Fishtown, outside of Krondor."
   "Fishtown it is!" said the man, quickly adding,
"Captain!"
     Throughout the night the crew rowed, and
when dawn was less than two hours away, Knute
called one of his most trusted crewmen over. "How
are things?"
    "Bear's men are nervous, but they're not smart
enough to plan anything if they think they might
lose out on what we've taken. But they're still
jumpy. You don't cross someone like Bear and
sleep soundly." Knute nodded, then said, "If
everything's secure, there's some wine and ale
below. Break it out."
   "Aye, Captain," said the man, his grin
widening. "A celebration, eh? That will take the
edge off."
      Knute returned the grin, but said nothing.
Within minutes the noise of celebration emanated
from below. For hours all Knute had heard was an
ominous silence punctuated by the sound of
rhythmic rowing, oars groaning in their oarlocks,
wood creaking as the hull flexed, and the rattle of
tackle and blocks in the rigging. Now the murmur
of voices arose, some joking, others surprised, as
men made the rounds of the rowing benches with
casks and cups. One of the pirates looked at Knute
across the deck and Knute shouted, "See that
those aloft go below for a quick drink! I'll take the
helm!" The pirate nodded, then shouted aloft as
Knute made his way to the stern of the ship. He
said to the helmsman, "Go get something to drink.
I'll take her in."
    "Going to beach her, Captain?"
    Knute nodded. "We're coming in a bit after low
tide. She's heavy as a pregnant sow with all this
booty. Once we offload, when high tide comes in,
she'll lift right off the beach and we can back her
out." The man nodded. He was familiar with the
area near Fishtown; the beaches were gentle and
Knute's plan made sense. Knute had chosen a
slow-acting poison. As he took the helm, he
calculated that he'd be coming into the beach by
the time the first men began to pass out. With
luck, those still alive would assume their
companions were insensible from drink. With even
more luck, the wagoners he had hired out of
Krondor wouldn't have to cut any throats. They
were teamsters working for a flat fee, not bully
boys. Knute had piled one lie atop another. The
wagoners thought he was working for the Upright
Man of Krondor, the leader of the Guild of Thieves.
Knute knew that without that lie he would never
control them once they saw the wealth he was
bringing into the city. If the teamsters didn't
believe a dread power stood behind Knute, he'd be
as dead as the rest of the crew come morning. The
sound of the water changed, and in the distance
Knute could hear breakers rolling into the beach.
He hardly needed to look to know where he was.
    One of the pirates came staggering up the
companionway from below and spoke. His speech
was slurred. "Captain, what's in this ale? The boys
are passin' . . ." Knute smiled at the seaman, a
young thug of perhaps eighteen years. The lad
pitched forward. A few voices from below shouted
up to the deck, but their words were muffled, and
quiet soon descended.
    The oars had fallen silent and now came the
most dangerous part of Knute's plan. He lashed
down his tiller, sprang to the ratlines and climbed
aloft. Alone he lowered one small sail, shimmied
down a sheet, and tied off. That little sail was all he
had to keep him from turning broad to the waves
and being smashed upon the beach. As he reached
the tiller, a hand descended upon Knute's shoulder,
spinning him around. He was confronted by a
leering grin of sharpened teeth as dark eyes
studied him. "Shaskahan don't drink ale, little
man."
    Knute froze. He let his hand slip to a dagger in
his belt but waited to see what the cannibal would
do next. The man was motionless. "Don't drink
ale," he repeated.
     "I'll give you half the gold," Knute whispered.
"I take all of it," said the cannibal, as he drew out
his large belt knife. "And then I eat you."
    Knute leaped backward and drew his own
knife. He knew that he was no match for the
veteran killer, but he was fighting for his life and
the biggest trove of riches he would ever see. He
waited, praying for a few more moments.
    The cannibal said again, "Shaskahan don't
drink ale." Knute saw the man's legs begin to
shake as he took a step forward. Suddenly the man
was on his knees, his eyes going blank. Then he
fell face forward. Knute cautiously knelt next to the
man and examined him. He sheathed his knife as
he leaned close to the cannibal's face, sniffed once,
then stood.
    "You don't drink ale, you murdering whore's
son, but you do drink brandy."
    With a laugh Knute unlashed the tiller as the
ship swept forward into breakers. He pointed it like
an arrow at a long, flat run of beach and as the
ship plowed prow first into the sand, he saw the
three large wagons sitting atop the bluffs. Six men
who'd been sitting on the shore leapt to their feet
as the ship ground to a halt in the sand. Knute had
ordered the wagons not be brought down to the
cove, for once loaded they'd be sunk to their hubs
in sand. The teamsters would have to cart all the
gold up the small bluff to the wagons. It would be
hard, sweaty work. No sooner had the ship stopped
moving than Knute was shouting orders. The six
wagoners hurried forward, while Knute pulled his
knife. He was going to ensure no one below
recovered from too little poison, then he was going
to get that treasure to Krondor. There was one
man in the world he knew he could trust and that
man would help him hide all these riches. Then
Knute would celebrate, get drunk, pick a fight, and
get himself thrown into jail. Let Bear come for him,
thought Knute, if by some miracle he had survived.
Let the crazed animal of a pirate try to reach him
in the bowels of the city's stoutest jail, surrounded
by the city watch. That would never happen—at
the very least Bear would be captured by the city
guards; more likely he'd be killed. Once Knute
knew for certain Bear's fate, he could bargain for
his own life. For he was the only man who knew
where the Ishapian ship had gone down. He could
lead the Prince's men and a representative of the
Wreckers' Guild to the site, where the Wreckers'
Guild's mage could raise the ship and they could
offload whatever trinket it was that Bear had been
after. Then he'd be a free man while Bear rotted in
the Prince's dungeon or hung from the gibbet or
rested at the bottom of the sea. And let everyone
think the rest of the treasure went down with the
pirate ship in the deep water trench just a mile
offshore.
    Knute congratulated himself on his masterful
plan, and set about his grisly work, as the
wagoners from Krondor climbed aboard to offload
"the Upright Man's treasure."
   Miles away as the dawn broke, a solitary figure
emerged from the breakers. His massive frame
hung with clothing tattered and soaked from hours
in the brine. He had tossed aside his weapons to
lighten himself for a long swim. One good eye
surveyed the rocks and he calculated where he had
come ashore. With dry sand under his now bare
feet, the huge pirate let out a scream of primal
rage. "Knute!" he shouted at the sky. "By the dark
god I'll hunt you down and have your liver on a
stick. But first you'll tell me where the Tear of the
Gods is!"
    Knowing that he had to find weapons and a
new pair of boots, Bear turned northward, toward
the secret temple at Widow's Peak and the village
of Haldon's Head. There he would find some men
to serve him and with their help they would track
down Knute and the others. Every member of his
crew who had betrayed him would die a slow,
agonizing death. Again Bear let out a bellow of
rage. As the echoes died against the windswept
rocks, he squared his shoulders and began walking.


                        ONE
                      Arrival
    James hurried through the night. As he moved
purposefully across the courtyard of the Prince's
palace in Krondor, he still felt the odd ache and
twinge, reminders of his recent beating at the
hands of the Nighthawks while he had been their
captive. For the most part he was nearly back to
his usual state of fitness. Despite that, he still felt
the need for more sleep than usual, so of course,
he had only just settled into a deep slumber when
a page came knocking upon his door and informed
James that the overdue caravan from Kesh had
been sighted approaching the city. James had
gotten up and dressed despite every fiber of his
being demanding that he roll over in his warm bed
and return to slumber.
   Silently cursing the need to meet the arriving
magician, he reached the outer gate where two
guards stood their stations.
    "Evening, gentlemen. All's well?"
    The senior of the two guards, an old veteran
named Crewson, saluted. "Quiet as the grave,
Squire. Where're you bound at this ungodly hour?"
He motioned for the other guard to open the gate
so that James could leave the precinct of the
palace.
   Stifling a yawn, James said, "The Prince's new
mage has arrived from Stardock, and I've the
dubious honor of meeting her at the North Gate."
    The younger guard smiled in mock sympathy.
"Ah, you've all the luck, Squire." He swung the
gate wide to allow James to depart. With a wry
smile, James passed through the opening. "I'd
rather have a good night's sleep, but duty calls.
Fare you well, gentlemen." James picked up his
pace, as he knew the caravan would disband
quickly upon arrival. He wasn't worried about the
magician's safety, as the city guard would be
augmented by caravan guards coming off duty, but
he was concerned over the possible lapse in
protocol should he not be there to greet her. While
she might be only a distant relative of the
Ambassador from Great Kesh to the Western
Court, she was still a noble by rank, and relations
between the Kingdom of the Isles and Great Kesh
had never been what one might call tranquil. A
good year was one in which there were three or
fewer border skirmishes. James decided to take a
shortcut from the palace district to the North Gate,
one that would require he pass through a
warehouse district behind the Merchants' Quarter.
He knew the city as well as any living man, and
had no concerns about getting lost, but when two
figures detached themselves from the shadows as
he rounded a corner, he cursed himself for a fool.
The out-of-the-way route was unlikely to be host to
many citizens abroad on lawful business at this
time of night. And these two looked nothing like
lawful citizens. One carried a large billy club and
had a long belt knife, while the other rested his
hand easily upon a sword. The first wore a red
leather vest while his companion wore a simple
tunic and trousers. Both had sturdy boots on, and
James instantly recognized them for what they
were: common street thugs. They were almost
certainly freebooters, men not associated with the
Mockers, the Guild of Thieves.
    James pushed aside his self-recriminations for
taking this shortcut, for the matter was now
beyond changing.
    The first man said, "Ah, what's the city coming
to?" The second nodded, moving to flank James
should he try to run. "It's a sad state of affairs.
Gentlemen of means, wanderin' the streets after
midnight. What can they be thinking?"
     Red-vest pointed his billy club at James and
said, "He must be thinkin' his purse is just too
heavy and be hopin' for a helpful pair like us to
relieve him of it."
    James let out a slow breath and calmly said,
"Actually, I was thinking about the foolishness of
men who don't recognize a dangerous mark when
they see one." He drew his rapier slowly and
moved the point to halfway between the two men,
so that he would be able to parry an attack from
either man.
    "The only danger here is tryin' to cross us,"
said the second thug, drawing his sword and
lashing out at James. "I really don't have time for
this," James said. He parried the blow easily and
riposted. The swordsman barely pulled back in time
to avoid being skewered like a holiday pig.
     Red-vest pulled out his belt knife and swung
his billy club, but James ducked aside and kicked
out with his right leg, propelling the man into his
companion. "You still have time to run away, my
friends." Red-vest grunted, recovered his balance,
and rushed James, threatening with the billy club
while holding his knife in position to do the real
damage. James recognized the man's outrage—this
was no longer a simple mugging; these two men
now meant to kill him. He ignored the billy club,
dodging toward it rather than away, and sliced at
the man's left wrist. The knife fell to the stones
with a clatter.
    While Red-vest howled in pain and fell back, his
companion came rushing in, his sword cocked back
over his shoulder. James danced backward for two
steps, and as the man let fly with his wide swing—
designed to decapitate the young squire—James
leaned forward in a move he had learned from the
Prince, his left hand touching the stones to aid his
balance and his right hand extending out. The
attacker's sword passed harmlessly over James's
head and he ran onto the point of James's rapier.
The man's eyes widened in shock and he came to
an abrupt halt, looked down in disbelief, then
collapsed to his knees. James pulled his sword
point free and the man toppled over. The other
brigand caught James by surprise coming over the
shoulder of his collapsing friend, and James barely
ducked away from a thrust that would have
certainly split his head. He took a glancing blow on
his left shoulder, still sore from the beating he had
taken at the hands of the Nighthawks, and gasped
at the unexpected pain. The hilt of the knife had
struck, so there was no blood—his tunic wasn't
even ripped—but damn it, he thought, it hurt!
    James's training and battle-honed reflexes took
over, and he turned with the attacker, his sword
lashing out again as the man went by, and stood
behind him as he too went down to his knees, then
toppled over. James didn't even have to look to
know his sword had cut Red-vest's throat in a
single motion.
     James wiped his sword off on the shirt of the
first man he had killed and returned it to its
sheath. Rubbing his sore left shoulder, he shook
his head and muttered, "Idiots," quietly under his
breath. Resuming his journey he marveled, not for
the first time, at humanity's capacity for stupidity.
For every gifted, brilliant man like Prince Arutha,
there seemed to be a hundred—no, make that a
thousand—stupid men.
    Better than most men in the Prince's court,
James understood the petty motives and narrow
appetites of most citizens. As he turned his back on
the two dead men, he acknowledged to himself
that most of the population were decent people,
people who were tainted by only a little larceny, a
small lie about taxes owed, a little shorting of a
measure, but in the main they were good.
     But he had seen the worst and best of the rest,
and had gone from a fraternity of men bent on
trivial gain by any means, including murder, to a
fellowship of men who would sacrifice even their
own lives for the greater good.
    His ambition was to be like them, to be noble
by strength of purpose and clarity of vision rather
than by accident of birth. He wanted one day to be
remembered as a great defender of the Kingdom.
Ironically, he considered how unlikely it was that
that would ever happen, given his current
circumstance. He was now commissioned to create
a company of spies, intelligence men who were to
act on behalf of the Crown. He doubted Prince
Arutha would appreciate him telling the ladies and
gentleman of the court about it. Still, he reminded
himself as he turned another corner glancing
automatically into the shadows to see if anyone
lurked there—the deed was the thing, not the
praise.
    Absently rubbing his right shoulder with his left
hand, he noted how it had been overstrained by
the swordplay. The little exercise with the two
brigands was reminding him he wasn't fully healed
from his recent ordeal in the desert at the hands of
the Nighthawks—a band of fanatic assassins. He
had been up and around within days of returning to
Krondor, but he was still feeling not quite right
after three weeks. And two sore shoulders would
continue to remind him of it all for a couple of
days, at least. Sighing aloud, James muttered to
himself: "Not as spry as I once was, I fear."
    He cut through another alley that brought him
around the corner to the street leading to the North
Gate. He found himself passing the door of a new
orphanage, recently opened by the Order of Dala,
the goddess known as "Shield to the Weak." The
sign above the door featured a yellow shield with
the Order's mark upon it. Princess Anita had been
instrumental in helping to secure the title to the
building and funding it for the Order. James
wondered absently how different his life might
have been had he found his way to such a place
when his mother had died, rather than ending up in
the Guild of Thieves. In the distance he could see
two guardsmen speaking with a solitary young
woman. He left off his musings and quickened his
pace. As he approached, he studied the young
woman. Several facts were immediately manifest.
He had expected a noblewoman of Kesh, bedecked
in fine silks and jewelry, with a complement of
servants and guards at her disposal. Instead he
beheld a solitary figure, wearing clothing far more
appropriate for rigorous travel than for court
ceremony. She was dark-skinned, not as dark as
those who lived farther south in Great Kesh, but
darker than was common in Krondor, and in the
gloom of night, her dark hair, tied back in a single
braid, reflected the flickering torchlight with a
gleam like a raven's wing. Her eyes, when they
turned upon James, were also dark, almost black in
the faint light.
    Her bearing and the set of her eyes
communicated an intensity that James often
admired in others, if it was leavened with
intelligence. There could be no doubt of
intelligence, else Pug would never have
recommended her for the post as Arutha's magical
advisor. She carried a heavy staff of either oak or
yew, shod at both ends in iron. It was a weapon of
choice among many travelers, especially those who
by inclination or lack of time couldn't train in
blades and bows. James knew from experience it
was not a weapon to be taken lightly; against any
but the most heavily-armored foe a staff could
break bones, disarm or render an opponent
unconscious. And this woman appeared to have the
muscle to wield it effectively. Unlike the ladies of
Arutha's court, her bare arms showed the effects of
strenuous labor or hours spent in the weapons
yard.
     As he neared, James summed up his first
impression of the new court magician: a striking
woman, not pretty but very attractive in an
unusual way. Now James understood his friend
William's distress at the news of her appointment
to the Prince's court. If she had been his first lover,
as James suspected, William would not easily put
her behind him, not for many years. Given his
young friend's recent infatuation with Talia, the
daughter of a local innkeeper, James chuckled to
himself as he surmised that William's personal life
was about to get very interesting. James didn't
envy him the discomfort, but knew it would no
doubt prove entertaining to witness. He smiled to
himself as he closed upon the group.
   One of the two guards conversing with the
young woman noticed James and greeted him.
"Well met, Squire. We've been expectin' you."
    James nodded and replied, "Gentlemen. My
thanks for keeping an eye on our guest."
    The second guard chimed in. "We felt bad, I
mean, her being a noble and all, and havin' to wait
so long, but we didn't have enough men to send
with her to the palace." He indicated the other pair
at the far end of the gate.
    James appreciated their dilemma. If any of
them had left his post, for whatever reason,
without permission, the guard captain would have
had their ears. "Not to worry. You've done your
duty."
    Turning to the young woman, James bowed
and said, "Your pardon, milady, for making you
wait. I am Squire James of Krondor." The young
magician smiled and suddenly James reevaluated
his appraisal. She was very pretty, if in an unusual
fashion for the women of the Western Kingdom.
She said, "It is I who should apologize for arriving
at this unseemly hour, but our caravan was
delayed. I am Jazhara, most recently of Stardock."
   Glancing around, James said, "A pleasure to
meet you, Jazhara. Where is your entourage?"
    "At my father's estates on the edge of the Jal-
Pur desert. I had no servants at Stardock and
requested none to travel here. I find that the use
of servants tends to weaken the will. Since I began
studying the mystic arts, I have always traveled
alone."
     James found the availability of servants one of
the key attractions of the Prince's court; always
having someone around to send on errands or
fetch things was very useful. He was also now
embarrassed to discover he should have ordered a
squad of soldiers to escort Jazhara and himself
back to the palace; her rank required such, but he
had assumed she'd have her own bodyguards in
place. Still, if she didn't bring it up, neither would
he. He merely said, "I quite understand. If you are
willing, however, we can leave your baggage under
the watch of the guards, and I will arrange to have
it brought to the palace in the morning."
    "That will be fine. Shall we go?"
    He decided to avoid shortcuts and keep to the
broader thoroughfares. It would take a bit longer
to reach the palace, but would afford them safer
travel. He suspected that in addition to knowing
how to use that staff to good effect, Jazhara
probably had several nasty magician's tricks at her
disposal, but the risk of an international incident to
save a few minutes' walk wasn't worth it. Deciding
that being direct was his best course, James asked,
"What does your great-uncle think of this
appointment?" Jazhara smiled. "I do not know, but
I suspect he is less than happy. Since he was
already unhappy that I chose to study at
Stardock—over my father's objections—rather than
marry a 'suitable young lord,' I fear I've likely put
him in a dark mood."
    James smiled. "Having met your great-uncle on
a few occasions, I should think you'd want to stay
on his good side."
    With a slight twist of her lips, Jazhara said, "To
the world he is the mighty Lord Hazara-Khan, a
man to be dreaded by those who put their own
interests ahead of the Empire's. To me he is Uncle
Rachman—'Raka' I called him because I couldn't
manage his name when I was little—and he can
deny me little. He wanted to marry me off to a
minor prince of the Imperial House, a distant
cousin to the Empress, but when I threatened to
run away if he sent me south, he relented."
   James chuckled. They rounded a corner and
headed down a large boulevard that would
eventually lead them back to the palace.
    After only a few minutes, James found himself
enjoying the company of this young woman from
Kesh. She was quick, observant, keen-eyed, and
witty. Her banter was clever and entertaining
without the acerbic, nasty edge one found so often
among the nobles of the Prince's court.
Unfortunately, she was too entertaining: James
suddenly realized he had turned a corner a few
streets back without thinking and now they were in
the area he had planned on avoiding. "What is it?"
Jazhara asked.
    James turned and grinned at her, a grin that
could barely be seen in the faint glow of a distant
lantern hanging outside an inn. "You're very
perceptive, milady."
    "It's part of the trade, sir," she replied, her
voice a mix of playfulness and caution. "Is
something wrong?" "I just got caught up in our
discourse and without thought turned us into a part
of the city it might be best to avoid at this hour."
James noticed a very slight shift in the way she
held her staff, but her voice remained calm. "Are
we in danger?" "Most probably not, but one never
knows in Krondor. Best to be alert. We shall be at
the palace in a few minutes."
    Without comment, they both picked up the
pace slightly, and hurried along, each watching the
side of the street for possible assailants in the
gloom, James taking the left, Jazhara the right.
    They had rounded the corner that put them in
sight of the palace district when a sound echoed off
to James's left. He turned and as he did so he
recognized the trap: a pebble being tossed from
the right. As he turned back toward Jazhara, a
small figure darted from the shadows. Jazhara had
also spun to look in the same direction as James
and was slow to recover.
     The assailant darted close, a blade flashed, and
suddenly a child was running down the street
clutching Jazhara's purse. James had been
prepared for an attack, so it took an instant for him
to realize that a street urchin had robbed Jazhara.
"Hey! Stop! Come back here!" he shouted after the
fleeing child. "We have to stop him," said Jazhara.
"Besides a few coins, my purse has items which
could prove fatal to a child."
    James didn't hesitate.
    He knew the city as well as any man, and after
a moment's pursuit, he slowed. "What is it?" asked
Jazhara.
   "If memory serves, he just ducked into a dead
end."
   They turned into the alley after the cutpurse
and saw no sign of him.
    "He's gone!" Jazhara exclaimed.
    James laughed. "Not quite."
    He moved to what looked to be some heavy
crates, and reached around behind them, pulling
away a piece of cloth tacked to the back. With a
quick motion, in case the young thief was inclined
to use the blade to defend himself, James snatched
a thin arm.
    "Let me go!" shouted a young girl who looked
no older than ten, dressed in rags. She dropped
her blade and Jazhara's purse on the cobbles.
    James knew it was a ruse to get him to release
her arm and pick up the purse, so he held firm. "If
you're going to be a thief, you must learn who to
mark and who to leave be."
    He turned to block her path if she tried to run
and held her arm loosely. Kneeling so that he was
at eye level with her, he asked, "What's your
name, sweetheart?"
     Quickly sensing that this man and woman
weren't trying to harm her, the girl relaxed slightly.
"Nita," she said with a tiny hint of defiance.
"Mommy called me that after Prince 'Rutha's wife,
'Nita." James couldn't help but smile. He knew
Princess Anita would be nattered to hear of that
tiny honor. "I'm Squire James, and this is Jazhara,
the court mage."
    The girl seemed less than reassured at being
confronted by two members of the court. "Are you
going to take me to jail?" "James," said Jazhara,
"you're not going to put this child in jail, are you?"
    With mock seriousness, James said, "By rights
I should. A dangerous criminal like this preying on
innocent people at night!" The child's eyes widened
slightly, but she stood unafraid and didn't flinch.
James softened his tone. "No, child. We'll not put
you in jail. There's a place we could take you, if
you like. It's called the Sign of the Yellow Shield.
They take care of children like you." The reaction
was instantaneous. "No! No! You're just like the
other men. You're just like the bad men!" She
struck at James's face with her free hand, and tried
to pull away.
      James hung on. "Hold on! Hold it! Stop hitting
me for a minute." The girl ceased hitting him, but
still kept tugging. James slowly let go of her arm
and held up his hands, palms out, showing that he
was not going to grab her again. "Look, Nita, if you
want to stay here that's fine. We're not going to
hurt you," he said softly. Jazhara asked, "Who
were you talking about, Nita? Who were the bad
men?"
    The girl looked up at the mage and said, "They
say they're like the Yellow Shield, and all good
children go with them, but they hurt me!" Her eyes
started to fill with tears, but her voice was firm.
James asked, "How did they hurt you?"
    Nita looked at the former boy-thief and said,
"They took me to the big house, and they locked
me in a cage, like all the other children. Then they
told me to dye cloth for Yusuf, or else they'd beat
me, and some of the other children, the bad
children, they took and they never came back and
there were rats and squirmy things in our food
and—" "This is horrible," said Jazhara. "We must
act on this 'Yusuf,' but first we must care for Nita."
    "Well, I suppose we could take her to the
palace," began James, turning to look at Jazhara.
    It was the chance the girl had waited for. As
soon as James looked away from her, she was off,
sprinting down the alley toward the street.
    James stood and watched her turn the corner,
knowing that he could probably chase her down,
but deciding not to. Jazhara stared at James with
an unspoken question in her eyes. James said, "I
told her she could stay with us if she wanted to."
     Jazhara nodded. "Then you will do something
about this?" James leaned down to pick up
Jazhara's purse. He dusted it off and as he handed
it to her he said, "Of course I will. I grew up on
these streets. This isn't about duty; it's personal."
    Jazhara turned away from the palace and
started walking back the way they had come.
    "Hey!" said James, hurrying to catch up.
"Where are you going?" "Unless this Yusuf lives in
the palace, we need to go deeper into this poor
section of the city, I am guessing."
    "Good guess," said James. "There's a dyer
named Yusuf up in what's called 'Stink Town,' to
the north—it's where all the tanners,
slaughterhouses, and other aromatic businesses
are housed. But now?" Looking at James with a
resolute expression, Jazhara said, "We can't start
any sooner, can we?"
    "Apparently not," replied James. Then he
grinned.
      James kept his eyes moving, peering into every
shadow, while Jazhara gazed resolutely forward, as
if fixed upon a goal. As they walked purposefully
through the Poor Quarter of Krondor, Jazhara said,
"Do you expect trouble?"
    "Constantly," answered James, glancing down
a side-street they were passing.
    The rising stench in the air told them they were
close to their destination, the area of the Poor
Quarter given over to those businesses best kept
downwind. "Where do you think this Yusuf
resides?"
    James said, "The cloth-makers are all located
at the end of this street, and along two others
nearby." Turning to look at Jazhara, he said, "You
realize, of course, that the place will almost
certainly be closed for the night?"
   Jazhara smiled. "Which will give us an
opportunity to look around unnoticed, correct?"
    James smiled back. "I like the way you think,
Jazhara."
     Several times along the way they passed
individuals hurrying by; the city was never truly
asleep. Those who passed cast appraising glances
at the pair, either as potential threats—or as
possible victims. They reached an intersection and
glanced in both directions. Off to the left, all was
quiet, but to James's surprise down the street to
the right a few places were still obviously open for
business. "The dyers' trade must be very profitable
for these establishments to be conducting business
all night."
     "Or they're paying nothing for their labor," said
Jazhara as they passed one such open
establishment. The door was ajar and a quick
glance inside indicated there was nothing
suspicious taking place; a dyer and others—
obviously members of his family—were busy
preparing a large shipment of cloth. Most likely it
was to be delivered at dawn to tailors who had
ordered the material. They moved along the dimly-
lit street until they reached a large, two-story
building, before which stood a large man with a
sword at his belt. He watched with a neutral
expression as James and Jazhara approached.
    James asked, "What is this place?"
   The guard answered, "This is the shop of the
honorable Yusuf ben Ali, the illustrious cloth
merchant."
    Jazhara asked, "Is he in?"
    "No. Now, if that's all, you'll excuse me." Since
the guard showed no sign of leaving, it was clear
that he expected James and Jazhara to move
along.
    James said, "I find it odd to believe your
master is out at this late hour, and you are merely
standing here guarding a workshop in which no one
is working." He moved to stand before the man. "I
am Prince Arutha's squire."
    Jazhara added, "And I his newly-appointed
court mage."
     At this the guard's eyes flickered over to her
for an instant, then he said, "My master is indeed
within. He is working late on a shipment that must
leave tomorrow on a caravan and wishes not to be
disturbed by any but the most important guest. I
will see if he considers you to be important
enough." He turned his back on them, saying,
"Follow me to my master's office, but touch
nothing."
    They entered the building and discovered a
brightly-lit display area, showing finely-woven cloth
dyed in the most marvelous colors. A bolt of
crimson silk was allowed to spill from a rack, the
best to show off its scintillating color. Surrounding
them was indigo and bright yellow linen, cotton of
every hue, all waiting for potential buyers. A door
to the rear of the showroom was closed, and a
narrow stairway ran up along the left wall to a
single door. A large chandelier ablaze with a dozen
candles hung from the ceiling.
    Beyond the viewing area, huge vats of dye
stood, while large drying racks held freshly dyed
cloth. James saw two children, no older than ten
years, moving a rack aside to make way for
another being pushed by another pair of children.
The youngsters were dirty, and a few appeared to
shiver beneath their thin ragged clothing. Jazhara
noticed one little girl, who looked to be about
seven years old, yawn, struggling to keep her eyes
open as she pushed the heavy drying rack. Two
guards stood watching the children.
    The guard who had accompanied them inside
said, "Wait here. I will fetch my master."
     James asked, "Isn't it late for the children to be
working?" The man said, "They are lazy. This order
must be ready by noon tomorrow. Had they
finished at dusk, they would be asleep in their beds
now. They know this. Do not talk to them; it will
only slow them down. I will return with my
master."
     The man hurried across the large room and
disappeared through the rear door. A few minutes
later, he and another man returned. The newcomer
was obviously a merchant, yet he carried a curved
desert sword—a scimitar. He wore Kingdom tunic
and trousers, but elected a traditional desert man's
head cover, a black cloth wound as a turban, its
length allowed to drape below the chin, from right
to left, the end thrown across the left shoulder. He
had a dark beard and the swarthy looks of
Jazhara's countrymen, a fact confirmed as he
reached them and said, "Peace be upon you," the
traditional greeting of the people of the Jal-Pur.
    Jazhara replied, "And upon you be peace."
   "Welcome to my workhouse, my friends. My
name is Yusuf ben Ali. How may I serve?"
    James glanced back at the laboring children.
"We've heard how you work around here. This
place is being shut down."
    If the man was surprised at this
pronouncement, he didn't show it. He merely
smiled. "Oh, you've heard, have you? And what
exactly did you hear?"
   Jazhara said, "We've heard about your working
conditions and how you treat children."
    Yusuf nodded. "And let me guess, you heard it
from a young girl, perhaps less than a decade in
age? Or was it a young boy this time?"
   "What do you mean?" James asked.
    "My dear sir, it was all a lie. My competitors
have taken to paying children to accost guardsmen
and other worthy citizens. They ply them with
stories of the 'horrors of Yusuf's shop.' And then
they vanish. My shop is then closed down for a few
days while the Prince's magistrate investigates,
and my competitors flourish."
     Jazhara said, "But we've seen the working
conditions inside." Ben Ali glanced over at the
ragged youngsters and shook his head slightly. "My
dear countrywoman, I may be unable to provide
for the children as I would like, but even I have a
heart. They have a roof over their heads, and hot
meals, and clothes. It may not be the
extravagance that you would be used to, but, as
the wise men taught us, poverty is food to a
righteous man, while luxury can be a slow poison."
He inclined his head toward the children. "We work
late tonight. This is not unusual in my trade, but I
assure you most nights these children would be
safely asleep. When this shipment is done, I shall
send them to their beds and they will be free
tomorrow to sleep; then, when they awake they
shall have a day of rest and play. What else would
you have me do? Put them back on the streets?"
Children working to support their families were
nothing new in the Kingdom. But this smacked of
something close to slavery and James wasn't
convinced this man Yusuf was what he seemed.
"What about up there?" he asked, pointing at the
stairs.
    "Ah, the second floor is under construction—we
make improvements. It is not safe at present to
see, but when it is done it will expand our
capacities, and will include better quarters for the
children."
   James was about to speak, when Jazhara said,
"James, may I have a moment alone with this
gentleman?"
    James was surprised. "Why?"
    "Please."
    James glanced from Jazhara to Yusuf, then
said, "I'll be outside." When he was gone from the
building, Jazhara lowered her voice and said, "You
work for my great-uncle?"
    Yusuf bowed slightly. "Yes, kin of Hazara-Khan,
I do. And I wished to speak to you alone. You did
well sending our young friend away. A Kingdom
nobleman is a complication. Does he know your
great-uncle's position?"
    Jazhara smiled. "As Governor of the Jal-Pur, or
as head of Keshian Intelligence in the north?"
   "The latter, of course."
     "He may suspect, but what he knows is not the
issue. This place is what matters. Is what the
young girl said true?" "The Imperial treasury hardly
provides enough support for this operation," said
Yusuf. "I must supplement my means; this shop is
very successful, primarily because the labor is
almost free." He looked at her disapproving
expression and said, "I'm surprised at you. I
expected a great-niece of Hazara-Khan to value
practicality over misguided morality. Deceit, after
all, is the first tool of our trade. What I do here
aids me in my work."
    "Then what the girl said was true. Does my
great-uncle know about this?"
    "I have never bothered to inform him of the
details of my operation, no. But he appreciates my
results. And now that you are here, they will be
greater than ever!"
   "What do you mean?"
     "It is well known of your falling out with your
family and your choice to study magic at Stardock.
Only your great-uncle's power has shielded you
from those in the Imperial Court who think you a
potential risk. It is time for you to grow up and
face your responsibilities. You are a child of the
Empire, a citizen of Great Kesh. Your loyalties must
lie with them."
    "My loyalties also lie with this court, and the
Prince. I am the court mage, the first to be
appointed to this position."
    Yusuf studied the young woman's face.
   "Sometimes the ties of blood must be held
above the ties of hollow words."
    "I am not a spy!"
    "But you could be," insisted ben Ali. "Work for
me; grant me secrets from the lips of Krondor's
courtiers and make your family proud!" His
expression darkened. "Or disgrace your country,
your family, and continue as you are. Your great-
uncle can provide only limited protection if you
swear that oath to Arutha." He paused, then
added, "These are harsh choices, Jazhara. But you
are now an adult, and the choice, as ever, must be
yours. But know that from this point forward,
whatever choice you make will change you
forever."
    Jazhara was silent for a long moment, as if
considering the merchant's words. Finally she said,
"Your words are harsh, Yusuf, but your actions
have shown me where my loyalties lie."
    "Then you will help me?"
    "Yes. I will honor his teachings and the ideals
of my nation." "Excellent! You'd best leave now,
before your friend becomes suspicious. Return
again when you're settled into the prince's court
and we shall begin."
    She nodded and walked toward the door. She
passed the still-laboring children, one of whom
looked up at her with eyes dulled from lack of
sleep. In those eyes, Jazhara noted a flicker of
fear. When she reached the door, she glanced over
her shoulder at the smiling spy and the three
guards who stood nearby.
   James waited at the end of the alleyway.
"Well?" he asked as she approached.
    "Yusuf is a spy for my great-uncle."
     James could barely conceal his surprise. "I
don't know which I find more astonishing; that he
is what you say, or that you've told me." "When I
left my father's court and trained at Stardock, I set
aside my loyalty to Great Kesh. What my great-
uncle does, he does for the betterment of the
Empire." With a nod other head to the entrance to
Yusuf's shop, she added with a steely edge to her
voice, "But this one seeks to line his pockets with
gold from the suffering of children, and his service
to the Empire is of secondary concern, I am
certain. Even were I in service to Kesh, I would not
long abide his continued existence." She gripped
her staff and James saw her knuckles go white.
Although he'd known the court mage for but a few
hours, he had no doubt she was not making an idle
threat; no matter where Jazhara's loyalties might
lie, she would see Yusuf pay for his crimes against
the children.
    "What do you propose?" he asked.
    "There are but three guards. You are, I
assume, a competent swordsman?"
    "I am—" began James.
    "As I am a competent magician," interrupted
Jazhara. "Let's go."
    As they strode back toward the dyer's shop,
James felt the hair on his arms stand up, a sure
sign magic was being gathered. He had never liked
the feeling, even when he knew someone on his
side was employing it. Jazhara said, "I will distract
them. Try to take Yusuf alive." James pulled out his
rapier and muttered, "Four to one and you want
me to try to keep one of them alive? Wonderful."
   Jazhara entered the shop ahead of James, and
Yusuf turned as she did so. "What—?" he began.
     Jazhara pointed her staff at him and a loud
keening sound filled the air as a ball of blue energy
exploded off the tip of the staff. It struck the
merchant, doubling him over in pain. James rushed
past the magician, quickly scanning the room for a
sign of the children. They were gone. The three
armed guards hesitated for a moment, then sprang
into action. James was about to strike the guard on
his right when the energy ball caromed off Yusuf
and struck the guard to James's right. James
quickly switched his attack to the center assailant.
    James had fought multiple opponents before,
and knew there were certain advantages. The most
important thing he had found was that if his
opponents hadn't practiced as a unit they tended to
get in one another's way.
    He lunged and took the center assailant under
his guard, running him through. As he withdrew his
blade, he leapt to his right and as he had hoped,
the man on James's left stumbled into the dying
man in the middle.
    Yusuf's sword suddenly slashed the air near
James's head. He had recovered from the magic
Jazhara had thrown at him and was now on
James's right, his scimitar expertly slicing the air.
    "Great," James muttered. "The spy has to be a
master swordsman." The two remaining thugs had
regained their feet and were a danger, but Yusuf
was the true threat. "Jazhara! Keep those two off
me, if you please."
    Jazhara advanced and another burst of energy
shot across the room, this time a red blast of
lightning that caused the air to crackle as it struck
the floor between James and the two guards. They
quickly retreated as smoke began to rise from the
wooden floor. James didn't have time to appreciate
the display, for Yusuf was proving a formidable
opponent. It looked as if there would be almost no
chance of keeping the Keshian spy alive, unless he
got lucky. And given a choice, he'd rather keep
himself alive than spare Yusuf and die in the
process.
    James used every trick he knew, a lethal
inventory of combinations and feints. Twice he
came close to cutting the Keshian, but twice in turn
Yusuf came close to ending the struggle, too.
James circled and the turn brought Jazhara and the
other two thugs into view. One had left the
magician and was coming to help his master finish
off James, while the other approached the
magician warily, as Jazhara stood ready with her
iron-shod staff before her. James didn't hesitate.
He feigned a blow to Yusuf's right hand, and as the
Keshian moved to block, James spun to his own
right, taking him away from the Keshian spy.
Before Yusuf could recover, James was standing at
his exposed left side, and all the merchant could
manage was to fall away, avoiding a killing blow.
This brought James right into the reach of the
approaching guard, who lashed out high with his
sword, a blow designed to decapitate the squire.
    James ducked and thrust, running the man
through. He then leapt to his right, knowing full
well that Yusuf would be coming hard on his blind
side. James hit the floor and rolled, feeling the
scimitar slice the air above him. As he had hoped,
Yusuf was momentarily slowed as he tried to avoid
tripping over the falling corpse of his guard, and
that afforded James enough time to regain his feet.
Off to one side, James could make out Jazhara and
the other guard locked in combat. She wheeled the
staff like an expert, taking his sword blows on
hardened oak and lashing back with the iron tips.
One good crack to the skull and the fight would be
over, and both James and Jazhara's opponent
knew that.
   Yusuf came in with his sword point low, circling
to his right. James glimpsed bales of cloth and
display racks to his own right and moved to
counter Yusuf. The spy wanted James's back to
possible obstructions, so he might cause the squire
to trip. James knew it was now just a matter of
who made the first mistake. He had been in
struggles like this before, and knew fear and
fatigue were the enemies most to be avoided.
Yusuf's face was a study in concentration: he was
probably thinking the same thoughts. James
paused as if weighing which way to move, inviting
Yusuf into committing himself to an attack. Yusuf
declined. He waited. Both men were breathing
heavily.
    James resisted the urge to glance to where
Jazhara struggled to finish off her opponent,
knowing that to do so would invite an attack. The
two men stood poised, each ready for an opening,
each waiting for the other to commit.
     Then James had an inspiration. He intentionally
glanced to the left, at Jazhara, seeing her block a
blow from the guard; she took the tip of the staff
inside the man's guard, and James saw her deliver
a punching blow with the iron end of the staff to
the man's middle. He heard the man's breath
explode out of his lungs, but didn't see it, for at
that precise moment, James spun blindly away to
his left.
    As he had expected, Yusuf had acted the
moment James's eyes wandered, and as he had
also suspected, the attack came off a combination
of blade movements. A feint to the heart, which
should have caused James's sword to lash up and
out, to block the scimitar, followed by a looping
drop of the tip of the scimitar to a low, inside stab,
designed to impale James in the lower belly. But
James wasn't there. Rather than parry, he had
spun to the left, and again found himself on Yusuf's
right hand. And rather than dance away, James
closed. Yusuf hesitated for an instant, recognizing
he was over-extended and needed to come back
into a defensive posture. That was all James
needed.
     His rapier struck out and the point took Yusuf
in the right side of his neck. With a sickening
gurgling sound, the spy stiffened. Then his eyes
rolled up and his knees gave way and he fell to the
floor. James pulled out his sword and turned to see
Jazhara break the skull of the last guard.
    The man went down and Jazhara retreated,
glancing around to see if any threats remained.
Seeing only James standing upright, she rested on
her staff as she tried to catch her breath.
    James walked to her and said, "You all right?"
    She nodded. "I'm fine."
    James then looked around the room. Bolts of
cloth were overturned and had been sent every
which way, and many were now stained with
crimson.
   Letting out a long breath, James said, "What a
mess."


                         TWO
                      Schemes
    James sheathed his sword.
    "Where did the children go?"
     Jazhara looked around, then glanced up the
stairs. "I'll look up there. You see if they are hiding
in that office," she instructed, and pointed to the
door at the rear of the shop. James nodded, with a
half-smile.
    No point in making an issue out of who was in
charge, he thought, turning to comply with her
instructions. She was, after all, a princess by birth.
Then as he reached the door he wondered, does a
court magician outrank a squire? He opened the
door, sword at the ready, in case someone else
lurked within. He entered a small office at the
center of which stood a writing table. Two burning
lamps lighted the room, and a large chest stood
against the far wall. The chest was apparently
unlocked, its hasp hanging open, but James had
received too many harsh lessons about trusting
appearances, and so he approached the chest with
caution. He glanced first at the papers spread
across the writing table and saw several in a
Keshian script he recognized. Most of these were
orders for dyed cloth. Other letters in the King's
Tongue were also business-related. Then he spied
two documents in a script he did not know.
    He was examining the chest for traps when
Jazhara appeared in the doorway. Through
clenched teeth she said, "The dog had the children
caged."
    James turned and looked through the door and
saw a dozen frightened children, ranging in age
from five to ten, standing mute behind the
magician. They were dressed in filthy rags, their
faces streaked with grime. James let out a slow
sigh. Poor children in Krondor were nothing
unusual; he had been an "urchin" himself before
becoming a thief. But systematic abuse of children
was not part of normal Kingdom practices. "What
do we do with them?"
   "What was that place you spoke of earlier?"
    "The Sign of the Yellow Shield. It's an
orphanage established by the Princess and the
Order of Dala."
    One of the children drew back at mention of
the place, and James remembered Nita's reaction.
James called into the main room, "You, boy, why
does that frighten you?"
     The lad just shook his head, fear written across
his face. Jazhara put a reassuring hand on his
shoulder. "It's all right. No one will hurt you. Why
are you frightened?"
    A girl behind the boy said, "These men said
they were from the Yellow Shield and if we came
here they'd feed us."
    James rose, left the office, pushed past Jazhara
to where the nearest thug lay in a pool of blood. To
an older boy he said, "Run outside and find a city
watchman. You should find one two streets over by
the Inn of the Five Stars. Tell him Squire James
requires two men here as soon as possible. Can
you remember that?"
    The boy nodded and ran off, leaving the street
door open behind him. James glanced after him
and said, "Well, if he doesn't head straight for a
hideout somewhere, help should be here in a few
minutes."
   Jazhara watched as James turned the dead
Keshian over and looted his purse. "What are you
looking for?" she asked. James held up a ring.
"This." He rose and handed it to her to examine.
She turned the ring over in her hand. It was a
simple iron ring with a small painted yellow iron
shield fastened to it. "Those who serve the Order of
Dala wear a ring similar to this. I suspect these
men showed this to the children to lure them here,
claiming they were taking them to the orphanage."
    Jazhara glanced toward the children, several of
whom nodded. "That would explain why Nita was
so adamant about not going there," she said.
    James returned to the office and looked again
at the closed chest. He hesitated, then opened it.
Inside were more documents. He removed a few
and asked, "Jazhara, can you read these? They
appear to be in a form of Keshian I don't
understand."
    Jazhara took the proffered documents and
glanced at the topmost. "I can read them, but it's a
desert script, from the area around Durbin, and not
from the interior of Kesh."
    James nodded. He could only read formal court
Keshian. Jazhara's eyes widened. "Filthy traitor!
Yusuf has been using my great-uncle and his
resources, setting Kesh against your Prince, and
your Prince against Kesh!"
    James looked perplexed. Finding out that Yusuf
was a Keshian agent was hardly a shock.
Discovering he was also betraying his master was.
"Why?"
   Jazhara held out a single page. "To serve
someone named 'the Crawler.'"
     James rolled his eyes heavenward, but stayed
silent. The Crawler had been a thorn in the side of
both the Prince and the Mockers for months now
and James was no closer to establishing his identity
than he had been the day he had first heard his
name. Hoping for some clue, he asked, "What else
does it say?" Jazhara finished reading the
document, then looked at the next. "This Crawler is
someone of note, someone who rewarded Yusuf
handsomely for his betrayal. There are references
to payments already made of large amounts of
gold and other considerations."
    She hurried through several other documents,
then came to one that caused her to stop and go
pale. "This cannot be . . ." she whispered.
   "What?" asked James.
    "It is a warrant for my death should I choose
not to serve Yusuf. It bears my great-uncle's
signature and seal."
   She held it out with a shaking hand and James
took it. He examined the paper closely then said,
"It isn't."
    "Isn't?" she asked softly.
    "You said it cannot be and I'm saying you're
right. It isn't real. It's a forgery."
   "How can you be certain?" she asked. "I've
seen my great-uncle's script and seal many times
and this appears to be from his hand and ring."
    James grinned. "It's too flawless. I doubt that
even your great-uncle could order the death of his
favorite niece without some noticeable trembling in
his hand. The letters are too prefect. I can't read
the words, but I can see the handwriting and it's a
clever forgery. Besides, even if the handwriting
displayed that slight agitation I'd expect, there are
two other reasons."
   "Which are?" she asked as the sound of
approaching footsteps reached them.
    "Your great-uncle would never be stupid
enough to sign his own name to a death warrant
on any Keshian noble, especially one in his own
family. More to the point, we've seen a fair number
of documents bearing his seal in the palace over
the years and there's a tiny imperfection in his
signet." James pointed. "Look here. Where the long
point of the star touches the bottom of the seal
there should be a fine crack, as if the ring has a
tiny fracture. This seal doesn't have it. The ring
wasn't his."
    "Then why?" asked Jazhara. As she spoke, a
small company of the city watch appeared outside
the door.
     "Because," said James, striding toward the
door, "if the new court mage in Krondor dies and
someone in the Imperial Court starts casting
around for someone to blame, who better than the
head of the Keshian Intelligence Corps? Someone
in the Empress's Palace might wish to see him
removed and replaced with his own man."
    "The Crawler?" asked Jazhara.
    James turned and nodded.
    "Then he is someone of importance," she said.
"To threaten my great-uncle is to risk much. Only a
man with his own power base within Kesh would
dare this."
    At the door, a guard of the watch said, "One of
these children came to us and we hurried here as
quickly as we could, Squire. What can we do to
help?"
    James replied, "There are some bodies inside
that need to be removed, but otherwise
everything's under control." He glanced at the
children who hovered around them in a circle, as if
ready to bolt should the alarm go up. "You'd better
take charge of this lot before they scatter."
   "Where shall we take them?"
    James said, "To the Shield of Dala Orphanage
the Princess helped found, over by the Sea Gate.
Last I heard they had plenty of beds and hot food."
    Several children started to inch away, as if
getting ready to flee. Jazhara crouched and
reached out as if to gather the fearful children to
her. She said, "They are not like the men who have
hurt you. There you will truly find food and warm
beds."
     Confronted otherwise with the prospect of a
cold night with only stones to sleep upon and an
empty belly, the children remained. The guard
looked around. "Well, then, if you're all right
getting back to the palace without a guard, Squire,
we'll get this bunch moving. Come along, children,"
he said, trying not to sound too gruff. The children
left with two of the guards while the remaining pair
peered into the building. "We'll have these bodies
gone by morning. What about the building?" one of
them asked.
   James replied, "It'll be looted five minutes after
you leave, so I'm going to poke around a little
more and take anything important to the prince.
Once we're gone, get rid of the bodies and let
whoever wanders by take what he wants. If the
previous owner has any heirs, I would welcome
them coming to the palace to complain."
    The watchman saluted and James and Jazhara
reentered the dyer's shop. Jazhara thoroughly
examined every paper in the chest and James
inspected every likely spot that might harbor a
secret hiding place. After an hour, James
announced, "I don't think there's anything else."
Jazhara had been carefully reading the papers
found in Yusuf's office. "There's enough here to
warrant a full investigation from my great-uncle's
end," she said. "This attempt to have my death
placed at his feet in order to discredit him . . . it
would have created a virtual civil war in the north
of the Empire, for the desert tribes would know it
to be a false accusation."
   "But the Empress and her council in the City of
Kesh might believe it."
   Jazhara nodded. "Whoever this Crawler is, he
seeks to benefit from confrontation between our
peoples, James. Who would gain from such chaos?"
   James said, "It's a long list. I'll tell you
sometime. Right now, we should get to the palace.
You have barely enough time to take a short nap,
change into clean clothing, eat, then be presented
to Prince Arutha."
     Jazhara took a final long look around the room,
as if searching for something or trying to impress
details on her memory, then without comment she
lifted her staff and moved purposefully toward the
door. James hesitated for a half-step, then
overtook her. "You'll send word to your great-
uncle?" he asked when he caught up with her.
"Certainly. This Crawler may be Keshian and what
occurs here in Krondor may be but a part of a
larger scheme, but it's clear that my great-uncle is
at risk."
    James said, "Well, there's the matter of the
Prince."
    "Oh." Jazhara stared at James. "Do you think
he would begrudge my great-uncle a warning?"
    James touched her shoulder lightly. "It's not
that. It's only . . ."
    "Matters of politics," she finished.
    "Something like that," James said. They turned
a corner. "It may be there's no problem in
communicating this discovery to your great-uncle,
but Arutha may request you leave out certain facts,
such as how you got the information."
   Jazhara smiled slightly. "As in not revealing we
know Yusuf was ostensibly an agent working on
behalf of Great Kesh?"
    James grinned. "Something like that," he
repeated. As they continued to walk, she added
after a while, "Perhaps we could simply say that
while dealing with an illegal slavery ring, we
discovered a plot to murder me and pin the blame
upon my great-uncle, to the purpose of having him
removed from his position as Governor of the Jal-
Pur."
    "My thinking exactly."
     Jazhara laughed. "Do not worry, my friend.
Politics are second nature to Keshian nobles not
born of the True Blood."
    James frowned. "I've heard that term once or
twice before, but must confess I'm vague as to
what it means."
     Jazhara turned a corner, putting them on a
direct path back to the palace. "Then you must
visit the City of Kesh and visit the Empress's court.
There are things I can tell you about Kesh that will
not make sense until you have seen them with
your own eyes. The True Blood Keshians, those
whose ancestors first hunted lions on the
grasslands around the Overn Deep, are such.
Words would not do them justice." A hint of irony—
or bitterness—tinged her words, and James
couldn't tell which, but James decided not to
pursue the matter. They crossed out of the
Merchants' Quarter and entered the palace district.
As they approached the palace gates, Jazhara
glanced over to the large building opposite and
noticed the solitary guardsman there. "An Ishapian
enclave?"
    James studied the sturdy man who stood
impassively at his post, a lethal-looking
warhammer at his belt. "Yes, though I have no
idea of its purpose."
    Jazhara looked at James with a wry smile and a
twinkling eye and said, "There's something
occurring in Krondor about which you're ignorant?"
James returned her smile. "What I should have
said is that I have no idea what its purpose is—
yet."
    The guards came to attention as James and
Jazhara reached the gates and the senior guard
said, "Welcome back, Squire. You've found her,
then?"
    James nodded. "Gentlemen, may I present
Jazhara, court mage of Krondor."
   At this, one of the other guards began to stare
at Jazhara. "By the gods!" he exclaimed suddenly.
    "You've something to say?" James inquired.
The guard flushed. "Beggin' your pardon, Squire,
but a Keshian? So close to our Prince?"
     Jazhara looked from one to the other, then
said, "Set your minds at rest, gentlemen. I have
taken oath and I will swear fealty to Arutha. Your
prince is my lord, and like you, I shall defend him
unto death." The senior guard threw a look at the
outspoken soldier that clearly communicated they
would be talking about his outburst later. Then he
said, "Your pardon, milady. We are honored to
have you in Krondor." "My thanks to you, sir,"
replied Jazhara as the gates were opened. James
followed, and as the gates were closed behind
them he said, "You'll have to excuse them. They're
naturally wary of strangers." "You mean, wary of
Keshians. Think nothing of it. We would be equally
suspicious of a Kingdom magician in the court of
the Empress, She Who Is Kesh. When Master Pug
entrusted me to this position, he was very clear
that my appointment is not to be political."
     James grinned. Nothing in the court was not
political, but he appreciated the sentiment. He
regarded the young woman again. The more he
knew her, the better he liked her. Mustering up his
best courtier's tone, he said, "A woman of your
beauty and intelligence should have no trouble with
that. I myself am already feeling a great sense of
trust."
    She laughed. Fixing him with a skeptical
expression, she said, "Your compliment is
appreciated, Squire, but do not presume too much,
too quickly. I'm sure your Prince would be upset
were I forced to turn you into a toad."
     James returned the laugh. "Not half as upset as
I'd be. Forgive my impertinence, Jazhara, and
welcome to Krondor."
      They paused at the main entrance to the
palace, where a page waited. "This boy will escort
you to your quarters and see to whatever you
need." Glancing at the sky, James added, "We
have two hours until dawn, and I will attend the
Prince an hour after he breaks fast with his family.
I'll have someone come fetch you to court for the
presentation."
   "Thank you, Squire," said Jazhara. She turned
and mounted the steps to the palace doors.
    James watched her go, appreciating just how
nice her retreating figure looked in her travel
clothes. As he took off in the direction of his own
quarters, he muttered to himself, "William's got
good taste in women, that's for sure. Between Talia
and this one, he's got his hands full."
     By the time he reached a small gate near the
palace wall, on the path leading to the rear
servant's entrance, his mind had already turned
from exotic beauties from distant lands and was
wrestling with mysteries more deadly, such as who
this Crawler was and why was he trying so hard to
plunge the Kingdom into war.


    Arutha, Prince of Krondor and the Western
Realm, second most powerful man in the Kingdom
of the Isles, looked at his squire and said, "Well,
what do you think of her?"
    "Even if Duke Pug hadn't vouched for her, I'd
be inclined to trust her, to take her oath of fealty
as heartfelt and genuine." Arutha sat back in his
chair, behind the desk he used when conducting
the more mundane daily routines of ruling the
Western Realm. It was his habit to take a few
minutes there to ready himself for morning court,
before the conduct of his office was taken out of
his hands by de Lacy, his Master of Ceremonies.
    After a moment of reflection, Arutha said, "You
must be tired. If loyalty were even a remote issue,
Jazhara would not be here. I mean, what do you
think of her as a person?"
    James sighed. "We had . . . an adventure, last
night."
    Arutha pointed to the documents upon his
desk. "Something to do with a dead cloth-dyer of
Keshian ancestry who appears to be working for
Lord Hazara-Khan, no doubt."
    James nodded. "Yes, sire. She's . . .
remarkable. As much as I've been around magic in
the last ten years, I still know little about it. But
she seems . . . I don't know if powerful is the
correct word . . . adept, perhaps. She acted
without hesitation when the need arose and she
seems capable of doing considerable damage
should that be required."
    "What else?"
    James thought. "I think she's able to be very
analytical 'at a full gallop' as they say. I can't
imagine her being rash or foolhardy."
    Arutha nodded for James to continue.
    "We can deduce she's educated. Despite the
accent, her command of the King's Tongue is
flawless. She reads more languages than I do,
apparently, and being court-born will know all the
protocols, ceremonies, and matters of rank."
   "Nothing you've said is at variance with Pug's
message to me concerning this choice." Arutha
indicated another piece of parchment on his desk.
"You have a nose for smelling out things even a
magician of Pug's puissance might not recognize."
    "In that, Highness, she's what you require in
an advisor on things magical, I would wager."
     "Good." Arutha rose and said, "Let us go and
meet her, then." James hurried to reach the door
and open it for his prince. While no longer Senior
Squire of the Court of Krondor, he was still
Arutha's personal squire and usually attended him
when he wasn't off on some mission or another for
Arutha. James opened the door. On the other side,
Brion, the newly-appointed Senior Squire, awaited
Arutha's appearance. Brion was the son of the
Baron of Hawk's Hallow in the eastern mountains of
the Duchy of Yabon. A tall, rangy, blond-headed
lad, he was a hardworking, no-nonsense sort, the
perfect choice for the tedious work of Senior
Squire, work James had to admit he had never fully
embraced with enthusiasm. Master of Ceremonies
de Lacy and his assistant, Housecarl Jerome, were
thrilled with the change in assignments, as they
had both been forced to compensate for James's
absences when he was out and about on Arutha's
behalf. James glanced at Brion as he followed
Arutha, leaving James with the other squires
awaiting the duties of the day. When Arutha was
seated, Brion nodded to Jerome, who moved to the
large doors that would admit today's court to the
Prince's presence. With a dignity James still found
impressive, the old Master of Ceremonies moved to
the middle of the entrance, so that as Jerome and
a page opened the doors, those outside would first
see de Lacy. With a voice still powerful, the Master
of Ceremonies said, "Come forth and attend! The
Prince of Krondor is upon his throne and will hear
his subjects!"
    He turned and walked toward the dais, while
pages led members of the court to their assigned
places. Most of those in attendance were regular
members of Arutha's court and knew exactly where
they should stand, but a few newcomers always
needed a boy nearby to instruct them quietly in
matters of court protocol. And Brian de Lacy was a
stickler for protocol.
     James saw several officers and nobles of
Arutha's staff enter and take their customary
positions while petitioners who had convinced
someone on the palace staff they needed to speak
personally with the Prince followed. Jazhara was
first among those, since she would soon make the
transition from newcomer to member of the court.
James was impressed. Gone was the dusty,
efficient travel garb, and now she wore the
traditional formal raiment of her people. From head
to foot she was dressed in a deep indigo silk, and
James had to acknowledge that the color suited
her. She wore far less jewelry than was customary
for a woman of her rank; but the pieces she did
wear—a brooch which held her veil pinned to her
shoulder, which in her homeland would be worn
across her lower face in the presence of strangers;
and a single large bracelet of gold embedded with
emeralds—were of the highest quality. The former
thief suppressed a smile as he considered what
they'd fetch if sold to some of the less reputable
gem dealers in Krondor. Master de Lacy intoned,
"Highness, the court is assembled." With a slight
inclination of his head, Arutha signaled for court to
commence.
    James glanced around to see if William was
present. As a junior officer of the Prince's guard he
had no particular reason to be here, but given his
history with Jazhara, James thought it possible he
might put in an appearance.
    De Lacy spoke: "Highness, we have the honor
to present to you Jazhara, newly come to Krondor
from Stardock, recommended to your favor by
Duke Pug."
    Arutha nodded for her to come close and
Jazhara approached with the calm, effortless poise
of one born to the court. James had seen more
than one previously confident petitioner stumble
while under the Prince's gaze, but Jazhara reached
the appropriate spot and bowed, a low, sweeping
gesture, which she executed gracefully. "Welcome
to Krondor, Jazhara," said Arutha.
     "Duke Pug commends you to our service. Are
you willing to undertake such?" "With my heart and
mind, Highness," answered the young desert
woman. De Lacy came to stand halfway between
Jazhara and the Prince and began the oath of
service. It was short and to the point, to James's
relief; there were far more tedious rites that he'd
been forced to endure in his years of service to the
crown.
     Jazhara finished with, "And to this I pledge my
life and honor, Highness."
    Father Belson, a priest of the Order of Prandur,
and Arutha's current advisor on issues concerning
the various temples in the Kingdom, approached
and intoned, "Prandur, Cleanser by Fire, Lord of
the Flame, sanctifies this oath. As it is given, in
fealty and service, so shall it be bound, in
protection and succor. Let all know that this
woman, Jazhara of the House of Hazara-Khan, is
now Prince Arutha's good and loyal servant."
    Belson conducted Jazhara to her appointed
place in the court, next to his own, where both
would be available should Arutha need their
opinion on some issue concerning magic or faith.
James glanced at the remaining company and
realized court would be blessedly short this
morning. There were only two petitioners and most
of the regular court staff appeared anxious to be
elsewhere. Arutha was a ruler who, to everyone's
relief except perhaps de Lacy's, preferred efficiency
to pomp. He left grand ceremony, such as the
monthly galas and other festive occasions, to be
overseen by his wife. Jazhara caught James's eye
and gave him a slight smile, which he returned.
Not for the first time, James wondered if there
might be something more in this than merely a
collegial gesture, and then he mentally kicked
himself. James's view of women was quite outside
the norm for men his age in the Kingdom: he liked
them and wasn't afraid of them, though he had
been from time to time confused by them. Still,
while he enjoyed intimacy with a woman as much
as the next man, he avoided complicating liaisons.
And a relationship with one of the Prince's advisors
was only slightly less complicating than one with a
member of his family; so he shunted aside such
thoughts. With a slightly regretful inward sigh he
told himself, it's just that she's exotic.
    When court was over and the company
dismissed, Arutha rose from his throne and turned
to Jazhara. "Are you settled in?"
    "Yes, Highness," she answered. "My baggage
was delivered to the palace this morning and all is
well."
    "Are your quarters adequate?"
    She smiled. "Very, Highness. Master Kulgan
told me what to expect, and I believe he was
having some fun with me, as they are far more
commodious than I had expected."
    Arutha smiled slightly. "Kulgan always
possessed a dry sense of humor." Motioning for
James, he said, "Squire James will conduct your
tour of Krondor today, and should you need
anything, he will ensure you get it."
    "Thank you, Highness." With a grin, James
said, "As you know, we had a bit of a tour last
night, Highness."
   Arutha said, "I saw the documents this
morning." To Jazhara and James he said, "But first,
you two, in my office, please."
     Brion hurried to open the door and Arutha led
Jazhara and James into his private office. As he
was about to step through, Arutha said, "Squire
Brion, see what Master de Lacy has for the squires
this morning."
    "Sire." Brion bowed and departed.
    Arutha sat. "Jazhara, allow me to begin by
saying that had I a moment's concern regarding
your loyalty to our court, you would not be
standing here."
   Jazhara inclined her head and said,
"Understood, Highness."
     "James, as soon as possible, please familiarize
our young magician with everything we know so far
about the Crawler. That will require, I suspect, a
fair amount of personal history, since his
confrontation with the Mockers is significant in
understanding his motives. Be frank. I have the
impression this young lady doesn't shock easily."
    Jazhara smiled.
    Arutha fixed a solemn gaze on both of them.
"This Crawler has had his hand in no small amount
of mischief over the last year or so. He was
indirectly involved in one of the more threatening
attacks on our sovereignty and created a situation
that put a great strain on our relationships with a
neighboring nation to the east. The more difficult
he is to find, the more I worry about him."
Addressing James he said, "Be thorough. You
needn't return to the palace, unless I send for you,
until you feel Jazhara has seen all she needs to
see."
    James bowed. "I will be thorough, Highness."
    Jazhara bowed as well and followed James out
of the Prince's office into a side corridor, where
James asked, "Where to first, my lady?" Jazhara
said, "My quarters. I'm not traipsing around
Krondor in this gown. And I feel only partially
dressed if I don't have my staff in my hand."
    James smiled. "Your quarters it is."
    As they walked through the palace, Jazhara
said, "I haven't seen William yet. Is he avoiding
me?"
    James looked at her. Frank, indeed, he
thought. He said, "Probably not. While he's a royal
cousin, he's also a junior officer and has many
duties. If we don't run into him during our travels,
I know where we'll be able to find him this
evening."
    Jazhara said, "Good. We need to talk, and I'd
rather that occurred sooner than later."
    James noticed she was no longer smiling.


                      THREE
                        Vow
    The watchman saluted.
    James returned the acknowledgment, while
Jazhara took in the sights of Krondor. She was
wearing her travel garb once more. She carried her
iron-shod staff, and her hair was tied back. She
looked . . . businesslike. James found it interesting
to contrast how she looked now, and how she had
appeared at court earlier that morning. Two very
different women . . .
     They had begun early in the day, visiting the
shops and markets of what people commonly
referred to as the "Rich Quarter" of the city, a
place in which shops displayed items of great
beauty and price to buyers of means. Jazhara had
lingered at several shops, much to James's
chagrin, for he had never enjoyed the pastime of
looking at goods he had no interest in buying. He
had several times been assigned to the Princess's
shopping expeditions, mostly to keep Elena out
from under her mother's feet as much as to guard
Arutha's wife. It was perhaps the only time in his
life when he hadn't particularly enjoyed the
Princess's company.
     James had then taken Jazhara through the so-
called "Merchants' Quarter," where the traders and
captains of commerce had their places of business.
The center of this district was dominated by a
coffeehouse. They had paused to enjoy a cup of
the Keshian brew, which Jazhara pronounced as
fine as any she had tasted at home. This had
brought a smile from their server, a young man
named Timothy Barret, the youngest son of the
owner. Businessmen flocked to Barret's to conduct
business, mainly the underwriting of cargo ships
and caravans. After leaving the Merchants'
Quarter, they had visited one working-class district
after another. It was now past sundown and the
evening watch was making its rounds. "Perhaps we
should return to the palace?" James suggested.
    "There's still a great deal of the city to be seen,
yes?" James nodded. "But I'm not certain you'd
care to spend time there after dark."
    "The Poor Quarter?"
    "Yes, and the docks and Fishtown. They can be
pretty rough even during the day."
     "I think I have shown I am capable of taking
care of myself, James." "Agreed, but I find it best
to keep the opportunity for trouble to a minimum;
it has a habit of finding me anyway."
    She laughed. "Perhaps more tomorrow, then.
But what about William? You said he would likely
be off-duty this evening."
    James pointed to a side street. "Let's cut down
there. William is almost certainly at the Rainbow
Parrot."
     "A soldiers' tavern?"
     James shrugged. "Not particularly, though
many of Lucas's patrons are old friends who served
with him in the Riftwar. No, it's just the place
William prefers to frequent."
     Jazhara glanced sidelong at James. "A girl?"
    James felt himself flush and decided a simple,
direct answer was appropriate. "Yes. William has
been seeing Talia, Lucas's daughter, for several
weeks now."
     "Good," said Jazhara. "I feared he was still . .
."
    As she paused, James supplied, "In love with
you?" Without looking at James she said,
"Infatuated, I think, is a better word. I made a
mistake and . . ."
    "Look, it's none of my business," James said.
"So if you don't want to talk about it, fine."
    "No, I want you to know something." She
stopped and he turned to look at her. "Because
you're his friend, I think."
    "I am," said James. James had been something
of a mentor to William since he had arrived at
Krondor.
    "And I would like for us to be friends, as well."
    James nodded. "I would like that too."
     "So, you know, then, that William was a boy
who followed me around for years once he was old
enough to become interested in women. I was a
few years older and to me he seemed an eager
puppy, nothing more." She paused and stared
down at the street, as if recalling something
difficult to recount. James, too, stood still. "I
became involved with an older man, one of my
teachers. It was not a wise thing to do. He was
Keshian, as I was, and he shared many of the
beliefs I do on magic and its uses. We drifted into a
relationship without too much effort. Our affair
became . . . awkward, for my family would not
have approved of any such liaison, and rather than
dictate to me, my great-uncle got word to my lover
that he was to cease his involvement with me."
She began to walk slowly again, as if it helped her
form her thoughts. James accompanied her. "He
rejected me, and left Stardock, returning to the
Empire."
    "And to a small reward, I'm sure."
    "At the least. Perhaps it was nothing more than
wanting to spare me a confrontation with my own
father or perhaps he was afraid—my great-uncle's
reach can be very long, even into a place such as
Stardock."
    "And?" James prompted.
    "William was there. I was hurt and frightened
and alone and William was there." She looked at
James. "He's a lovely young man, honorable and
kind, strong and passionate, and I felt abandoned.
He helped me." Her voice trailed off.
    James shrugged. "But what?"
    "But after a while I realized it was as wrong for
me to be his lover as it had been for my teacher to
be mine. William was the son of the duke, and had
another destiny before him and I was . . . using
him." James suppressed the quip that almost
sprang to his lips about it not being a bad way to
be used, and said instead, "Well, he wanted . . . I
mean . . ."
    "Yes, but I was older and should have seen the
problems to come. So I broke off our affair. I fear I
may have tipped the balance in his decision to
leave Stardock and come to Krondor."
    They turned into a street and headed toward
an inn displaying a large parrot with rainbow-
colored feathers on a sign over the door. "Well,
I've known Will for a bit now, and I think you can
put aside that concern," James said at last. "He
was set on becoming a soldier, one way or another,
all his life, from what he's told me."
   Jazhara was about to reply, but before she
knew it, James was drawing his sword and saying,
"Guard yourself!"
     She brought her staff to the ready and hurried
after him. She saw that the door to the inn was
partially open and that there was a dead soldier
lying before it; and now she could hear the sound
of fighting coming from within.
     James kicked the door wide and leapt through,
Jazhara behind him, staff at the ready. A scene of
carnage greeted them. Two armed men lay dead
on the ground, mercenaries judging by their dress.
Several bar patrons also lay dead amidst the
broken furniture. A young woman lay near the
fireplace, blood pooling about her head. In the
corner William conDoin, cousin by adoption to the
Royal House of Krondor and Lieutenant in the
Prince's Household Guard, stood ready with his
large sword held two-handed before him. Three
men advanced on him.
    William, seeing the newcomers, "James!
Jazhara! Help me! Talia's been hurt!"
    One of the men turned to engage the squire.
The other two attacked William, who barely had
room to deflect both strikes with his larger sword.
A devastating weapon in the field, the hand-and-a-
half or "bastard" sword was a liability at close
quarters. Jazhara lifted her hand and a nimbus of
crimson light erupted around it. She cast it at the
closest of William's opponents and watched as the
light harmlessly struck the ground near his feet.
"Damn," she muttered. She hefted her staff and
stepped forward, leveling a jab with the iron base
at the side of the man's head. The intruder sensed
or saw with his peripheral vision the attack and
ducked aside. Whirling to face his new foe, he
made a wicked slashing attack at Jazhara, causing
her to fall back. But she had freed William to
concentrate on one foe only, and he quickly killed
his man. James also dispatched his opponent, then
used his sword hilt to strike Jazhara's attacker at
the base of the skull. Rather than stun the man, it
served only to distract him, and he turned as
Jazhara lashed out again with her staff. The sound
of breaking bones was unmistakable as the iron
heel of the staff crushed the back of the man's
head. James looked around the room and said,
"What black murder is this?" William had thrown
down his sword and was kneeling beside Talia,
cradling her head in his lap. The girl's face was
pale and her life flowed out by the second. "Oh,
William . . ." she whispered, "Help me."
    William looked down despairingly. He glanced
at James, who shook his head slightly, regret
clearly showing in his expression. William then
looked at Jazhara and entreated, "You were one of
my father's finest students. Can you perform a
healing?"
    Jazhara knelt beside the young soldier and
whispered, "I'm sorry, William. Her wounds are too
severe. Even if we were to send for a priest . . . it
would be too late."
     James knelt on the other side of the girl. "Talia,
who did this?" Talia looked up at James. "They
were after Father. I don't know who they were. The
leader was a huge bear of a man." She coughed
and blood trickled from her mouth, staining her
lips. "He hurt me, William. He really hurt me."
    Tears streamed down William's cheeks. "Oh,
Talia, I'm sorry . . ." Suddenly the girl's distress
seemed to ease. James had seen this before in
those on the verge of death. For a moment their
eyes brightened, as if the pain had vanished, as if
the dying stood upon the threshold of entering
Lims-Kragma's Hall. At this moment, they saw
clearly in both worlds. Talia whispered, "Don't
worry, William. I swear by Kahooli, I will have my
vengeance!"
    Then her head lolled to one side.
    "No . . . Talia!" William sobbed. For a moment
he held her, and then slowly he placed her on the
floor, and gently closed her eyes. At last, he rose
and declared, "They must pay for this, James. I'm
going after them."
    James looked toward the doorway of the inn. If
the intruders had been seeking Talia's father Lucas,
that was the way the old man would have bolted.
He said, "Wait, William. The Prince will have my
head if I let you go off alone. You'll have your
revenge and we'll be there beside you. Now, tell us
what happened."
    William hesitated a moment then said, "Right.
Martin and I had just ended our shift. We headed
over here for a drink, just like always, and that's
when we saw them run out of the building. Half a
dozen of them, with that big bastard leading them.
Martin tried to halt them, and they attacked us
without so much as a word. If you hadn't come
along, I'd no doubt be lying alongside Martin." He
gestured toward the dead soldier.
    James inspected the carnage. In addition to
Talia, they had slaughtered everyone else in the
inn. The other barmaid, Susan de Bennet, lay
sprawled on the floor in the corner, her head
severed completely from her body with what
looked to have been a single blow. Her red tresses
fanned out around her head, which lay a foot away
from her body, her blue eyes still wide in shocked
amazement. The other patrons were likewise
hacked to pieces.
    "Why?" asked James. "Why charge in and kill
everyone in sight?" He looked at William. "Did the
big man go after Lucas?"
    "No. Some other men went out through the
back. Once those five murderers backed me inside
the inn, the big bastard and some others fled down
the street."
    "Do you have any idea where they were
heading?" asked James. Before William could
answer, the building seemed to rock as the night
was torn by the sound of a thunderous explosion.
James was first out the door, with William and
Jazhara close behind him. To the west, a fountain
of green flames rose into the night as rocks shot up
into the air. As the sound of the explosion
diminished, the rocks began to rain down.
   James and his companions ducked beneath the
overhanging roof eaves, and waited.
     When it was clear that the last of the rocks had
fallen, William said, "Listen!"
     In the distance they could hear the clash of
arms and the shouts of men. They hurried toward
the noise, and turned the corner that led to the city
jail. As they ran toward the jail, another explosion
ripped through the night and they were thrown to
the ground. A tower of green fire again reached
into the darkness, and James shouted, "Get under
cover!"
    Again they hugged the walls of a building as
more stones rained down upon them. William
shouted, "What is that? Quegan Fire?" James shook
his head, "No Quegan Fire I've ever seen was
green." Jazhara said, "I think I know what it was."
   "Care to share that intelligence with us?" asked
James.
    "No," she answered. "Not yet."
     As the clatter of falling stones quieted, James
leapt up and they continued running toward the
jail. They reached a junction with two other
streets, and sprinted left. A short distance further
on they came to another intersection, and it was
there they saw what was left of the jail. A gaping
hole in the wall stood where the wooden door had
once been, a few flames could be seen inside, and
smoke rose from the maw. Nearby, an overturned
wagon served as cover for two guardsmen and
Captain Garruth, commander of the city watch.
James, William, and Jazhara approached the wagon
in a running crouch, keeping the wagon between
them and the opening, for crossbow bolts and
arrows were flying from the hole at those behind
the wagon. Glancing back, Captain Garruth
motioned for them to stay low. When James came
alongside, the captain said, "Astalon rot their black
hearts." He nodded to the two young men he knew
and said, "William. Squire James." Without waiting
for an introduction to Jazhara, the guard captain
continued. "As you can see, we've a bit of a
problem."
    "What happened?" asked James.
    "Bloody brigands! They've blown out the back
of the jail, and cut down half my squad."
    "Who are they?" asked William.
    "Your guess is as good as mine, lad. The
leader's a giant of a man, bald, with a thick beard.
He was wearing some sort of bone amulet, and he
swung a mean sword."
    William said, "That's the one, James."
   "Which one, boy?" asked the captain as
another arrow slammed into the underside of the
wagon.
    James glanced at William. "The one that killed
Talia, the barmaid at the Rainbow Parrot."
     Garruth let out a slow breath then said heavily,
"Lucas's girl. She is . . . was . . . such a sweet
thing." He glanced at William. "My sympathies,
William."
   With cold anger, William replied, "I'll have his
heart, Captain. I swear I will."
     Garruth said, "Well, now's your chance, lad.
They've got us pinned down, but maybe the two of
you can creep back down the way you came and
circle behind the jail."
    "Where's the sheriff?" asked James.
    Garruth inclined his head toward the jail. "In
there, I expect. I was due to meet with him when
everything went to hell."
    James shook his head. He had little affection
for Sheriff Wilfred Means, but he was a good and
loyal servant of the Prince and his son Jonathan
was one of James's agents. He would discover if
the younger Means was still alive later, he
supposed. "If the sheriff and his men were inside
when the bastards blew up the jail, we won't see
help here from the palace for another ten or fifteen
minutes," said James.
    Garruth said, "Aye, and that gives them time
for whatever bloody work they've got in mind.
Never seen anyone try to break into a jail before,
so there must be something in there they want."
    James said, "No, there's someone they want."
    William said, "You think Lucas went to the jail?"
"Maybe," said James. "But we won't know until we
get inside." Garruth said, "You'd best leave the
woman here until the palace guards arrive."
   Jazhara said, in a dry tone, "I appreciate your
concern, but I can handle myself."
    The captain shrugged. "As you will."
    They crouched low and returned the way they
had come, until they reached the big intersection,
safely out of firing range of the jail. All three stood
and began to run.
    They quickly reached the rear wall of the jail, in
which another gaping hole could be seen. "The
second explosion?" asked William. "The first," said
Jazhara. "They blew this one out to catch men
eating and sleeping there"—she pointed through
the hole to a table and overturned bunks—"then
when those in the front of the jail ran back to aid
their comrades, they set off the explosion on the
other side, through which they almost certainly
attacked, catching whoever was inside from the
rear."
    James said, "We'll not find the answer out
here."
    He ducked low and ran toward the hole leading
into the guardroom, expecting a volley of arrows at
any moment. Instead he found only two men
looting the corpses on the ground. One died before
he could draw his sword and the other turned on
James, only to be struck from behind by William.
James held up his hand for silence. From the
entrance come the sound of arrows and quarrels
being fired, but all was still in the guardroom.
James motioned for William to take the left side of
the door into the front room, and for Jazhara to
stand a few feet behind James. Then he moved to
the partially opened door. He glanced through. A
half-dozen men, four with bows and two with
crossbows, were spread in flank formation,
patiently shooting at anything that moved outside
the hole in the wall. It was clear they were merely
holding Garruth and his men at bay so someone
inside could accomplish his mission.
    James glanced at William and Jazhara, and
then toward an opening in the floor with stone
stairs leading down to the underground cells. He
knew there was a staircase in the front room
leading to offices and the sheriff's apartment
above. Which way had the big man gone? Up or
down? James decided that either way they'd need
Garruth and his half-dozen guardsmen to deal with
the big man and his crew. So the six bowmen
ahead must first be neutralized. James held up
three fingers, and Jazhara shook her head
emphatically. She tapped her chest, indicating that
she wished to make the first move. James glanced
at William, who shrugged, so he looked back at
Jazhara and nodded.
     She stepped forward, raising her right hand
high above her head, while grasping her staff in
the left. Again the hair on James's arms stood on
end as magic was gathered. A golden light
enveloped the woman, accompanied by a faint
sizzling sound, then the light coalesced into a
sphere in the palm of her hand. She threw it as if it
was a large ball and it arced into the room, landing
between the center pair of bowmen. Instantly they
dropped their weapons and twitched in wild
spasms. The two next to them on either side were
also afflicted, but held on to their weapons and
managed to regain control of their movements
almost immediately. The two crossbowmen—one of
either side of the flank—were unaffected.
Fortunately for William, the man he charged had
just fired a bolt and was moving to reload his
weapon. The other man turned and fired wildly, the
bolt striking the wall high above James's head.
Suddenly the balance shifted. The archers dropped
their bows and drew daggers, for the projectile
weapons were useless at close range. James had
one man wounded and down before his neighbor
had freed his dagger from his belt. William's large
sword was menacing enough that one of the
mercenaries threw down his crossbow and
attempted to leap over the desk and dash through
the gaping hole in the wall.
    Seeing the man attempting to flee from within,
Captain Garruth and his men sprang forward and
the man was down in moments. Inside, the others
threw up their hands and knelt, the mercenary's
universal sign of surrender.
    Garruth indicated that two of his six men were
to guard the prisoners. To James he said, "There
are more of them than these six. I'll take my men
to the basement, if you three will check upstairs."
    James nodded. "Who's supposed to be up
there?" "Just the lads sleeping until their mid-
watch shift, and a scribe named Dennison. The
sheriff and his men sleep up there." Glancing at the
hacked bodies, he said, "I doubt any of them are
alive." He scratched his beard. "It was a perfect
raid. They knew exactly when to hit. The company
was at its lowest complement and least able to
defend itself, and reinforcements were unlikely to
get here quickly." He started toward the stairs
leading down to the cells, and two of his men
followed cautiously.
    James motioned to William and Jazhara to
accompany him and they made their way to the
stairs leading to the upper floor of the jail. As they
reached the steps, they ducked reflexively as
another explosion came from above.
    While smoke and stone dust poured down the
steps, Captain Garruth shouted, "He's heading for
the North Gate!" James didn't hesitate. "Come on!"
he bellowed, and ran through the gaping hole just
a few feet away.
    Looking down the crowded street leading to the
North Gate, James could see the head and
shoulders of a large man towering above the
throng, shoving his way through the curious
onlookers who had gathered to see what the
commotion at the jail was. James, William, and
Jazhara raced after him. As they neared the crowd,
James glanced back and saw that Garruth's men
were engaged in a struggle with about a half-dozen
mercenaries. To William and Jazhara, he shouted,
"We're on our own!" People who had been shoved
aside by the big man found themselves being
pushed aside once more, this time by James and
his companions. "Out of the way! Prince's
business!" he shouted.
    In the din of voices he could barely be heard
and finally James let William, who was stockier and
stronger than James, take the lead. People jumped
aside as they recognized the garb of the prince's
personal household guards, when he bellowed,
"Stand aside in the name of the Prince!"
    Still, precious moments had been lost, and the
big man was out of sight. As they neared the
intersection with the road that emptied out through
the North Gate, another mighty explosion could be
heard, followed instantly by screams and shouts.
They reached the corner and saw a large, two-
story building in flames. Smoke billowed from the
lower windows as flames climbed the outside wall.
   "Gods," said James. "He's fired the orphanage."
    From the main door four women and a man
were ushering out children, many of whom looked
stunned and disoriented, coughing from the heavy
smoke. James ran to the door.
    The man turned, saw William's garb and
shouted, "Someone's burned the orphanage! They
threw a bomb through that window." He pointed
with a shaking finger. "Flames erupted and we
barely got out alive."
   Jazhara said, "Are all the children out?"
   A scream from upstairs answered her.
    The man coughed and said, "I tried to go
upstairs, but the fire near the stairs is too intense."
    "How many are up there?" asked William.
    "Three," said one of the women, who was
crying. "I called the children for supper, but they
were taking their time coming down . . ." "I may be
able to help," said Jazhara.
    "How?" asked James.
    "I have a spell which will protect you from the
heat unless you touch the flame itself. But it lasts
only a short time."
    The man said, "Then weave it quickly, woman.
Their lives are at stake."
    William started to strip off his armor, but
James said, "No, I'm faster than you." He also had
no armor to doff. He handed his sword to William
and said, "Ready."
    Jazhara said, "The spell will protect you from
the heat, but you must be careful not to breathe
the smoke too deeply as it will kill as fast as a
flame." She pulled a handkerchief from the hands
of one of the nearby women and handed it to
James. "Hold this over your mouth and nose."
   She closed her eyes, putting her right hand on
James's arm and the back other left hand to her
forehead. She made a short incantation and finally
said, "There. It is done. Now hurry, for it will last
but a short time."
    James said, "I didn't feel anything."
    "It's done," she repeated.
    "I usually feel magic when it's—"
    "Go!" she said, pushing him toward the door.
"Time is short!"
    "But—"
    "Go!" she repeated with a strong push.
     James tumbled head-first through the door,
and ducked at the sight of flames licking the ceiling
above. To his surprise, he felt no heat. The smoke,
however, caused his eyes to water and he blinked
furiously to clear them. He wished he had thought
to wet the cloth he held over his nose and mouth.
He made for a stairway, following a serpentine
route around flaming tables and burning tapestries.
He quickly reached the top of the stairs and did not
have to ask if the children were still alive. Three
tiny voices split the air with their screams and
coughs. James shouted, "Stay where you are,
children! I'm coming to get you!"
    He hurried toward the shouts at the other end
of the room, a barracks of sorts where the children
obviously slept. Bedding was smoldering and
flames climbed the walls, but he found a straight
path to the children.
     Two boys and a girl huddled in the corner,
terrified to the point of immobility. James quickly
decided that trying to guide them through the
flames was pointless. The older of the two boys
appeared to be about seven or eight years of age.
The other boy and girl he guessed as being closer
to four.
    He knelt and said, "Come here."
    The children stood up and he gathered the two
smaller children up, one under each arm, then said
to the older boy, "Climb on my back!" The boy did,
clamping his arm over James's throat. James put
down the other two children, almost gagging. "Not
so hard!" he said, prying the boy's arm from across
his windpipe. "Here," he said, placing the boy's
arms across his chest. "Like this!"
    Then he scooped up the other children and
hurried back to the stairs. He moved quickly down
the steps and saw the flames had closed around
the landing. "Damn!" he muttered.
    There was nothing for it but to run. He leapt as
far as he could through the flames and instantly
understood Jazhara's warning. The heat itself
hadn't been noticeable, but the second the flames
touched him he could certainly feel it. "Oooh!" he
shouted, as he landed in a relatively clear patch of
wooden floor, while the planks on all sides
smoldered and burned.
    The roof above was making alarming sounds,
creaks and groans, that told James the support
timbers were weakening. Soon the upper floor
would collapse on him and the children if he didn't
move. The smoke was making the children cough
and James's eyes were tearing to the point of being
unable to see through the smoke. Taking in a
lungful that caused him to cough, he shouted,
"Jazhara! William!" William's booming voice
answered from slightly to his left. "This way!"
     James didn't hesitate. He leapt forward, trying
as well as he could to avoid the flames, but by the
time he came spilling out the door with a child
under each arm and one across his back, he was
burned on both legs and arms. The children were
crying from their burns, but they were alive. He
collapsed onto the cobblestones, coughing. Two
women took charge of the burned and frightened
children, while Jazhara knelt and examined James's
burns. "Not serious," she judged. James looked at
her through watering eyes and said, "Easy for you
to say. They hurt like the blazes!"
    Jazhara took a small jar out other belt pouch
and said, "This will make them stop hurting until
we can get you to a healer or priest."
    She applied a salve gently to the burns and,
true to her words, the pain vanished. James said,
"What is that?" "It is made from a desert plant
found in the Jal-Pur. My people use this salve on
burns and cuts. It will keep wounds from festering
for a while, enabling them to heal."
     James stood up and looked toward the gate.
"He's gotten away?" William said, "I expect so.
Look." He pointed to the other side of the street
where members of the city watch were moving
citizens back from the fire so that a chain of men
with buckets could start wetting down the nearby
buildings. It was clear that the orphanage was
doomed, but the rest of the quarter might be
saved. William sounded defeated. "Those men are
from the gate watch, so I suspect the murderer got
out of the city just by walking through."
     Jazhara said, "What sort of monster would set
fire to an orphanage to create a diversion?"
    James said, "The same sort who would break
into a jail at sunset." He coughed one more time,
then said, "Let's go back and see if we can find out
who he was after." He started walking back toward
the jail.
    Soldiers from the palace had arrived to
augment the surviving city guards at the jail.
James had just learned that Sheriff Wilfred Means
and all but six of his men had been killed. The
sheriff's son, Jonathan, stood in the main room
surveying the damage. James had recently
recruited the young man to work secretly for him in
the Prince's burgeoning intelligence network. The
squire put his hand on Jonathan's shoulder and
said, "I'm sorry for your loss. Your father and I
were never what could be called friends, but I
respected him as an honest man who was
unstinting in his loyalty and duty."
    Jonathan looked pale and could only nod.
Finally he controlled his emotions and said, "Thank
you."
    James nodded. "For the time being, you and
the other deputies report to Captain Garruth.
Arutha will need time to name a new sheriff and
you'll be undermanned for a while."
    Jonathan said, "I need to go home if that's all
right. I must tell my mother."
     James said, "Yes, of course. Go to your
mother," and sent the young man on his way.
Jonathan was an able man, despite his youth, but
he doubted Arutha would willingly elevate him to
his father's office. Besides, having Jonathan tied to
a desk wouldn't help James's plans. He put aside
those thoughts and went looking for Garruth. The
captain was directing workers and soldiers as they
started making repairs on the jail.
   "Didn't catch him?" he said when he saw James
and the others.
    James held up one of his burned arms and
said, "Bastard set fire to the orphanage as a
diversion."
     Garruth shook his head. "That one is a mean
piece of work." He inclined his head to the stairs
leading to the cell below. "You should take a look
at what he did down there. I'd not want to be on
this one's bad side."
    James led the others down the steps to the
lock-up. The jail was a holding area for minor
criminals waiting to get justice from Arutha's
magistrates, or for prisoners waiting to be
transferred to the palace dungeon or the prison
work-gangs.
    The jail comprised a large basement divided by
bars and doors into eight cells—two large general
holding pens, and six smaller cells used to isolate
the more troublesome prisoners. At any hour of the
day, drunks, petty thieves, and other
troublemakers would be found locked up.
    A city watchman saluted when he saw James
and said, "It's not pretty, Squire. Only one man left
alive here, in that far cell." James couldn't believe
his eyes. Guardsmen were carrying bodies from
one of the two large cells. James instantly saw
what had likely transpired. The large man had
come down, perhaps with henchmen, perhaps
alone, and had found two cells occupied, six
empty. The small cell across the way had been
ignored, while he had opened the large cell. The
door lay on the floor, and James wondered what
sort of man could pry it off its hinges.
      Three men lay dead in the cell, and a fourth
was being carried out. Three of these men had died
by the blade, killed quickly from the evidence
before James's eyes, but the fourth man look as if
he had literally been torn limb from limb. Eyes
fixed wide in pain and terror, the wizened-looking
little man lay with his left arm ripped off at the
shoulder, his right leg smashed and broken in
several places, and his left leg severed below the
knee. His blood had splattered the walls across the
room.
     James glanced at Jazhara and saw her looking
at the corpse without flinching. William looked pale,
though he had seen dead men before. The young
lieutenant said, "Who could do such a thing?"
"Someone who could kill barmaids and fire
orphanages," answered Jazhara.
    James knelt beside the corpse and said, "I
know this man. His name is Knute. Pirate working
up the coast, used to come down from time to time
to fence stolen property. Clever bastard, but
obviously not clever enough."
    "What do you mean?" asked William.
    "I have an idea, but I'm keeping it to myself
until I get more information," said James. With a
slight smile he glanced at his companions and
added, "Don't want to look too stupid if I'm
wrong." He stood and turned to the guard. Pointing
at the other cell with the single living man in it, he
asked, "What's his story?" The guard shrugged.
"Can't get much out of him. Local drunk, I'm
guessing, Squire. Scared to madness, I'm
thinking."
    James motioned his companions to come with
him. He crossed to stand before the drunk, who
stood gripping the bars as if afraid to let go. His
hair was gray and his face drawn and pale,
damaged from too many nights lying drunk in the
gutter. His eyes were tightly shut and he muttered,
"Gods, gods, gods! Calm, calm, try to be calm.
They'll be along soon. Any moment now, they've
got to come soon . . ."
    James said, "Scovy?"
     The man opened his eyes wide, and tensed as
if ready to leap away. Seeing James he said,
"Jimmy! Dala bless you! You've come to save me!"
James said, "Not so fast, old man. Did you see
what happened?" Words came tumbling from
Scovy's lips. "Oh, yes, yes, I saw it! Would that I
had gone to Lims-Kragma's Hall before seein' what
was done to that poor soul!"
    "You mean Knute?"
    Scovy nodded vigorously. "Knute it was. Pirate
from up near Widow's Point. Smug he was, saying
he wouldn't hang. Said the Prince himself would
sign his pardon once he heard the secret Knute
was keepin'"
    "What secret?" James asked.
    "Blast if I know, Jimmy. Knute wouldn't say.
I'm thinking treasure. Knute probably had it hid . .
. that's what all this fuss is about."
    Jazhara said, "Tell us what happened tonight."
    Scovy looked at Jimmy and said, "Get me out?"
    James nodded. "If I like what I hear."
   Scovy said, "Well, first this sound comes from
above, like the gods' own thunder was shaking the
building. Twice it rocked the building. I was sitting
down, but I damned near hit my head on the
ceiling I jumped so high. Scared me sober, it did.
Then this man comes down the stairs. Huge fellow,
with a beard and a scar through one eye, murder
in the other. Knute called him 'Bear.'"
    "What then?" asked William.
     "Well, Knute's about to piss himself, swearing
to all the gods he didn't betray Bear. The big man
seems to believe him, then he reaches over and
rips the door right off the cell. Calm as you please
he walks in, draws a long dagger and kills those
other three sods in there. The he tells Knute to
follow him, and Knute takes a step forward, then
Bear's grabbing him by the throat and lifts him
clean off the ground. "Knute's kicking and
squealing like a pig heading for slaughter, and Bear
keeps asking Knute where 'it' is. 'Where did you
hide it?' he keeps asking. 'What did you do with
it?'" Jazhara said, "And then?"
    "Knute just keeps screaming he hadn't done
nothing . . . Bear says Knute's a liar and starts
cutting into him, slicin' him apart piece by piece.
He wouldn't even wait for an answer. He only
stopped when he heard fighting upstairs. Then he
screams like an animal and rips what's left of Knute
into pieces." Lowering his voice, he said, "I'm only
alive because this Bear ran out of time, I'm
thinking. He was insane, Jimmy. Something about
him . . . it's not right. I've seen strong men, but
nothing like this one. I've seen crazy men, but this
man is the craziest ever." His lips quivered as he
finished his story. "Get me out?"
   James nodded to the guard and said, "Release
him."
   The guard produced a key and opened the
door.
    "Thanks, Jimmy. I won't forget."
    "See that you don't, Scovy."
    The prisoner hurried up the stairs and James
turned to his companions. "Any ideas?"
    Jazhara said, "This Knute betrayed Bear?"
James nodded. William said, "Whatever 'it' is, this
Bear must want it very badly to risk so much
mayhem and murder to recover it." James let out a
slow breath. "My thinking too." Turning toward the
stairs upward, he said, "Let's see if Garruth has
uncovered any more information in that mess. But
one thing I know for certain."
   "What?" William and Jazhara asked
simultaneously.
    "Arutha is not going to be happy."
                      FOUR
                     Secrets
   A soldier descended the staircase.
   "Captain, we found someone alive. It's
Dennison," he said.
    James glanced at Garruth, who nodded that
the squire should investigate and James signaled to
Jazhara and William to accompany him upstairs.
    Up there, they found the rooms in as much
disarray as the ground floor. Through a door in the
far end of the hall, they could see another hole
blown through the wall that was obviously the way
the man called Bear had exited the jail.
    Sitting on a stool with a cold wet rag pressed
to his head was the jail's scribe, Dennison. The
scribe looked up and said, "Thank Dala, who
protects the weak and the pious. Who knows what
horrors they'd have inflicted upon me had you not
shown up."
     William looked around the room. "What
happened here?" "I was knocked to the ground by
a thunderclap, then rendered almost senseless by a
second. This stool upon which I sit fell atop me,
striking my head here." He rubbed at a nasty bump
on his forehead. "I had blood upon my brow when
they arrived, so I feigned death. They killed all the
guards in the barracks room." He pointed to the
door leading into the largest room on the top floor.
"Someone with a powerful, deep voice gave the
orders, but I kept my eyes closed so I can't tell you
what he looks like. But I did catch a glimpse of one
of his men."
    "Did you recognize him?"
    "I think so. I've seen him before. He's rumored
to be the bosun's mate for Sullen Michael, the
pirate."
      James's eyes narrowed. He'd met many liars in
his day, and this man was a particularly bad one.
"Sullen Michael? How would a law-abiding servant
of the Crown, such as yourself, know this man?"
The scribe blinked and said, "Ah, I have been
known to drink . . . from time to time . . . and
occasionally I find myself in the less savory taverns
. . . down by the docks." His speech became more
rapid as he said, "Ah, maybe I'm wrong.
Everything was happening so fast, and I only
caught a glimpse before I closed my eyes again. I
mean, it could have been someone else . . ." His
voice trailed off as he looked around the room
uncomfortably.
    James glanced at Jazhara and William, and
William inched over to the stairs, while Jazhara
took up position between the scribe and the hole in
the far wall. James said, "Given how thorough they
were in killing just about everyone else, why do
you think you were left alive?" The color drained
from the scribe's face and he stammered, "As I
said, sir, I feigned death."
    "Odd they didn't check more closely," Jazhara
offered coolly. James nodded to William, then the
squire stepped forward and grabbed the slender
scribe by the shirtfront. "It's more than passing
strange that every man in this jail was killed—
every man except you and the drunk downstairs."
    "And the drunk only survived because he was
in a different cell," William observed.
     James shoved the scribe so his back was to the
wall. "The raiders knew exactly when to hit this
jail. Who knew the schedule?" Going even paler,
the scribe sputtered, "The sheriff! The deputies!"
    "And you!" said William, pressing in close to
the man. "There's a girl lies dead because of those
mercenaries, a girl I loved! I think you know more
than you're telling, so you'd best be out with it
before I spill your blood."
    The scribe was shaking with fear as he held up
a placating hand and he looked beseechingly from
William to James to Jazhara. "Truly, masters, I've
no idea."
    William whipped out his dagger and put the
point against the man's throat. A thin trickle of
blood snaked down Dennison's neck. "You lie! Say
your prayers!"
     "No, wait!" screamed the scribe. "I'll tell. I'll
tell. Just don't kill me!"
     James moved slightly, as if to pull William away
from the scribe, and in even tones said, "Did you
know this man Bear?" Dennison nodded, looking
defeated. "We did a bit of business. He used to slip
me a few crowns in exchange for information
regarding the jail and the guards, and on occasion
I'd lighten a few sentences here and there when
his men were picked up. I'd cut them loose; no one
noticed. I don't know what Bear was doing with
that pirate Knute, but he was mighty upset when
Knute got picked up."
    "What secret was the pirate keeping that would
lead Bear to murder?"
     The scribe let out a bitter laugh. "No one needs
to lead Bear to murder, Squire. He finds it
whenever he wants. It's why I could never say no
to him all these years. He'd have killed me without
even blinking that one good eye of his. I don't
know why he was after Knute. I just found out that
Knute had a room at The Bitten Dog, but I've not
been able to let Bear know yet, and I wasn't about
to sit up and tell his men when they were killing
everyone in sight." "Well, you're not going to tell
him now," said William, as he reversed his dagger
and slammed the hilt into the base of the scribe's
skull. The scribe collapsed and William said, "I'll
ask the captain to get this one to the palace and
keep him under close watch."
    James nodded. "He speaks to no one."
    William picked up the limp scribe and hoisted
the dead weight over his shoulder, and carried him
down the steps. Jazhara shook her head and said,
"A mystery."
    James said, "Whatever secret Knute hid, Bear
wanted it badly enough to be named the most
wanted man in the Western Realm. If I know
Arutha, by tomorrow there'll be a price of at least
ten thousand golden sovereigns on Bear's head.
Every mercenary will give long thought as to
whether they should serve Bear or turn him in."
    "What do we do now?"
    James glanced around and cocked his head
toward the scribe's desk. "First I write a note to
Arutha. Then we search every paper here, just in
case our friend downstairs left something useful.
And then I propose we start looking for two
things."
   Jazhara held up one finger. "Number one:
Knute's secret."
    James nodded and held up two fingers. "And
number two: Lucas. Talia's father." Thoughtfully,
he said, "And I'm not going to be surprised if
finding one doesn't lead us to the other."
    The Bitten Dog was as run-down a tavern as
existed in Krondor, and that was no mean feat.
James shook his head. "Not my favorite drinking
hole."
   William indulged in a rueful chuckle. "From
what I've heard, James, you used to frequent
worse."
   James grinned and pushed open the door.
"There are no worse places. Keep your wits about
you; we'll not be welcome here."
    He entered, the others close behind, and
instantly it was apparent what he meant. Every eye
was fixed upon William, or rather upon the tabard
he wore: that of the Prince's Household Guard. The
blood splatters and burns didn't escape notice,
either. At the far end of a long common room a
band of men huddled around a high circular table,
designed so that one could drink while standing up.
Their garb and bare feet identified them as sailors.
Three other men, apparently workers, stood before
the fireplace, and they also stared at the
newcomers.
    Near the door two heavily armed men had
ceased their conversation upon William's entrance.
    For a long moment, silence reigned in the
tavern, then slowly voices could be heard as men
started speaking in low murmurs. James spied the
tavern keeper and moved to the long bar.
    "What the hell do you want?" was the
barkeep's welcome. James smiled. William
recognized that smile. It meant trouble was
coming.
   "Drinks, for me and my friends."
     The tavern keeper was a dark-haired man, with
a thick thatch that appeared as if it hadn't been
visited by a comb in a year. His chin was covered
in stubble and his heavy jowls and deep circles
under his eyes gave the impression of one who
sampled his own ale far too regularly. He placed
three full flagons on the bar and growled, "That'll
be six coppers. Drink up then shove off; we've no
love for stooges of the court in here."
   "Charming," muttered Jazhara as she sipped at
the ale. It was thin and bitter, so she placed it
upon the bar and stood back to watch.
    James said, "You the chap they call Lucky
Pete?" The puffy face split into a smile. "Ay, Lucky
Pete, on account o' me skills with the fair sex." He
winked at Jazhara and said, "Come see me later,
darlin', and I'll show ya me peg leg."
    He put his hand over hers. She smiled, leaned
forward, and whispered, "You'll have two to show
me if we don't find what we're looking for." She
removed his hand.
     Pete grinned and chuckled, which did nothing
to improve his appearance. "Got fire, do you? I like
fire in me women." William said, "We heard a
fellow named Knute lodges here." Pete cocked his
head. "Knute? Did you say Knute? I'm hard of
hearin', you know, an' me memory ain't what it
used to be, lad." He made a show of cupping his
hand behind his ear.
    James glanced around and saw others in the
room were quietly watching the conversation. He
had been in enough dives like The Bitten Dog to
know that if they tried to bully Pete there would
almost certainly be a brawl in short order. He
reached into his belt purse, pulled out two gold
coins, and placed them on the counter.
    Pete's expression brightened. "Ah, yes, me
hearin's improvin' by the moment!" He lowered his
voice. "Yeah, I knew of' Knute. Jes' a small-time
pirate, but he did all right for himself for the most
part. At least until the bloody guards caught up
with him." He glanced at William. "No offense, of
course."
   "None taken . . . yet," William replied. "Did
Knute say anything unusual over the last few
days?"
     Pete said nothing. After a long silence, James
put another coin on the bar. More silence and
James pulled out a fourth coin. Pete gathered up
the gold pieces and said, "Ha! He drank so much,
who could tell? I know I've never seen him so
jumpy an' the funny thing of it was, when the
guards nicked him, he seemed relieved; almost like
he was aimin' to get nicked. Started a tussle right
outside that door, he did." Pete pointed to the front
door. "Most fellows like Knute, well, they jus' go to
lengths to avoid jail, you know what I mean?"
James nodded. "But ol' Knute just started a fuss
an' then hung around 'til a watchman comes along,
then he throws a drink in the lad's face, kicks him
in the shins, all manner of dotty nonsense. Knute's
not a scuffler, if you know what I mean. He's a
thinker, but this time he was right off his head,
from what I could see."
    James said, "Can we see his room?"
    Pete made a display of indignation. "You must
be daft! I can't be lettin' folks wander through me
guest's belongin's!" James slid two more coins
across the bar. "Your guest lies dead, hacked to
pieces."
     Pete swept up the coins. "Well, in that case, I
guess he won't be mindin'. Go along. Got the key
right here." He slid it across the bar. "Left door at
the top o' the stairs. You can look, but make it
quick, an' don't be botherin' me other guests. An'
bring the key back directly, else I'll send me
friends t'see ya!"
    They climbed the stairs and found themselves
on a small landing, with four doors, two ahead, and
one to the left and one to the right. James turned
to the left door and inserted the key. As he turned
the key, James heard a sound from within. He
stepped back, drew his sword in a fluid motion, and
kicked the door open. Inside the room a large man
was rummaging through a chest placed atop an
unmade bed. He turned, pulling out a large knife as
the door slammed open.
    James shouted, "Drop that blade!"
    The man reversed the dagger, holding it by the
point, drew back his arm, and threw it at James.
James shouted, "Down!" and went limp, dropping
to the floor. The blade flew through the door inches
above James's twisting body.
    James heard the sound of glass shattering as
the man hurled himself through the small window
overlooking the rear courtyard of the inn. William
leapt over James and was at the window before
James could rise.
   "Damn," said William as he looked through the
opening.
     James came up behind him and said, "What?"
William pointed and James looked out. The man lay
sprawled upon the cobbles below, his neck
obviously broken from the angle at which his head
was twisted.
     James said to William, "Look around and see
what's here, while Jazhara and I examine our
friend below."
   James and Jazhara hurried downstairs and past
Lucky Pete, who asked, "Where's me key?"
   "William will bring it when he's done," said
James. Pointing at a door next to the bar, he
asked, "That the way to the rear courtyard?"
    "Yes, why?"
    "Because you've got a corpse back there,"
James replied, pushing through the door.
    Pete put his elbows on the bar and said,
"Happens all the time, lad." James reached the
body and knelt next to it. A small pouch was still
clutched in the man's hand. He pried open the
man's fingers and removed it, examining the
contents. Inside was a simple key.
    "What do you think it's for?" asked Jazhara.
    "I'm not sure, but there's something familiar
about this key." William appeared. "Nothing up
there worth stealing. Just some clothes."
     "There's this," said James, holding out the key.
William examined, then said, "Come over here into
the light." They moved to the rear door of the inn,
where a single lantern burned, and William took
the key from James and indicated a mark on it.
"See this symbol?"
     James took it back from him and peered more
closely. "That's Lucas's key! The one that unlocks
his passage to the sewers!" Jazhara said, "Then
this must be what that villain was looking for. What
does it mean?"
    James tapped the key against his cheek.
"Lucas has a secret entrance to the sewer, in the
storage room behind the bar. He used to charge
people for the use of the key, this key."
   William, "So Knute has been using Lucas's slip-
me-out to get into the sewers."
     James nodded. "Yes. Probably so he could hide
the treasure from his last raid, the booty he was
talking about to that drunk Scovy. The one that
would buy him Arutha's pardon."
   "Do you think he stole the key from Lucas?"
asked Jazhara.
      "No, they must be in this together. Knute's
murderer wanted to know where 'it' was; I wager
'it' is the treasure."
    William said, "So Lucas must have escaped into
the sewers when Bear attacked. But then why
hasn't he contacted you or the Prince?"
    Jazhara said, "Perhaps he can't."
     James shook his head. "Lucas is the only man
who is not a member of the Mockers who knows
the sewers as well as I. He'll have several places to
lie low." James's voice got lower as he thought
about it. "He must know what sort of man Bear is.
And he must know that if he's been involved in
piracy, even just fencing stolen goods, Arutha
would be unlikely to afford him significant
protection. Lucas has spent his life walking a fine
line between lawlessness and legitimate business,
but this time he's crossed that line."
     William spoke bitterly, "And his daughter paid
the price." James put his hand on William's arm.
"And Lucas will have to live with that for the rest of
his life."
    Jazhara said, "Which will not be long if Bear
finds him. Our task is clear; we must find Lucas—
and quickly."
    James nodded agreement. "Pray we get to him
before Bear does."
    "Where do we start?" asked William.
   James gave his friend a wry smile and pointed
downward. "The sewers."
    Blood still stained the floors of the Rainbow
Parrot Inn, but the bodies had been removed. A
soldier stood beside the door as James, William,
and Jazhara approached.
    "Simon!" said William as he recognized the
soldier. "How goes it?"
    "Quiet, here, Lieutenant. Got the bodies out
and taken to the Temple of Lims-Kragma, so's they
can be properly sent on their way."
    "Where are the other guards?" asked James.
   "Well, Jack's at the back door, and that's it,
Squire. Sergeant Tagart had the rest of the lads
take the bodies to the temple. I guess the sergeant
didn't think much of anyone trying to rob an inn
that was already ransacked. A couple of lads will
relieve us at the end of our shift, then we can go
down with the others."
   "Down where?" asked James.
   "Why, the sewers. Ain't you heard, Squire?"
   James said, "Heard what?"
    "Some bloke was cut loose from the jail a few
hours ago. He got someone to stand for drinks at
an alehouse in exchange for telling why the jail was
attacked."
   James winced. "Scovy."
    "Could be that's the fellow," said the soldier.
"Anyway, there's been rumors aplenty. Pirate
treasure in the sewers. Mountains of jewels and
gold. Says a pirate named Bear hit the jail because
someone there knew where the treasure was."
    "So the sewers are now crawling with treasure
hunters," said William. "That's a fact, Lieutenant,"
said Simon. "Heard from one of the city watch who
passed by a few minutes before you got here that
a band of blokes came hobbling out of the big grate
near Five Points, all cut up and bleeding. Word is
the Mockers are trying to keep everyone else out of
the sewers so they can find the treasure
themselves."
   James sighed. "Well, I wonder what else could
happen to make finding Lucas more difficult."
    "Well, someone said there's a monster down
there, too, Squire." James looked at Simon and
said, "You're joking, right?"
     "On my honor, Squire," said the soldier.
"Seems two nights ago they found a body floating
in the bay, all chewed up the way a cat does a
mouse. Then they heard some fellow over at The
Bitten Dog heard from another bloke that a band of
smugglers was attacked by something that was big
as a bull, with long arms and big teeth."
   Jazhara asked James, "And you want to go
down there?" "No," answered the former thief, "but
we have no choice. If we're going to catch Bear, we
need to find Lucas before he does. I have an idea
where Lucas may be lying low."
     William nodded. "Even if Bear doesn't find
Lucas, if Lucas was in cahoots with Knute and is
sitting on that treasure, anyone else who finds it
before we do will probably kill Lucas."
    James said, "No more delays. Come on." To
Simon he said, "When your relief shows up, tell the
duty sergeant that we're in the sewers hunting the
killer. I want word sent back to the palace asking
the Prince to send a company down after us to help
clear out these treasure hunters."
    "As you say, Squire." Simon saluted.
   James started to turn away, and Simon added,
"One other thing, Squire."
    "What is it?"
     "There's a rumor surfaced a bit ago." He
glanced around as if ensuring no one else was
listening. "Seems a bunch of drunken lads from up
Fishtown way came out of the sewers over near
Five Points, dragging some fellows with them. They
were pretty messed up."
    "Mockers?" asked James, wondering if the
fishermen might have run into the Guild of Thieves.
    "No, not Mockers, Squire." He lowered his
voice. "They said it was that monster I was telling
you about. Went over to the Temple of Dala and
had to give the priests every copper they had just
to keep their friends from bleeding to death."
     "The monster again?" William looked dubious.
"Stop that nonsense." Simon shrugged. "Just
telling what I heard, Lieutenant. Some sort of . . .
thing, bigger than a man by half. One fisherman
said it just showed up in the tunnel with them and
started breaking bones and biting off fingers."
    "Great," said James. "Just great." Shaking his
head, he led his companions into the back room
and to a wall lined floor to ceiling with shelves full
of dry food, extra crockery, and bottles of wine. He
produced the key they had found in Knute's room
and moved aside a bag of dried beans. Behind it
was a keyhole large enough to accommodate
Knute's key.
     He inserted the key and turned it. A soft
rumbling sound and a loud click followed, then
James gripped the side of the shelves and pulled it
to the right. It slid effortlessly to the side,
revealing a half-height passage and steps leading
down. "You've got to duck a bit to get down these
steps," he said. "William, go fetch us a light."
William returned to the inn's common room and
reappeared a moment later with a lantern. James
said, "We could enter at any one of a dozen places,
but picking up Lucas's trail might be easier here."
He motioned for the lantern, took it from William's
outstretched hand, and led them into the darkness.
    "Ware the drop," James whispered, as he
jumped three feet down from the tunnel from
Lucas's inn to the sewer floor. He turned and
offered his hand to Jazhara, who took it, and using
her staff for balance jumped nimbly down. William
leapt after her and landed on something that
squished under his boot.
    "What a stench!" William complained as he
scraped his boot on the stones rising above the
inch-deep liquid. James turned to Jazhara and said,
"I'm afraid this isn't exactly what I meant by a tour
of the city. But duty calls . . ."
    She asked, "Do you truly think your friend
Lucas has fled down here?" James peered around
through the gloom. After a moment said, "He
knows these sewers almost as well as the Mockers
do." He peered at the walls and floor as if seeking
a sign of where to begin. "Back at the time of the
Riftwar, Lucas worked with both the Mockers and
Trevor Hull's smugglers. He built up a lot of
goodwill with the Mockers and so they leave him
alone down here. Not many can claim that. This is
where he'd go if he were in trouble."
    William said, "We've a lot of ground to cover,
so we'd best get started. Which way first?"
    James pointed. "That way, downstream."
    "Why?" asked Jazhara.
   "There are some old smugglers' hideouts that
Lucas knows. Not many, even in the Mockers,
know exactly where they are anymore. I'm betting
Lucas is holed up in one of those secret rooms."
   "You know where they are?" asked William.
James shrugged. "It's been years, but I sort of
know their general location."
   William let out his breath in an exasperated
way. "Sort of?"
    Jazhara laughed. "Better than no idea, it seems
to me."
    They made their way through the sewers, the
sound of their passage masked by the drips,
splashes, and gurgles of the water echoing off the
stones. Every so often, James would raise his hand
to halt them, and listen.
    After nearly a half-hour of careful movement,
they entered a large tunnel. The sound of rushing
water came from ahead. James said, "The center of
the sewer system lies up there. A half-dozen large
tunnels empty into it, and it leads out to the south
end of the bay. From there we will take another
tunnel to the old smugglers' landing. The outflow is
big enough for a boat to enter, which is why the
smugglers had their landing at the opposite end,
near the eastern wall of the city."
     William said, "Anyone using it these days?"
"Besides Lucas? I don't know. There aren't many
alive today who have been down there who aren't
in the Prince's service. Maybe the Mockers have
discovered those storage rooms."
     They entered a larger conduit and the sound of
rushing water grew louder. "Walk carefully here,"
warned James. They entered a large rotunda, with
six tunnels branching off, like spokes on a wheel.
Above them, smaller pipes emptied out into the
circular area and filthy water splashed down below
them. They moved cautiously in single file on the
narrow walkway along the wall, for the stones
around the deep hole were encrusted with slippery
filth. As they passed the second of the larger
tunnels, William asked, "Where do these lead?"
    "Each leads to a different portion of the city,"
said James. He paused and pointed to one of the
tunnels on the opposite side of the gallery. "That
one over there leads back toward the palace. Some
prince, years ago, decided to make the sewers
more efficient, I guess. There's an old cistern up
there"—he pointed upward to the darkness—"and it
was supposed to release water every night to help
flush out the sewers. Don't know if it ever worked
the way it was supposed to, but . . ." He resumed
walking. "I don't know anyone who remembers it
being used. Lots of merchants just dig their own
tunnels to the sewer when they start up their
shops. The royal engineers have maps, but most of
them are outdated, useless." Almost to himself he
added, "That would be something worth doing,
updating those maps and requiring people to
inform the Crown when they make changes."
     They entered the third large tunnel and James
said, "Be cautious. We're entering Mocker
territory."
    A short time later this tunnel emptied into a
smaller circular area, with two more tunnels
entering a third of the way up on either side,
forming a Y intersection. An old man stood near
the intersection, holding a long stick that he used
to poke at floating debris. William began to draw
his sword slowly, but James reached back and
stayed his friend's hand. "It's just an old toffsman,
named Rat-Tail Jack."
    "Toffsman?" whispered Jazhara.
   "He scavenges for items of value. You'd be
amazed at what can turn up down here."
     Slowly James walked into view and said, "Good
day, Jack." The man turned. "Jimmy, as I live and
breathe. Been some years." Upon closer inspection,
the man was of middle age, stoop-shouldered, and
slender. His hair was matted and filthy, of
indeterminate color. He had a receding chin and
large eyes, and they were fixed upon James and
his two companions.
    "Playing lookout, I see," James said, flashing a
grin.
    The man stopped the pretense of poking at the
sludge. "You know the trade too well, me old son."
    "What's up in the wind?"
    "Bloody murder and a bunch of lunatic treasure
hunters. Been a handful of lads taken to the
temples for healing already. Word's been passed to
shut down the Thieves' Highway."
   Jimmy said, "So I guess that means I'm
supposed to turn around and go back."
     "Even you, old son." The man pointed to the
other two tunnels. "Bashers are waiting. You'd best
go no further. That's Mockers territory. The big
'rats' down there will have you for supper, they
will."
    "Not for old time's sake?"
    "Not even that, Jimmy me lad. You got the
death mark lifted, I hear, but you're still not one of
the Dodgy Brotherhood and when the Thieves'
Highway is closed, only Mockers can pass."
    William whispered, "Is there another way?"
James replied, "Too long. We'll have to try to talk
our way past whoever's ahead."
    "And if that doesn't work?" asked Jazhara.
    James said, "We fight." He turned back to Jack.
"We're looking for Lucas. Seen or heard anything
from him?"
    "He's hiding out, boy, somewhere down here,
but I can't lead you to him."
     "What about Bear?" asked William. "Any word
of him?" "There's a bad one," said Jack. "He was
down here a few days ago looking for something.
Killed a few of the boys. We put the death mark on
him."
   "He's marked by the Crown, as well," said
James.
     "Still don't make the Mockers and Crown
friends, old son," said Jack.
   James said, "Who's in charge over there?"
   "Bosun Mace."
     James shook his head. Bosun Mace had been a
sailor in the King's Fleet who had been whipped out
of service for thieving. He had joined the Mockers
to put his talents to more profitable use. He was a
bully, short tempered, and had never liked James
when the boy had been a Mocker. He had been one
of the few men who had been friends with
Laughing Jack, a Basher whom James killed for
making a failed attempt on the Prince's life.
    "It's going to be a nasty fight," said James to
his companions. Rat-Tail Jack said, "Doesn't have
to be, lad, if you use that fabled wit of yours.
There's always something that can be traded for,
old son."
    "Such as?" asked Jazhara.
     Jack said, "Go talk to Mace and when he starts
to threaten you, ask him who's been chewing up
his lads. That'll get his attention." "Thanks, Jack,"
said James. He motioned for his companions to
move forward. They took the tunnel to the left and
as they did so, Jack let out a shrill whistle.
    "What was that?" asked William.
    "Jack's taking care of himself," said James. "If
he didn't call out the alarm, the Bashers would
think he was in league with us." A short distance
later they reached a widening of the tunnel and
from along both sides of the wall men stepped into
view, surrounding the trio. There were a half-dozen
of them, all armed.
    A large gray-haired man in front stepped
forward into the torchlight.
    After a moment he smiled. It wasn't a pretty
sight. Jowls covered with stubble hung from a head
that seemed a size too big for anything human. His
eyes looked as much like a pig's as a man's. A
bulbous nose that had been broken too many times
to recall was the centerpiece of his malformed
visage.
     "Well, Jimmy the Hand," said the large man,
slapping his left hand with the long sap he held in
his right. "You looking for some pain, boy?"
    "Looking to talk, Mace."
    "I always thought you talked too much, even
when you was one of us, you little snot." With that
he shouted, "Get 'em, lads!" and swung his billy
club at James's head.


                       FIVE
                     Monsters
    James ducked.
   The billy club split the air above his head as he
shouted, "Mace! Wait! We need to talk!"
    Jazhara had her staff at the ready and William
brandished his sword, but both held off from
engaging the approaching thieves until a blow was
delivered.
    "I'll talk to you," answered Mace, swinging
again at the elusive former thief, "with this!"
   "Who's been chewing up your Bashers?"
shouted James as he avoided a third swing.
   The large man stopped, holding his club high
above his head in preparation for another blow.
"What you know about that, boy?"
    James kept his distance. "I hear things."
    Suddenly the man looked worried, and James
knew that something grave must have occurred,
for as long as he had known Mace the Bosun, the
man had never shown fear or doubt. Mace lowered
his billy and held up his free hand to signal the
other thieves to stop their advance. "All right,
then," he said at last. "What have you heard?"
     "Just that someone—or something—has been
grabbing your men and leaving them . . ." James
was bluffing. He knew no details, but reckoned that
what Rat-Tail Jack had referred to was in some
way connected to the "monsters" Simon had
described at the Rainbow Parrot. And the old
toffsman's advice about bringing up this topic had
proved accurate so far.
    "Mangled," said one of the other thieves.
    "Mangled," repeated James.
     "It's fair disgustin'," said another thief. "Looks
like they'd been gnawed on, like a dog does wit' a
bone, you know, Squire?"
    Others nodded.
    "Where?" asked James.
   "That's the thing," said Mace. "One place, then
another—there's no rhyme or reason to it. You
never know."
   "How long has this been going on?" asked
James.
    "Fair close to a week, now," said Mace.
    James said, "You let us go by, Mace, and I'll
find out what's killing your men and get it dealt
with."
    "How you going to do that if some of my
toughest men can't face this thing, whatever it is?"
    Jazhara held up her hand and a globe of light
sprang forth. "Blind me eyes!" exclaimed one of
the thieves. "A bloody magician!" "The Prince's
bloody magician," corrected James. Mace waved
his billy at Jazhara. "You know the Mockers have
no truck with magic!" he shouted. "Prince's squire
and all, you still know the Mockers' Law!"
    Jazhara closed her hand and the light vanished.
"Look the other way for a while."
    "Or else let me call down a few squads of the
Prince's regulars," said William. "A couple of
hundred armed men might flush the thing out,
don't you think?"
     The thought of soldiers invading the Thieves'
Highway was obviously more odious than a
magician, for after a moment Mace said, "All right,
you can pass. But if any more of my lads gets
killed, Prince's squire or no, the death mark will be
back on you, boy. You have my word on that."
   James bowed theatrically, and said, "Your
warning is heard. Now, if we may go?"
    Mace waved them by. "Tread lightly, Jimmy the
Hand. There are them about who ain't members of
the Guild."
    "Noted. What's the password?"
    "'Lanky boy'," answered Mace.
    They left the Mockers and continued down the
passage. When they were safely out of earshot,
Jazhara said, "I understand many people fear
magic, but why are the Mockers so averse to it?"
    James said, "Because thieves thrive on
misdirection and subterfuge. You ever hear of a
thief stealing something from a magician?"
    Jazhara laughed. "Only in stories."
     "That's the point. If Arutha wanted to rid the
city of thieves, he could for a while by having you,
or someone like you, ferret them out with magic."
    Jazhara peered around the tunnel. "I think they
overrate our abilities. I could create some problems
in a limited area for a small number of them, but
once I had left, I suspect they would return, like
rats."
    James chuckled. "Almost certainly, but no one
said a fear has to be based in reality."
    Jazhara glanced at James. "Squire, I know you
by reputation to be a man of some
accomplishments for one so young, but to find you
to be a deep thinker is impressive."
    Now it was William's turn to chuckle, leaving
James to wonder if the remark was a compliment
or a barb.
   Twice they halted to hide as bands of armed
men came by. After the second group had safely
passed, James said, "That lot had been in a tussle."
    William nodded as he relit the lantern. "Two of
them aren't going to make it if their companions
don't carry them."
    "Which way do we go now?" asked Jazhara.
    "Where they came from," said James.
    They continued on, deeper into the sewers.
    The sound of lapping water heralded the
existence of another large waterway.
     "This is the original river sluice," said James.
"One of the early princes built it. I've been told
that this was originally above ground . . . maybe
designed as a small canal for barges from the
river." William knelt and inspected the stonework.
"Looks ancient." He stood and glanced around.
"Look there," he said, moving over to examine
something on the nearby wall. "This doesn't look
like the usual tunnel wall. It's more like a
fortification wall." He indicated the size of the
stones and the almost seamless way in which they
were set.
    "No foot- or handholds," James agreed.
    "How did it come to be so far below the
ground?" asked Jazhara.
     James shrugged. "People build things. They fill
in the spaces between them to make roads. At
least a dozen of the sewer tunnels look like old
roads that have been covered over, and that
central spillway we passed earlier was almost
certainly a cistern ages ago."
    "Fascinating," she said. "How old do you
estimate?" "Krondor's four hundred years old," said
James. "Give or take a week."
   Jazhara laughed. "By Keshian standards, a
young city."
     James shrugged and began walking. "This
way." As they turned a corner into another passage
that ran parallel to the main watercourse,
something darted across their field of vision
halfway down the tunnel, at the edge of the lantern
light.
   "What was that?" asked William, bringing his
sword to the ready.
     "It was big," said Jazhara. "Larger than a man
by half." James had also drawn his sword.
"Cautiously, my friends." They moved carefully
down the passage until they came to the
intersection where the figure had vanished. Ahead
lay a long corridor leading to the right, while to the
left a short passage led back to the edge of the
canal. "If the thing moves through the water," said
William, "that would explain why it is hard to find."
    "And why it could move about from place to
place quickly," observed James. "That way," he
said pointing to the left. They walked slowly, and
after a dozen steps spied a faint green light
wavering in the distance. Jazhara whispered, "My
hair stands on end. There is magic nearby." James
said, "Thanks for the warning." Jazhara removed
something from her belt pouch. "If I give the word,
fall to the ground and cover your eyes." William
said, "Understood." James nodded.
     They inched toward the light, and saw a door
set in the stone wall. It was open. When they
reached the portal, they halted. James attempted
to make sense of what he saw. Human bones lay
strewn about, along with the bones of rats and
other small animals. Rags and straw had been
fashioned into a large circular pallet, in which
rested several large leathery objects, each as long
as a man's arm. They pulsed with a sick, green
inner light.
     Jazhara gasped. "By the gods!" Suddenly
James made sense of what they beheld. Within the
leather sacks, as he thought of them, figures were
visible.
     "They're babies!" the magician cried, horrified.
She closed her eyes and began a low incantation.
At last, her eyes snapped open and she said, "This
is the darkest magic. This place must be destroyed.
Shield your eyes!"
    Both men turned their backs to the door as
Jazhara hurled the object she'd taken from her
pouch. A flash of white light illuminated the area as
heat washed over them.
     In the sudden brilliance the far end of the
corridor was revealed. There stood a misshapen,
hunchbacked figure, a creature seven or more feet
tall. Atop its frame sat a massive head, its visage a
caricature of a human face with a protruding jaw
exposing teeth the size of a man's thumb. Beady
black eyes widened in shock at the burst of light.
Its arms hung to the floor, and instead of hands,
large callused flippers bore the creature's weight.
    After a second, the monster roared and
charged.
    James and William stood ready as Jazhara
turned. The thing was almost upon them when
James threw his dagger with his left hand, a short,
deft cast, catching the creature in the chest. The
monster barely hesitated, but it let out a roar of
pain.
    The light coming from the fire behind them
revealed gaping wounds upon the creature's body.
The fights with other groups in the tunnels had left
the thing weakened, James hoped, and now he
knew it was mortal, as blood seeped from several
of the gashes. William's sword snaked point first
over James's head, and he braced to let the
creature run up onto the blade. The creature
slowed, and rather than impale itself, it lifted what
James thought of as arms rather than forelegs.
With a sudden backhand slash, the flipper-like
hand sliced through the air, and James barely
avoided decapitation. The flipper struck the stones
with a solid crack; James knew there must be a
hard callus or bone ridge along the flipper's edge
that would likely cut through flesh.
    Jazhara chanted a spell and held up her hand.
A point of searing red light appeared upon the
creature's head and suddenly it howled in pain.
Both flippers came up as if to shield its head,
giving William an opening.
    The long hand-and-a-half sword shot forward.
A short man, William was nevertheless powerful of
arm and shoulder and he drove his sword home
with all his weight. The blade struck deep. The
creature wailed. James shot past his companion
and struck for its throat with his rapier and in
seconds the thing lay upon the stones, dead.
   "What is it?" asked William, panting heavily.
"Nothing natural," said Jazhara.
    "Someone made it?" asked James, moving
cautiously around the still corpse.
    Jazhara knelt and touched a flipper, then ran
her hand across the brow above the blankly staring
eyes. Finally she rose, wiping away a tear. "It was
a baby."
   William almost gagged. "That was a baby?"
Jazhara turned and started walking down the
tunnel. "I need to be away from here," she said,
her voice choked with emotion. James and William
hurried to overtake her. "Wait!" James cried.
Reaching the intersection, Jazhara halted. Before
either William or James could speak, she turned
and said, "Some magic is evil beyond imagining.
There is a branch of the Lesser Path, called by
some 'Arcane Vitrus' in the old language. It means
'the hidden knowledge of life.' When used for good,
it seeks to unravel the reason people sicken and
die, or to find cures for deformity or illness. When
used for evil, it can fashion creatures such as
these."
    "Babies?" William asked.
    Jazhara nodded. "Children stolen or bought
hours after birth, placed within those 'egg sacs' to
be refashioned and twisted against any reasonable
nature by malignant arts."
   "So this monster was the first to hatch?" James
asked, shaking his head.
    "That poor child was no monster," said
Jazhara. "Whoever created it is the monster." She
looked to James. "Somewhere in Krondor is a
magician who makes black mischief. Someone who
wishes great turmoil in the Prince's city."
    James closed his eyes. "As if Bear wasn't
enough." He sighed and said, "One problem at a
time. Let's find Rat-Tail Jack and Mace and then
Lucas."
   They turned and began retracing their steps,
back the way they had come.
    As they walked Jazhara said, "That creature
can't have been down here long."
    James looked thoughtful. "Mace said the
trouble first started a week or so ago."
    William said, "Maybe whoever created it
wanted to see if the magic worked, then when it
did, planned to make more."
    "I think you're right," Jazhara said, "Which
means the magic is very powerful, for not only
does it twist the human design, it works quickly,
perhaps in a few days or a week."
    "So the creature really was a baby," said
James. "In both senses." "Yes, and in pain."
Jazhara's voice was bitter. "This is the sort of
horror that turns people against those of us who
practice the mystic arts. It is why magicians are
shunned and hated. I must send word to Master
Pug and let him know a rogue magician of powerful
arts is in Krondor."
    James said, "Ah, I'd leave that to the Prince.
Arutha tends to prefer a more direct approach. If
he feels the need to inform Stardock, he will."
    Jazhara said, "Of course. I will merely advise
His Highness to send word to Master Pug."
    They continued on in silence, occasionally
pausing when the sound of others in the sewers
reached them. Eventually they returned to the spot
Mace and his gang had halted them. William said,
"Are they gone?"
   James kept walking. "They're nearby; trust
me."
     They moved to the large canal and found Rat-
Tail Jack still picking over the sewage floating by.
As they approached, he looked up. "You're alive?
Guess that means we need to be rewarding you,
Squire."
    James said nothing, but looked quizzical.
    "How about we don't kill you for breaking oath
with the Mockers and entering the sewer without
our leave? That reward enough for you, Squire?"
    All James said was: "Lucas."
    "Monster's really dead?"
    "Yes. Now, what do you know about Lucas?"
Jack stopped poking at the floating detritus. "We
was keepin' an eye on Lucas. He's an old . . .
business associate from way back, but we was
figurin' he was handling some business that rightly
was ours. One night three boats rowed by some
grim-looking lads came up the main canal from the
harbor. Couldn't get close enough to see which of
the old smugglers' hideaways he used, but we'd
have found it sooner or later. Lucas went up to his
inn. Then he drops right down among us yesterday
and offers us his inn if we just let him pass. Well,
for that nice little inn of his, we said 'pass,' and he
scurries off. Knows the sewers, does old Lucas,
'cause the lad set to tail him got shaken before he
reached the smugglers' landin'. Still, enough, we
figure we'll get around to findin' him, 'cause the
lads checkin' around up top hear rumors of pirates
and gold. We figure Lucas knows where their
treasure's hid. That's why he was free with his inn
and all. So we figure we'll send a couple of Bashers
on him but then this monster shows up and all
them treasure hunters start running through the
tunnels . . ."
    "Where is he now?"
    "We have a good idea of where he was, Squire,
but you know how it goes with us Mockers. Always
misplacin' things. Of course, for a price, anythin'
can be found."
    "We killed the monster," said William.
   "And for that you get free passage, nothin'
more," replied Jack. "What's your price?" asked
James.
    "One favor, from you and your new friends, to
be named later."
    "What?" William exclaimed.
    "Why?" asked James.
    Jack said, "It won't be asked soon, maybe
never, but we think there's trouble comin'. Big
trouble. That monster was just the tiniest bit of it.
And we need all the friends we can get."
   "You know I can't break my oath to the Prince
and do anything illegal for you," said James.
   "I'm not askin' for that," said Jack. "But we
need friends, don't we, Jimmy the Hand?"
   James pondered the request, then said at last,
"That we do, Rat-Tail Jack. You have my oath."
    "We think Lucas is near the basement where
old Trevor Hull hid the Princess when you were a
boy. There are a couple of cellars from torn-down
buildings that you can still get into, large enough to
hide some treasure, and close enough to the water
to get it there." "I know the area," said James.
"We'll be out of the sewers by sunup." "See that
you are. We can't control every murderin' dog
down here." James motioned for Jazhara and
William to follow him and they continued along
their way, heading for the central canal.
    The trio moved silently and slowly. In the
distance they could hear the low murmur of men's
voices.
    James and his companions made their way
cautiously to a point near an intersection of the
main canal and another large waterway. Crouching
low in the darkness, their lantern shuttered,
James, Jazhara, and William waited.
    Six men, all wearing black, were consulting
with one another, speaking very softly. Jazhara's
intake of breath behind James told him she
recognized them. James and William already knew
them for what they were: Izmalis. Keshian
assassins. More than a dozen had turned up in the
desert fortress of the Nighthawks that Prince
Arutha had destroyed just months earlier.
     James had no illusions: if Jazhara could strike
with some magic spell that would incapacitate two
or three of them for a few minutes, then he and
William stood a chance. In an open fight without
the advantage of surprise, it would take a miracle
for the three of them to survive. James turned and
tapped Jazhara on the shoulder, pointing to the six
men, and then he put his lips next to her ear. In
his softest voice he asked, "What can you do?"
   Jazhara whispered, "I can try to blind them.
When I tell you, close your eyes tightly."
     She whispered the same instructions in
William's ear. Then she rose from her crouch and
began an incantation, her voice soft. Something—a
too-loud word, a rustle of cloth, the scrape of a
boot against stone—alerted one of the assassins,
who turned to peer into the gloom. Then he said
something to his companions, and at one they
ceased their discussion to look where he indicated.
     Slowly they drew weapons. James whispered,
"Do it now!" Jazhara said, "Close your eyes!" and
let loose her spell. A shaft of golden light sprang
from her hand and exploded in a searing-hot, white
flash. The six assassins were blinded instantly.
Jazhara shouted, "Now!"
     James sprang into action, with William just a
step behind him. Jazhara uncovered the lantern,
throwing the tunnel into stark relief. The young
squire struck the first man with the hilt of his
sword, knocking him into the canal. "Take one alive
if you can!" he shouted. William struck down one
man, but almost got run through when he found
his next opponent in a defensive posture, ready to
respond to the sound of an attack. "Think I'll try to
stay alive, first, James," he said, using his long
sword to get over the blinded man's guard and kill
him.
    Jazhara came up next to William and struck
another assassin across the face with the iron-clad
butt of her staff. The man crumpled to the floor.
    James found the next two Izmalis had regained
some of their sight and were poised for attack. As
James knew from experience, multiple opponents
often got in one another's way, but these two
looked practiced at fighting in tandem. "I could use
some help," he said to Jazhara.
     As soon as he spoke, both men launched a
coordinated attack, and only his preternatural
reflexes saved him. The first man struck out, the
curved blade of his scimitar slicing at James's mid-
section, while his companion struck a half-beat
later, coming in where James should have been
standing had he made the expected response to
the initial attack. Instead, James had blocked to
the right with his blade, and instead of retreating
he had pressed hard on his own weapon, forcing
the first assassin to continue moving to his left.
With his left hand, James gripped the Izmali's right
elbow and threw his weight into the man, sending
him spinning into the canal.
    Suddenly the second assassin facing James
was alone, with Jazhara bearing down with her
staff, ready to strike, and James was now on his
off-hand side.
    William engaged his last opponent and called,
"I've got this one cornered!"
     The Izmali facing Jazhara said something in a
language James didn't understand, then raised his
left hand to his mouth, and toppled to the stones.
William's opponent did likewise, falling into the
canal with a splash.
     "Damn!" shouted James, grabbing the
collapsing assassin before he hit the stones. As he
expected, the man was already dead. Jazhara
looked at the assassin James had knocked into the
canal and said, "He floats face-down."
    "What happened?" William asked.
    "Nighthawks. They've taken their own lives.
Fanatics." Addressing Jazhara, James inquired,
"Did you understand what he said?" "I think he
ordered his companions to die, but I did not
recognize the language. It is said the Izmalis have
their own tongue, that no one outside their clan
may learn."
    William said, "We found some like these when
the demon was summoned at the abandoned
fortress in the desert."
    "Demon?" Jazhara asked.
     "I'll tell you back at the palace," said James.
"But it's clear the Nighthawks numbered Keshians
in their bands."
    "Which makes them a threat to the Empire as
well as to the Kingdom." James regarded the
young woman for a long moment, then said, "It
might be wise to send some specific information to
your great-uncle."
    "Perhaps," said Jazhara, leaning upon her staff,
"but as you've observed, that's for the Prince to
decide."
    James grinned. "Let's check the bodies."
    They examined the four assassins who hadn't
ended up in the canal and came away with nothing.
The only personal items they wore were the
Nighthawks amulets around their necks.
    "I thought we'd seen the last of these in the
desert," said William. "We hurt them, certainly, and
we destroyed one nest, but there are others."
James stood up and tucked an amulet into his
shirt. "I'll give this to the Prince. He won't be
pleased."
    "What were they doing down here?" asked
Jazhara. William said, "Searching for the treasure,
I expect."
    "If they're to rebuild their nasty little empire,
they'll need gold," agreed James. He glanced
around. "We came in time, I think." He moved to a
large wall with two iron rings set into it and turned
the one on the left. After a moment, a deep rumble
started and the stones moved aside.
    "Lucas!" he shouted. "It's James. I've come
from the Prince with help!"
     From deep within the darkened passage a voice
called, "Jimmy! Thank the gods it's you. They've
been searching for me all over, trying to kill me."
     James motioned for Jazhara to bring the
lantern and the three of them entered the tunnel. A
dozen feet in, Lucas stood holding a crossbow, and
as soon as he recognized the two young men, he
laid it down, relief on his face. "The thugs of that
madman, Bear, have been after me for an entire
day."
    "They're not the only ones," said William.
"Treasure hunters and assassins and thieves as
well."
    "Damn," said Lucas. "Knute said his men were
handpicked, and would keep silent, but I suspect
the fool couldn't keep his own gob shut."
    "What is it Bear's after?" asked James.
    "Damned if I know, James," replied Lucas. The
old man sat down on a water cask. "I was going to
help Knute fence the booty from his last raid. I
guess Knute double-crossed Bear, because Bear
and some of his men showed up at my inn and
started killing everyone in sight. I barely got out
alive myself after telling Talia and the others to flee
through the kitchen."
    James and William exchanged glances. In a
soft voice James said, "Talia's dead, Lucas. Bear
caught her and tried to get her to tell him where
you were hiding."
     Lucas seemed to collapse from within. His face
turned gray and his eyes welled up with tears.
"Talia?" His chin fell to his chest. For a long while
he sat silently, then said with a sniffle, "I lost my
sons in the war, but never thought that Talia . . ."
He sighed. After another long silence, he said,
"This deal with Knute would have set me up. She
wouldn't have had to be a barmaid anymore. She
would have had a proper dowry for a proper young
man." He looked up at William. William also had
tears in his eyes. "You know I cared for her, Lucas.
I swear to you we'll find Bear and Talia will be
avenged." Lucas nodded sadly. "All this trouble, all
this black murder, and now it's pointless. I should
just return the booty to Knute."
     "You haven't heard about Knute?" asked
James. "I heard the guards picked him up night
before last. He's in jail." "Not anymore," said
William. "Bear broke into the jail and cut Knute to
pieces."
   "By the gods! He's gone mad," exclaimed
Lucas.
    "We'll deal with Bear," William avowed.
    "Thank you, William," said Lucas, "but mind
your step. Talia may be gone, but you're still with
us, and I'd prefer it if you stayed that way. This
Bear is dangerous, and he's got magic on his side."
    Jazhara said, "What kind of magic?"
    "Dark powers, milady. Knute was terrified after
he saw Bear work magic. That's why he broke with
him." He shook his head. "You want to see what
the bastards were after?"
    James nodded. "I am a bit curious."
    Lucas rose and led them to a stout wooden
door. He threw aside the bar on the door and
pulled it open. Jazhara stepped forward with her
lamp, and even James had to let out an
appreciative low whistle. The small room was filled
knee-deep in treasure. Sacks of gold coins were
piled atop several small chests. Solid gold statues
and piles of jewelry were strewn about. Lucas
stepped into the room and opened one of the
chests. Inside was more gold, and a small
statuette. Jazhara reached down and picked it up.
"This is Ishapian," she said softly. "It is a holy icon
of their church, the Symbol of Ishap." James's eyes
grew wide. "They hit an Ishapian vessel! There
couldn't be a more dangerous undertaking for a
pirate, by my reckoning." Lucas said, "Most men
would say foolhardy. Bear wanted something off
that ship, something specific. Knute was certain
that, whatever it was, it wasn't among the loot
he'd stashed down here."
    Jazhara asked, "How did he know that?"
     "Knute told me that Bear flew into a rage when
the ship went down, despite having taken all this."
He waved his hand. "It's one of the reasons Knute
left Bear to drown. He was afraid Bear blamed him
for the ship going down too fast."
    "A reasonable fear, considering what Bear did
to him," observed Jazhara.
    William looked confused. "How does this help
us? We still don't really know who we're chasing,
and what he's searching for."
     Lucas opened another chest, one that looked
different from the others. It was made of dark
wood, much older, and appeared never to have
been cleaned. It was stained and the hinges were
rusty. He pulled out a rolled-up parchment and
handed it to James. Then he handed a battered,
leather-bound book to Jazhara. "It's all there.
These papers list every ship that Knute's crew have
sunk over the years, including this last job with
Bear."
   James looked at the map. "This will tell us
where the Ishapian vessel was hit."
   "Knute was thorough, I'll say that for the little
gnoll," admitted Lucas.
    "It still doesn't tell us what Bear is after,"
observed Jazhara. William said, "Could we bait him
into coming to us if we spread a rumor that we
know what he's after?"
     James said, "Maybe, but first things first. I
must go to the palace first and report to the
Prince." He turned to Lucas. "You stay here with
William. I'll send Jonathan Means and some
deputies down here to take charge of all this gold."
    "What will you do with it?" asked Lucas.
   James smiled. "Give it back to the Ishapians.
We may not know what Bear was after, but I'll
wager a year's income they do."
    Lucas's shoulders sank slightly, but he nodded.
Jazhara and William followed James out of the
room, and they returned into the sewers. As they
hurried down a corridor toward the nearest exit,
they heard the secret door to the old smugglers'
hideout closing behind them.


                        SIX
                     Intrigues
     Arutha waited for the page to leave. When the
youngster had departed from the Prince's private
office, the ruler of the Western Realm of the
Kingdom of the Isles looked at James. "Well, this is
a far worse mess than we had imagined, isn't it?"
    James nodded. "Much more than a simple hunt
for pirate loot, Highness."
     Arutha graced the magician with his half-smile,
and his dark eyes studied the young woman.
"You've gotten quite an unusual reception in our
city, haven't you, milady?"
     James quipped, "Given our recent history,
Highness, it may be more usual than either of us
likes."
    Jazhara smiled at the casual banter between
the two men. "Highness, my instructions from
Duke Pug were simple: Come to Krondor and help
you in any fashion I might, relative to issues of
magic. To those ends, I am here to serve, even if it
means having to practice the more bellicose side of
the art in defense of your realm."
     Arutha sat back and made a tent with his
fingertips, flexing them in and out a little, a
nervous habit James had observed in him since the
first day they met. After a moment, he said, "We
have two such topics of discussion, both of which
may require, as you put it, 'the more bellicose side'
of your arts."
    "The creature," supplied James.
     Jazhara nodded her agreement. "Highness, the
presence of that monstrous child and the quality of
evil magic required for such an undertaking
indicate that malignant forces of great power are
involved."
    "Indeed," said the Prince. "Is there any reason
you can imagine for someone to practice such
horrific magic within the city itself? Certainly the
chance of discovery was high, even in an
abandoned corner of the sewers."
   Jazhara said, "If the purpose was to create
chaos in your city, Highness, then such a choice
makes sense. For any other reason I can imagine,
no; it is a choice that defies understanding. So,
assuming the intent was to create chaos, then the
potential reward would have been worth the risk of
early discovery." Jazhara hesitated, then added,
"The creature formed from the evil magic used
upon those babies would no doubt have grown in
power. The one we destroyed had killed or injured
more than a dozen armed men in the course of a
few days, by all reports. It was weakened when we
fought it. Moreover, it was immature, still an infant
by any measure. In a few more weeks, I suspect it
would have been quite powerful. A host of those
things loose in your city . . ."
    "You draw an unattractive picture," said
Arutha. "But your argument is persuasive." He
leaned forward. "Since the arrival of the moredhel
renegade Gorath we have been wrestling with a
series of seemingly inexplicable events, but
throughout those events there has been one
constant: someone who seeks to plunge Krondor
into chaos."
    "The Crawler," said James.
    Arutha nodded. "I agree."
    "Who is this Crawler, sire?" asked Jazhara.
Arutha nodded to James, who said, "We don't
know. If we did, he would have been hanged long
since. He first appeared over a year ago, running a
gang that attempted to dislodge the Mockers in
Krondor. But at the same time, he appears to be
working the docks, interfering with commerce.
Further, we've ascertained that he had a major
relationship with the Nighthawks. In other words,
he's a thoroughly bad fellow." Arutha said, "And
potentially far more dangerous than we had
thought initially. He seems to have had a hand in
the attack on the Duke of Olasko and his family."
    "The man moves in many circles," said James.
"And then there is the matter of the Ishapians,"
said Arutha, pointing to the statuette Jazhara had
carried to the palace. "I have sent word to the High
Priest of the Temple here in Krondor and I expect
we'll be hearing from him soon."
    "Does this have anything to do with that house
across the square from the palace, Highness?"
asked James.
    Arutha's half-smile returned. "Not much gets
past you, does it?"
   James merely smiled and made a half-bow.
    "Yes," said Arutha, "but I will wait upon the
presence of the High Priest or his agent before
sharing that intelligence with you. Go and rest,
both of you, but be ready to return here at a
moment's notice. I doubt the Ishapians will be long
in answering my summons." Arutha was correct.
Jazhara and James were not even halfway back to
their respective quarters when pages overtook
them, informing them that the Prince required their
immediate presence in the throne room.
     They returned to find the High Priest of Ishap,
along with two other priests and a warrior monk in
attendance. The High Priest was an elderly man,
scholarly in demeanor with closely cropped snow-
white hair. Like their superior, the two priests were
also bareheaded, and wore their dark hair cut
short. Unlike other orders, the Ishapians tended to
favor plain fashion. The priests were dressed in
brown-trimmed white robes; the monk wore armor
and carried a helm under his left arm. A large
warhammer hung at his belt. Prince Arutha sat on
his throne, and while there were only two other
officials of the court in attendance—Duke Gardan
and his scribe—James realized that Arutha wanted
to conduct this interview from a position of power.
    The Ishapians were long thought to be the
most mysterious of Midkemia's religious orders, not
courting converts as the other temples did. James
had encountered them before, at the old Abbey at
Sarth, and knew there was a great deal more to
the Ishapians than commonly believed. They held a
kind of supremacy among the orders; other
temples avoided conflicts with them. The High
Priest said, "Highness, your message carried a note
of the imperative and I came as soon as I received
it."
    "Thank you," said the Prince. He motioned to
Gardan and the old Duke's scribe produced the
statuette, handing it to the High Priest for
inspection. "Where did you get this, Highness?" the
High Priest asked, traces of surprise and worry in
his voice. Arutha signaled to James, who said, "It
was discovered earlier today in a cache of stolen
goods. Booty from a pirate raid."
    "Booty?" said the High Priest.
   Arutha said, "We both know, Father, what is
due to occur this year. I need to know if that item
came from the ship due into Krondor this month."
   The High Priest said, "These are matters which
cannot be discussed in open court, Highness."
     Arutha nodded to Gardan and the duke
dismissed the scribe. The High Priest looked at
Jazhara and James and Arutha said, "The squire is
my personal agent, and Jazhara is my advisor on
all things magical. The duke has my trust beyond
question. You may speak freely." The High Priest
looked as if a burden had been placed upon him,
for his shoulders sagged visibly. "Ishap's Dawn was
due in Krondor a week ago, Highness. We have
sent ships out to search for her, all the way back to
the Free Cities. Perhaps she is disabled or . . ." He
looked at James. "A pirate raid? Is that possible?"
James said, "Apparently. A madman named Bear,
aided, it seems, by dark magic, appears to have
taken your ship. Guards are bringing the rest of the
booty to the palace so that you may reclaim it,
Father." A glimmer of hope sprang into the High
Priest's eyes. "Tell me . . . is there a large box . . ."
    James interrupted. "According to his first mate,
whatever it is that Bear wanted sank with the ship.
It was the cause of some considerable friction
between them. Bear tore the man apart with his
hands trying to learn the location of the sunken
ship."
     The warrior monk kept an impassive face, but
the High Priest and his two other companions
appeared to be on the verge of fainting. "Then all is
lost," whispered the High Priest. Arutha leaned
forward. "The ship carried the Tear of the Gods?"
    The High Priest said, "Yes, and all the other
treasure accumulated over the past ten years by
every temple from the Far Coast to the Free Cities.
But all the gold and gems"—he brandished the
statuette—"are meaningless without the Tear."
   James caught Arutha's eye. The Prince said,
"When I first came to this throne I was told
something of the Tear's importance, yet you have
kept its secret from the Crown. Why is this artifact
of such great value?"
     The High Priest said, "What I tell you,
Highness, only your brother the King in Rillanon,
and a very few of our order, know. I must have
your vow that what I tell you here will not leave
this room." Arutha glanced at Gardan, who nodded,
then to James and Jazhara, who also agreed. "We
so vow," said the Prince. "Once every ten years, a
gem is formed in a secret location in the north of
the Grey Tower Mountains. The origin of this gem
is lost to us; even our most ancient tomes do not
reveal how our order first came to know of the
existence of the Tear of the Gods. But this we do
know: all power from the gods to men comes
through this artifact. Without it, we would all fall
deaf to the words of the gods, the gods would not
hear our prayers."
    Jazhara couldn't help herself. She blurted,
"You'd lose all contact with the gods!"
      "More than that, we fear," said the High Priest.
"We believe that all magic would fade, as well. For
it is by the grace of the gods that man is allowed to
practice the arts of magic, and without divine
intervention, we soon would be just as other men.
Soon the existing Tear in our mother temple in
Rillanon will fade, its shining blue light will go dark.
If the new Tear is not in place before that happens,
we will lose our link with the heavens."
    "Won't there be another Tear in ten years?"
asked James. "Yes, but can you imagine ten years
of darkness? Ten years in which man has no
commune with the gods? Ten years in which no
healing can be done? Ten years without prayers
being answered? Ten years without any hope?"
    James nodded. "A grim picture, Father. What
can we do?"
   Arutha said, "We do have the location of the
sunken ship." Once again, a spark of hope
appeared in the High Priest's eyes. "You do?"
    "Within a fairly confined area," said James. "We
have a map, and if the ship went straight down, we
should be able to locate it." "We have magic arts
that can do many things, sire," said the High
Priest. "But to enable a man to breathe underwater
and search out the wreck is beyond our gifts. Is
there another way?" He looked pointedly at
Jazhara.
    Arutha appreciated the gravity of the question;
the temples, more than other institutions, were
wary of magic they didn't control. Jazhara would be
an object of suspicion at the best of times; and this
was hardly the best of times. The Prince said, "Do
you know another way, Jazhara?"
    She shook her head. "Regretfully, Highness, I
do not. I know of those in Stardock who are
capable of such feats, but few of them are what
you might call robust men. For such a task you'd
need a strong swimmer, and a source of light."
   James said, "That won't work."
   Arutha raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
    James grinned. "Highness, I've lived my life
near the sea. I've heard what sailors say. Once you
go below a certain depth the water weighs down
upon you and even with a magic spell to help you
breathe, withstanding such pressures would likely
prove impossible. No, there's another way."
   "Tell us," said the High Priest.
    "The Wreckers' Guild," said James. "It's their
trade to raise sunken ships. They can bring them
up long enough to be salvaged. In some cases they
can repair a breach and tow a once-sunken ship
safely to port for refitting. I've seen it done more
than once."
    "But they would have to be told of the Tear,"
said the High Priest. "And we cannot tell anyone of
this."
   James shook his head. "No, Father. All we need
tell them is to raise the ship. Then someone
trusted by the Crown goes into the ship, finds this
artifact, and returns it here to Krondor."
     The High Priest indicated the silent warrior
monk to his left. "Brother Solon here should be
that person. There are mystic safeguards around
the Tear, so even had this creature Bear reached
the Tear, he might not have been able to retrieve
it. Brother Solon will be able to remove the
safeguards so that the Tear can be recovered."
James looked at Arutha. "Sire, if this man Bear
doesn't know the exact whereabouts of the Tear,
wouldn't it be likely he'd be close by, looking for an
Ishapian expedition heading for the wreck site?
Logically he would wait until the artifact was
recovered, then strike."
    The High Priest said, "We have means of
defending the Tear." "No offense intended, Father,
but from what Lucas told us of the pirate Knute's
account of things, Bear has some sort of powerful
protection against your magic. Otherwise how
could he have taken the ship to begin with?"
    The High Priest looked troubled as Jazhara
said, "An amulet, I believe he said, something with
the power to shield the wearer against priestly
magic."
    Arutha looked at James. "You advise stealth?"
"Yes, sire," said James. "We must find a way to
divert Bear's attention. If we can distract him
enough to keep him away from the site while we
raise the ship, retrieve the artifact, then return
here before he realizes he's being distracted . . ."
He shrugged. "We might have a chance."
     The High Priest said, "Highness, I would prefer
a large armed force—" The Prince held up his hand.
"I realize the care of the Tear is the province of the
Temple of Ishap, Father, but it was my jail that
was destroyed, my wife's orphanage that was
burned to the ground, my constables who were
slaughtered; that makes it the Crown's business to
ensure nothing like this occurs again."
    "If, as is reported, Bear and his mercenaries
are immune to your magic, it would seem force of
arms may be needed to recover the Tear. How
many fighting monks can you muster within a
day?" The High Priest looked defeated. "Only three,
Highness. The majority of our warrior brothers
were on Ishap's Dawn, guarding the Tear of the
Gods."
     James ventured, "Father, given how many
were slaughtered here in Krondor, my best advice
is to retrieve the Tear and get it safely on its way
to Rillanon before Bear realizes it's not still at the
bottom of the sea."
     Arutha was silent for a moment, then said, "I
will accede to James's plan." To James he said, "As
for that 'distraction:' order the Pathfinders out
immediately, to find Bear's trail. Have William
muster a full patrol of Household Guards to follow
swiftly after them. From what you report, William
has ample motivation to press Bear and harry him
through the wilderness. Bear may be resistant to
magic, but I warrant he might be troubled enough
by two dozen swords to keep moving. And tell
William that should he overtake Bear, the death
mark is on this man and he may deal with him as
he sees fit. That should be 'distraction' enough."
   "And the Tear?" asked James.
     "You and Jazhara go to the Wreckers' Guild and
secure enough members to raise a ship. Gather
them quietly at some point outside the city, leaving
the city in twos and threes, then meet at one of
the villages on the way to Sarth. Then ride quickly
to . . ."
   "Widow's Point," supplied James.
    "Widow's Point," repeated Arutha, "and get on
with recovering the Tear."
    James bowed and said, "How many shall we
take with us?" "I want you, Jazhara, and whoever
you get from the Guild, along with Brother Solon,
to depart at first light tomorrow. I will send a patrol
the next day, and have them go to . . ." He looked
at Gardan. "What's the nearest town to Widow's
Point?"
    Without looking at a map, Duke Gardan said,
"Haldon's Head. It lies upon the bluffs overlooking
the Point. It's a refuge for scavengers who pick
over the wrecks there, but for the most part is a
sleepy village."
     "Too close, sire," said James. "If Bear has
agents near the wreck, they will almost certainly
be in Haldon's Head. Our arrival alone will cause a
stir, unless we depart within a day or so. It's
certain the appearance of an unscheduled patrol
will alert Bear's men."
    "What is the next village to the south?" asked
Arutha.
    "Miller's Rest," said the duke.
    "Then station them there. As soon as you get
the Tear, James, hurry south to Miller's Rest and
the patrol will escort you back to Krondor. If you
encounter more than you can handle, send
someone down to Miller's Rest and the patrol will
ride to your relief. Is that clear?"
    "Yes, sire," said James, bowing.
    To the High Priest, Arutha said, "Father, go and
make whatever arrangements you must and have
your man meet James outside the gates two hours
after first light, at the first crossroads. James, you
take those men from the Wreckers' Guild, and
leave with half of them at first light. Jazhara and
the others from the Guild will leave one hour after
that. You should all blend in with the normal traffic
leaving the city at dawn." Looking at James, the
Prince added, "Need I stress caution?"
    With his almost insolent grin, James said,
"Caution it is, Highness." Arutha pointed an
accusing finger. "We have seen much together,
James—more than most men in a dozen lifetimes—
but this task is equal to any set before you. Acquit
yourself well, for the fate of us all rests in your
hands."
    James bowed. "I will, Highness."
    To Jazhara, Arutha said, "I trust you will
remind our young adventurer of the gravity of this
task."
    She bowed as well. "If need be, Highness."
   "Then go, all of you, and may the gods smile
upon your efforts."
   Outside the throne room, James held Jazhara
back until at last Duke Gardan emerged from the
room. "Your Grace?" James said.
     The duke turned, his dark features creased like
old leather, but his eyes still bright and alert.
"What is it, Squire?" "Could I prevail upon you to
send word to the Officer of Stores that we'll be
down to equip ourselves for this journey?"
    "Some problem?" asked the duke.
      James grinned sheepishly. "My credibility of
late has suffered, as I have used the Prince's name
a little too often—" "Without Arutha's knowledge,"
finished Gardan. He returned the smile. "Very well,
I'll send word at once."
    James said, "When do you finally retire? I
thought your departure was agreed upon."
    "I was due to leave for Crydee in a month; now
I do not know," he answered with an almost
theatrical sigh. "When you stop bringing crises to
the Prince, I think."
    With an impish grin, James said, "I think if
that's the case, you'll still be here in another ten
years."
    "I hope not," the duke said, "but I will most
certainly be here when you return. No one is
spared duty until this crisis is resolved. Now, go
about your business." To Jazhara he bowed, and
said, "Milady."
    "Your Grace," they said in unison.
   After the old duke had departed, Jazhara said,
"What now?"
   James said, "To the Sea Gate and the
Wreckers' Guild."
    At mid-morning, the Sea Gate was bustling.
Cargoes being unloaded in the harbor and
transported into the city spawned dozens of carts
and wagons that moved slowly down the street
toward the Old Market and beyond. Sailors just
arrived from long journeys hurried off-ship to find
inns and women.
    Above the docks, sea birds squawked and
wheeled in flight, seeking out the debris from
dropped cargo that comprised a major part of their
diet. Jazhara suppressed a yawn as they walked.
"I'm so tired that watching all these people dash
about makes me feel as if I'm sleepwalking."
James smiled. "You get used to it. One of the tricks
I've learned in Arutha's service is to nap whenever
I get the chance. My personal best is four days
without sleep. Of course I had the help of a magic
potion and once its effects wore off I was good for
nothing for a week . . ." Jazhara nodded. "Such
things must be employed with caution." "So we
discovered on the trip home," said James, now also
stifling a yawn in response to Jazhara's. "Whatever
fate awaits us, I hope it involves at least one good
night's sleep before we depart."
    "Agreed."
    They reached the Wreckers' Guild, a fairly
nondescript two-story building a block shy of the
Sea Gate. Several men were gathered outside,
next to a large wagon. Two of them climbed atop
the wagon as another pair began to walk away,
lugging a large chest.
    James stopped and tapped one of the men on
the shoulder. Without turning to see who stood
behind him, the man snarled, "Shove off!"
    Tired, and in no mood for rudeness, James
said, "Prince's business." The man threw him a
quick glance. "Look, if you're here about the Guild
Master, I just told everything I know to the Captain
of the Watch."
    James took the man firmly by the shoulder and
spun him about. The mover's large fist pulled back
to strike James, but before he could, the squire
had his dagger at the man's throat. "Indulge me,"
he said with more than a whisper of menace in his
voice. "Perhaps you could spare a moment and go
over it once more. What exactly did you tell
Captain Garruth about the Guild Master?"
   Lowering his fist, the man stepped back. "It
doesn't take the brains of an ox to know he was
murdered."
    One of the other movers, watching the
exchange, shouted: "It was Kendaric what did it!
He cost us all with his greed." The first man
motioned toward the Guild entrance. "If you want
details, you'd best talk to Jorath, inside. He's the
journeyman in charge, now."
    James put away his dagger and motioned for
Jazhara to accompany him. They entered the Guild
Hall, where several men stood in the corner deep
in discussion. A young man, barely an apprentice
by the look of him, stood nearby. He was tallying
various items of furniture and personal belongings
and recording figures in a ledger. James
approached him. "We're looking for Journeyman
Jorath."
    The boy didn't stop counting, but merely
pointed over his shoulder with his quill at a door
leading to a room in the rear.
    James said, "Thanks," and moved on.
    He and Jazhara entered a room occupied by a
large desk and several chairs. Standing before the
desk was a middle-aged man, with dark hair and a
short, neatly-trimmed beard. He wore a plain blue
robe, similar to what one might expect on a priest
or magician. Glancing up from the document he
was studying, he said, "Yes?"
   "I'm from the palace," said James.
     "I assume that since I've already answered
questions, you're here to tell me you've made
some progress." His tone dripped arrogance. James
narrowed his gaze for a moment, then let the
irritation pass. "We are not part of the Guard. We
need a ship raised."
    "I'm afraid you're out of luck. The Guild is
closed. Evidently you haven't heard, but the Guild
Master has been murdered."
   "What happened to him?" asked James.
    "No one knows, exactly. There was some sort
of struggle, apparently. He was found dead in his
room, with his possessions scattered about. He put
up a good fight, but it seems his heart gave out."
James asked, "Why is the Guild closing down?"
"The Guild Master and Journeyman Kendaric were
the only members of our guild capable of leading
the ritual necessary to raise a large ship." "Well,
we need to speak to the Journeyman right away."
    "Quite impossible, I'm afraid. Kendaric is the
prime suspect in the Guild Master's murder, and he
seems to have gone into hiding. With both him and
the Guild Master gone, we're out of business." He
let out a soft sigh. "Which is probably not so bad,
all things considered."
     "What do you mean, 'all things considered?'"
asked James. Jorath put down parchment he had
been consulting. "Confidentially, the Guild has been
losing money for several years now. The Guilds of
other cities, Durbin and Ylith, for example, have
developed new techniques that enable them to
work more efficiently. They've been winning all the
contracts."
     James was silent for a long moment. Then he
said, "How do you know it was this Kendaric who
killed the Guild Master?"
     Jorath picked up another scroll and glanced at
it. "They fought constantly. At times they seemed
near to blows. Abigail, the woman who cleans the
Guild House, heard Kendaric and the Guild Master
arguing the night of the murder."
    "That's not proof," said Jazhara.
   "No, but he's been missing ever since the body
was found, so it's a good bet he's guilty."
   Jazhara was about to say something, but
James shook his head slightly. To Jorath he said,
"May we look at the Guild Master's and Kendaric's
rooms?"
    Jorath shrugged. "Help yourself. The Guard
have already been up there, but if you think you
can do some good, be my guest." He turned back
to his scrolls and left James and Jazhara to show
themselves upstairs. Jazhara waited until they had
climbed the stairs. When they were alone, she
asked James, "What?"
   "What, what?"
    "What didn't you want me to say to Jorath?"
"What you were thinking," said James, heading for
the first of three closed doors.
   "What was I thinking?" asked Jazhara.
     Looking over his shoulder as he opened the
door, James said, "That Kendaric might also be
dead. And that someone doesn't want anyone
raising a certain ship off Widow's Point." He
glanced down, and said softly, "Someone's forced
this lock."
     He cocked his head, as if listening, motioned
for silence, then held up his hand. "There's
someone inside," he whispered. Jazhara took up a
position beside James and nodded. James stepped
back then kicked hard against the door, shattering
the lock plate as the door swung open.
    The old woman inside jumped back and let out
a shriek.
   "Heavens!" she exclaimed. "Are you trying to
shock an old woman to her grave?"
     "Sorry," James said with an embarrassed
smile. "I heard someone inside and saw the lock
had been forced—" He shrugged. "When I couldn't
raise the master," said the old woman, "I had two
of the apprentices bring a bar and force the door. I
found the master, there, lying on the floor." She
sniffled, and brushed at a tear with the back of her
hand.
    "What can you tell us?" asked James. "We're
here on behalf of the Prince."
    "The master was a wonderful man, but he had
a bad heart. I used to fix hawthorn tea for him for
his chest pain. It did him no good to be constantly
arguing with Journeyman Kendaric."
    "What was Kendaric like?" asked Jazhara.
     "He was a poor boy from the streets, without
family or friend. The Guild Master paid his
admission fee to the Guild, because Kendaric was
so poor. But the old master knew the boy was
brilliant, and it would have been a crime to deny
him because of poverty. The master was right, as
the boy grew to be first among the journeymen. He
would have been the logical choice to be the next
Guild Master, except . . ." Her voice trailed off as
more tears welled up in her eyes.
    "He was brilliant, you say?" Jazhara prodded.
"Oh, he was always coming up with new ways to
do things. He was working on a spell that would
allow a single guildsman to raise large ships by
himself. He thought the Guild would be more
prosperous with his new spell, but the Guild Master
wanted to preserve the traditional way, and they
fought about it. He used to say that he argued with
Kendaric to train him, to make his mind sharp, to
make him tough enough to take over the Guild
when he passed on. That's what makes it a bit
odd."
    "What's a bit odd?" asked Jazhara.
    "Well, I just think it's odd that Kendaric killed
him. Despite all their arguing, I would have sworn
that Kendaric truly loved the old master."
    Jazhara mused, "Everyone seems convinced
that Kendaric is the killer, but isn't it just
speculation?"
    The old woman sighed. "Perhaps. But I heard
Kendaric and the Guild Master arguing on the night
of the murder. They always fought, but this time
was the loudest I'd ever heard. I found the old
master dead the next morning when I came to
bring him breakfast. As I said, it took two
apprentices to force open the door. Kendaric must
have hit him and when the master's heart gave
out, Kendaric must have escaped through the
window. I said as much to the guards when I called
them. They told me I was awfully clever to have
figured it out the way I did."
    James could hardly keep from rolling his eyes,
but simply said, "We'll look around a bit, if you
don't mind."
    They realized quickly that anything of
importance had been taken from the room by the
Guards. "What are the other two rooms?" asked
Jazhara.
   Abigail said, "Those are the journeymen's
quarters."
   "And Kendaric's room is which one?" asked
James.
   "The next over," replied the old woman.
    James returned to the hallway and opened the
neighboring door. Instantly he dropped to the floor,
narrowly avoiding a searing blast of heat that shot
through the doorway. Behind him, Jazhara did
likewise, although James couldn't tell if she had
managed to evade the flames. He didn't have time
to check, as the magician who had thrown the blast
of fire at him stepped aside to allow a warrior in
black to charge at the spot where James lay.
   The Izmali lifted his sword and sent it plunging
down toward James's head.


                       SEVEN
                    Conspiracy
    James rolled to his right.
    The Izmali's sword came crashing down where
James's head had been a moment earlier, and the
assassin raised it to strike again, with incredible
speed.
    James had no time to draw his own sword, so
he kicked out with as much strength as he could
muster. His action was rewarded by the sound of a
kneecap breaking and a muffled cry of pain from
the black-clad murderer. The Izmali stumbled, but
did not fall. James rolled again as the warrior fell,
and came to his feet with his sword drawn in a
single fluid motion.
     Jazhara unleashed a spell, but the scintillating
ball of red energy shot off to one side and struck
the floor near the enemy magician. Despite being
missed, the magician appeared alarmed to discover
he faced another magic-user. He turned and fled,
jumping through the open window to the street
below.
     Jazhara turned her attention to the assassin as
James closed on the man. She raised her staff
above her shoulder, the butt end aimed at the
man, ready to attack high if James retreated.
James lashed out with his blade, a move designed
to force his opponent to retreat and put weight on
his injured leg. The man was an experienced
swordsman, and he shifted his weight to risk a
dangerous near-miss by James's blade rather than
strain the injured knee. He quickly returned with a
quick inside thrust that almost removed James's
head.
    As James retreated, Jazhara thrust her staff
forward and forced the assassin further into the
room. Wisely, he took up a stance just inside the
door, so that James and Jazhara would be forced to
attack him one at a time. Without taking his eyes
from the assassin, James said, "Jazhara! Get
downstairs and see if you can find any hint of his
magician friend. I'll take care of this murderous
swine." Jazhara didn't debate the order, but turned
and hurried down the stairs. From below came
shouts of inquiry about the sounds of struggle that
could be heard.
    James appraised the situation. Neither he nor
the assassin was going through that door willingly.
Whoever advanced was certain to be attacked the
instant he stood in the portal, the frame of the
door jamb limiting his choices of response. The
attack was almost certain to require moving
sideways. They were locked in a stalemate. Then
James stepped back, lowering his sword point, as if
inviting attack.
    The Izmali stood ready, his blade point circling
warily, refusing to take the invitation.
    James said, "Help will soon be on the way. I
doubt you'll try jumping through the window with
that broken kneecap." He glanced down at the
injured leg. "I admire your strength. Most men
would be lying on the floor, screaming in pain."
    The assassin took a tiny step—not more than
two inches—closer.
    James continued to speak. "I've met a great
many of you Nighthawks over the years. The first
one I killed was trying to assassinate the Prince,
many years ago. I was but a lad, then. Threw him
from the rooftop."
    Another inch forward.
    James let his sword point touch the floor and
took a deep breath, as if relaxing. "Nothing
compared to that bunch down in the desert. I
doubt you've heard, since you were probably up
here. I mean, had you been down there, you'd be
dead like the rest of them, correct?"
    And another inch.
     "I still don't see why your brotherhood has
allowed itself to be manipulated by a bunch of
religious zealots. All it's done is get most of your
clan killed. The Crawler can't have that much
control over the Nighthawks, can he?"
    The assassin tensed.
    James paused, and let his weight fall a little
toward his sword, as if he were leaning on it.
"Funny to find you here, really. I thought I'd left
the last of your kind rotting in the sun, waiting for
the buzzards."
    The Izmali tensed as the shouts from outside
heralded the arrival of some city guards. Then he
raised his sword and lashed out at James; but
James was moving the instant he saw the
assassin's sword come up. As James had hoped,
the assassin had been so distracted by James's
banter, he had failed to notice James's slight
movement toward the door. The tip of his scimitar
struck the lintel overhead and was deflected, just
as James fell toward the swordsman while bringing
his own blade upward. The man's weakened knee
betrayed him and he stumbled, half-falling onto
James's outstretched sword point.
    James threw his weight behind the lunge and
the assassin stiffened as the rapier rammed home.
James recovered and pulled back his blade as the
Izmali slumped to the ground.
    Jazhara and a pair of city guardsmen reached
the hallway a moment later. "The magician
escaped," said the Keshian noblewoman.
     "These guardsmen were at the gate and I
called them to come help." Looking down at the
dead assassin, one of the guardsmen said, "Looks
like you weren't needin' much help there, Squire."
    James knelt and examined the dead assassin.
"Hello, what have we here?" he said, withdrawing a
small parchment from the man's tunic. Usually
these lads carry nothing." He glanced at it, then
handed it to Jazhara. "Can you read this script?"
    She scrutinized it. "Yes, it's similar to the
desert script used in the message to Yusuf.
Retrieve the scroll, eliminate the witness in the
alley, then return to the dog. There is no signature,
nor is there a seal."
    "Witness in the alley?" asked the senior guard.
"That'd have to be Old Thorn. He's an old sailor
without a home."
     "He's got a couple of crates in the alley back of
this building he calls home," added the other
guardsman.
     James said, "Jazhara, let's see what these lads
were looking for." Then he addressed the guards.
"One of you stand by." He motioned to Jazhara to
follow him into the room.
    They looked around and nothing appeared out
of the ordinary. James shrugged. "I was a little too
busy to notice where those cutthroats were
standing when we opened the door."
     "They were in front of this desk, James,"
Jazhara said. James inspected the desk, which at
first glance seemed ordinary enough.
    "What do you think 'return to the dog' means?"
Jazhara asked.
    James continued his inspection. "Probably
some sort of code for a person or place."
Something caught his eye and he pulled out a
drawer. With a practiced eye he measured the
depth of the drawer, then said, "There's a
compartment behind this drawer or my name
wasn't Jimmy the Hand." He knelt down and
reached back. There was a click of a small latch,
and a tiny door fell open, revealing a small red
velvet pouch that he extracted.
     He weighed it in his hand. "It's heavy. Feels
like stone." Deftly, he untied the silk cord that
secured the pouch and turned it over, allowing the
object to fall into his other hand. A stone of
shimmering green and white, carved to look like a
nautilus shell, rested in his palm.
    "This is a Shell of Eortis!" Jazhara exclaimed.
"What is that?" asked James. "I met some
adherents of that god when I visited Silden a while
back, but I know little of their beliefs." "I've seen
one such artifact at Stardock." Jazhara held her
hand over the object and closed her eyes,
muttering a brief enchantment. Then she opened
her eyes wide. "It is genuine! It is an old and rare
item that aids water-magic. You'd have to know
someone like the Masters of Stardock or the High
Priest of the Temple of Eortis the Sea God to even
hear of one. To possess one . . . this must be part
of the secret of the Wreckers' Guild."
    "But why wasn't this in the possession of the
Guild Master?" James mused aloud. "Is this more
proof that Kendaric had a hand in the death of the
Guild Master, or did the master give it to his
favorite student for safekeeping?"
    "And why were the Nighthawks looking for it?"
pondered Jazhara. "Could you use this to raise a
ship?" asked James. "No, but you could use it to
make the weather favorable for such an
undertaking, had you the right spells to employ."
    "Do you think this is what they sought?"
     Jazhara thought for a moment, then said, "As it
will not raise a ship, probably not."
    "Then let us continue to look." He examined
the other side of the desk and found another false
drawer, this time one that was discovered by
reaching up inside the desk from underneath.
"Very clever," James said, as he removed what
appeared to be a box. "But not clever enough."
     The box was roughly a foot wide, half as deep,
and three inches thick. There was no apparent lock
or latch, and the top was inlaid with a mosaic of
stones. James tried the simple approach and
thumbed back the lid. It lifted without difficulty,
but the box was empty. "Nothing," he said.
    Jazhara said, "No, there is something. Close
the lid and open it again."
   James complied and Jazhara said, "It's a
Scathian Puzzle. It's a lock."
    "To what? The box is empty. And the sides are
too thin to contain another secret compartment."
   "It's an enchantment. Its nature is to
camouflage whatever is inside until it is unlocked."
    "Can you unlock it?"
    "I can try." Jazhara took the box and closed
the lid, then set it down upon the desk.
     She studied the mosaic on top of the box, then
put her finger upon a tile. Its color changed from
red to green to blue, and for a brief instant James
thought he saw a blurred image wavering upon the
tile's surface. Jazhara repeated the gesture quickly,
touching a neighboring tile; again, the tile's colors
mutated, and another image appeared on the tile.
     Working deftly she moved the tiles around, for
they slid where she directed. James was
fascinated, for disarming traps and locks had been
a career necessity in his days as a thief, but he had
never encountered one quite like this. After a
while, his eyes widened, for he realized that the
tiles would fade back to their original pattern if she
hesitated too long in moving one. And the closer
she got to the end of the puzzle, the quicker they
faded. Jazhara's fingers were flying now, rapidly
moving the tiles until at last a picture of a ship at
sea was formed. Then there was an almost
inaudible click, and up came the lid.
    The box was no longer empty. Lying flat within
the box was a single parchment. James reached in
and retrieved the document. He glanced at it, and
said, "Nothing I can read."
    Jazhara took the parchment and studied it. "I
believe this is the spell they use to raise the ships."
    "How does it work?"
    Jazhara scrutinized it even more closely. Then
she whispered, "Incredible." In her normal
speaking voice she added, "With this scroll and
some other components, a single guildsman can
raise a ship on a mystic fog!"
    "What's so amazing about that?"
    "Guilds like the Wreckers, who practice limited
magic, usually possess only a few minor spells that
are passed from generation to generation, and it
usually requires several guildsmen to accomplish
anything. Whoever wrote this knows a lot more
about magic than the rest of the Guild." She
paused, then added, "I'll wager this Kendaric never
realized he was a Lesser Path Magician!"
    "Then this spell must be worth a fortune to the
Guild."
   "Undoubtedly," said Jazhara. "Any Lesser Path
Magician with an affinity for water-magic could
eventually utilize it. I suspect Kendaric is the only
one who can use it as written."
    "Then we must find Kendaric." Pointing to the
scroll, he said, "Hide that." He turned and left the
room. Jazhara secreted the parchment within a
compartment in the pouch at her waist, and
followed James a moment later.
      Glancing down at the dead Nighthawk, James
said to the guard, "Keep an eye on this corpse, and
if it starts to move, call me."
    To Jazhara he said, "Let's investigate the
alley."
     As they sped down the stairs, Jazhara said, "If
it starts to move?" With a rueful smile James
glanced back over his shoulder and said, "The
Nighthawks used to have an irritating habit of not
staying dead." He led her outside the building and
around to the back, where, behind the building,
they found a long, dark, twisting alley. While still
early in the day, the gloom of the place provided a
dozen shadows in which anything could hide.
Reflexively, James drew his rapier.
    Jazhara clutched her staff and made herself
ready as well. They moved through the alley until
they reached a position below the open window
through which the magician had leapt. James
pointed. "He must have landed here, and then
run"—he glanced in both directions—"that way." He
indicated the way they had just come. "I'm almost
certain the other end is blocked."
    "If he reached the street and simply started
walking he would just be another citizen out on his
morning's business." James nodded. "It's why I
love cities and hate being alone in the wilderness.
So many more places to hide in a city."
    Glancing into the darkness as they continued,
Jazhara said, "I know many of my countrymen
would disagree; they find hiding in the desert
easy."
    "You may have noticed I'm not a desert man,"
James observed. They came to a pile of boxes, and
James pushed one aside. The stench that arose
from it caused Jazhara to step back. Inside were a
dirty blanket, some rotting food and a few personal
items—a woolen cap, a broken comb, and a dirty
tunic. "Nobody home," said James. He glanced
around. "Old Thorn must be out begging or
thieving. We won't find anybody here until after
dark."
    "I find it hard to believe that people actually
sleep like that."
     "It's not hard once you get used to it. The trick
is to use the trash to keep the guards away." He
looked around the alley once more. "Let's go."
    "Where?"
    "Back to the palace. Let's get some rest, then
after sundown we'll come back and have a chat
with Thorn. I think he's seen something that
someone else doesn't want him talking about, and
if we can find out what that is, we might make
some sense out of all this." "It's obvious someone
doesn't want us raising that ship." "Yes," said
James. "And while William is chasing Bear around
the wilderness, there's someone else arranging for
the murder of Guild Masters and beggars."
    "The Crawler?" asked Jazhara.
    James said, "That's my guess. Come on, let's
return to the palace and get some rest." They
walked quickly out of the darkness into the daylight
of the busy street.
    William signaled for his patrol to halt, while a
lone rider hurried down the trail toward him. They
were less than an hour out of the city and following
marks left by a pair of Royal Pathfinders. The rider
reined in and saluted. It was Maric, one of the
Pathfinders. "Lieutenant."
    "What have you found?" William asked.
     "A half-dozen men left the city on foot through
the fields to the northeast of the North Gate. They
took no pains to hide their passage. One of them
was a big man, a heavy man, probably the one
called Bear. His prints are wide and deep. At the
edge of the fields they had horses waiting for them
and rode hard up that trail. Jackson is following
them. He'll leave signs."
      William signaled for the men to ride on. Maric
fell in beside the lieutenant. The Pathfinders were
legendary, men who were descended from the first
foresters and wardens of the earliest Princes of
Krondor. They knew the surrounding wilderness as
a mother knows the features of her children and
they tended to be an insular lot who only
grudgingly took command from officers outside
their company. Their own captain was rarely seen
in the palace, save by the Prince's orders, and they
didn't socialize with the garrison's regulars. But
they were among the finest trackers in the West
and no man in the Armies of the West doubted
their skills.
   After a few moments of silence, William asked,
"What else?"
    "What do you mean, Lieutenant?" replied the
Pathfinder.
    "What is it you're not telling me?"
    The Pathfinder glanced at the young officer and
gave him a small smile and a nod. "These men
take no pains to hide their passage. They are not
afraid of being found. They hurry for another
reason."
   "They need to get somewhere fast," William
observed.
    "Or need to meet someone," suggested Maric.
    "Ambush?" asked William.
   "Possibly," replied the Pathfinder. "If they
appear to be anxious to get down the trail, then
suddenly turn . . ." He shrugged. "Jackson would
warn us."
    Without emotion, Maric said, "If he's alive."
    They rode on in silence.
    If the alley had been gloomy in the daytime, it
was inky at night. James uncovered a lantern he
had secured at the palace. After sleeping through
the late morning and early afternoon, James and
Jazhara had dined with the Prince and his family. It
had been Jazhara's first dinner with the royal
family, a privilege of her new position, and she had
enjoyed the opportunity to meet and chat with
Princess Anita, the Princess Elena, and the twin
princes, Borric and Erland. James had apprised the
Prince of their progress thus far, and Arutha had
approved of James's investigation of the missing
journeyman, Kendaric.
    Once again dressed in her practical travel garb,
Jazhara walked a step behind James as they
traversed the dark alley. As they neared the crates,
James signaled for silence and Jazhara touched
him on the shoulder to indicate that she
understood.
    As they approached the crates, they heard a
voice shout out, "No! No! Old Thorn didn't tell a
soul!"
     "Thorn, I'm not going to hurt you," James
called out. He turned the lantern on the crate and
the light revealed an old man, dressed in rags,
huddling inside. His nose was misshapen and red,
from repeated breaks in his youth and hard
drinking in his later years. His front teeth were
missing, and what little hair remained was almost
white, spreading around his head like a faint
nimbus. Red-shot, watery blue eyes regarded them
as he said, "You're not here to hurt old Thorn?"
    "No," said James, kneeling and putting up the
light so that his own face would be revealed. "I'm
not here to hurt you. Just to ask some questions . .
."
   "Ah, a Prince's man, are you?" said the old
beggar. "Fate is kind. I thought it was them
murderers come back to finish Old Thorn." "Why
would they want to finish you?" asked Jazhara,
coming up behind James.
    Thorn glanced at Jazhara, then answered. "I
'spect it's 'cause I was here the other night when
they broke into the Guild House."
    "When was that?" asked James.
     "The night the Guild Master died. A pair of 'em,
all in dark cloaks, climbed right up the wall and
into his room, they did."
    "Nighthawks," James said. "They were going to
come back, Thorn, but we got to them before they
could find you."
    "You're a good lad, then. My thanks to ya."
    "You're welcome," said James with a smile.
"Did you see anything else?"
    "Well, before them dark cloaks went inside,
they was talkin' to somebody down the street a
ways."
    "Did you see who?" asked Jazhara.
   "Old Thorn couldn't rightly see, 'cept he was
wearing Guild colors."
    James said, "He had a torque?"
    "Yes, that colored thing some of 'em wear
around their neck."
    "Could it have been Kendaric?" asked Jazhara.
Old Thorn said, "Aye, the fella what was always
arguin' with the old Guild Master? I seen him the
night of the killin', I did. He left the Guild House
early that night; never did come back."
    "Could it have been Kendaric who was with the
Nighthawks?" asked James.
    "Coulda been," replied Old Thorn. "Or maybe
not. He wasn't wearin' colors when he left."
    James sat back on his heels. "There are only
two other men who would wear colors: the master
and Jorath. The Guild is closed for the night, but
tomorrow we will return to visit Journeyman
Jorath." James fished in his pouch and came up
with two gold coins. He handed them to Old Thorn
and said, "Get yourself a decent meal and a warm
blanket, my old friend."
   "Thanks, son," said the old fisherman. "Old
Thorn thanks you."
   James and Jazhara left the old man in his crate
and returned to the city streets.
     Morning found James and Jazhara once again
at the Wreckers' Guild office, but this time they
entered to a much quieter scene than they had the
previous day. When they came in they found Jorath
in the main office, reading documents. Looking up,
he said, "Again?"
    "We have a few more questions, Journeyman,"
said James.
   "Very well."
     "We have uncovered a few things, but
obviously this case will not be put to rest until
we've located Journeyman Kendaric. What can you
tell us about him?"
    Jorath said, "He was the oldest journeyman in
the Guild, the only one senior to myself. There are
two others, both out of the city at present.
Kendaric was a man of unusual talents, and had
the potential to be prime among us, perhaps even
the next Guild Master. Unfortunately he was also
greedy and arrogant, probably because of his half-
Keshian ancestry."
    Jazhara kept a straight face, but James saw
her knuckles turn white as she tightened the grip
on her staff.
   James asked calmly, "Do you really think his
ancestry matters?"
    "Without a doubt," replied Jorath. "He's always
been arrogant, but ever since he had to give up his
engagement to a Kingdom girl, he's had it in for us.
Her parents didn't want a Keshian marrying their
daughter, and who can blame them?"
    Jazhara said, "I take offense at your obvious
prejudice toward Keshians, Guildsman."
    Jorath inclined his head slightly. "Lady, I am no
bigot, but as a scholar of some skill, I can tell you
that Keshians, and half-breeds in particular, are
generally unable to control their emotions."
Jazhara leaned forward and with an icy smile said,
"As the newly-appointed court magician of
Krondor, and as a great-niece of Abdur Rachman
Memo Hazara-Khan, Ambassador of Great Kesh to
the Prince's court, I can tell you that you are
gravely mistaken. Were I not able to control my
emotions, you would now be a slithering worm."
    The blood drained from Jorath's face and he
stammered, "I apologize most sincerely, milady.
Please forgive me."
   Hiding his amusement, James said, "Tell us
about this woman Kendaric was engaged to."
     Jorath appeared glad to change the subject. "A
local shopkeeper, if I remember. I don't know the
girl's name."
    James looked hard at the journeyman, and
said, "Thank you. If we have more questions, we'll
return."
    As they left the office, James glanced up the
stairs. He motioned for Jazhara to be quiet and
they crept up the stairway. At the top of the stairs,
James indicated the third door: Jorath's room.
    "What are you doing?" Jazhara asked.
   "Our friend downstairs is a little too sanguine
about all that's gone on. He's hiding something."
     "I agree. Given that his world seems to have
been turned upside down, he seems almost . . .
relieved."
    James deftly picked the lock of the room and
they entered. The chamber was neat, with nothing
obviously misplaced. "Tidy fellow, our Journeyman
Jorath, isn't he?" James observed.
    "Indeed."
    James went to the desk while Jazhara
investigated the contents of a chest at the foot of
the journeyman's bed. In the desk, James found
some documents and a ledger. He took them out
and had started reading them when Jazhara
exclaimed, "Look!"
    James glanced over. Jazhara was holding up a
ledger identical to the one James had in his lap.
"This was hidden under some clothing."
    James took the second ledger and put it beside
the first. After a few moments, he said, "Well,
there it is. Our friend Jorath has been embezzling
funds from the Guild. With the Guild Master dead,
no one would inspect the records."
    "And if he could find Kendaric's spell-scroll, he
could restart the Guild with himself installed as
master, with a clean record," said the magician.
    James nodded. He continued his reading,
tossing aside scroll after scroll, then he stopped.
"Look at what we have here," he whispered. He
handed the parchment to Jazhara.
    She read aloud. "Guildsman. You've made the
right decision in coming to us with your plans.
We've received the gold you promised. Show the
bartender this letter and you'll find him very
cooperative. My people, who will be waiting for you
at the dog, will deal with final details and future
payments. Orin."
    "At the dog." James said.
    "A place?"
    James put the other scrolls away. "Yes, The
Bitten Dog."
    Jazhara said, "Ah, of course. The bartender.
Lucky Pete." "Things are now starting to come
together," said James, taking the two ledgers and
the scrolls. "I think we need to have another chat
with Journeyman Jorath." He wrapped the ledgers
and scroll in a tunic he pulled from the chest.
     They hurried down the stairs and entered the
office, where Jorath was still reviewing documents.
"Yes?" he said looking up. "Again?" James said,
"You know who killed the Guild Master."
    Jorath stood up slowly, and arranged the
scrolls on the desk in an orderly fashion. "Amazing.
I would have credited the Prince's servants with far
more intelligence than you're currently evidencing."
    Jazhara said, "We know you've been dealing
with the Nighthawks." Jorath seemed untroubled
by the accusation. "Even had I the inclination to
consort with criminals, who I meet with outside the
Guild is my own business, unless you can prove I
conspired in a crime. Besides, my entire life is
wrapped up in this Guild. Why would I choose to
jeopardize it all by killing the Guild Master?" James
unwrapped the ledgers and the scroll and said, "To
prevent being caught out as an embezzler."
    Jazhara added, "And there was Kendaric's new
spell. With him out of the way, you could claim it
as your own."
    "If you could have found it," James went on.
"Obviously, you needed the Nighthawks for both
tasks."
    "An interesting theory," said Jorath, slowly
backing away. "Well thought out and complete. Tell
me, if you had not interfered, do you think I could
have gotten away with it?"
    Before James or Jazhara could answer, the
Guildsman pulled an item from the sleeve of his
robe and cast it into the air. A brilliant light erupted
and James found himself momentarily blinded.
Reflexes took over and he instantly stepped back,
knowing that he was likely to be attacked while he
couldn't see.
     He felt the blade just miss him as he blinked
furiously, while drawing his own sword. Again he
stepped back, and without hesitation lashed out, a
move designed to keep Jorath back or, with luck,
land a blow. He heard the journeyman retreat and
James knew he had almost succeeded in hitting
him. James had fought in the darkness more times
than he cared to remember, and he closed his
eyes, knowing that darkness would be less
distracting than the blurred images and lights that
danced before his eyes. He sensed that Jazhara
had moved away from him, her own protective
reflexes taking her away from possible danger.
James threw a wild high blow and felt the shock
run up his arm as Jorath's sword blocked his.
Without hesitation, James slid his blade down
Jorath's, moving forward rather than retreating.
James hoped that the guildsman was not a
practiced swordsman, for if he was, James was
almost certain to be wounded.
    As he had hoped, James heard a startled
exclamation from the guildsman as James threw
his weight forward, reaching out with his free left
hand to grip Jorath's right wrist. He slammed
upward with his own sword, and with a satisfying
crack felt the hilt of his sword smack into the man's
chin.
     Jorath slumped to the floor as James blinked
away tears. His vision was slowly returning,
enough to see that the journeyman was now lying
unconscious on the floor. Jazhara was also blinking
furiously, trying to clear her own eyesight.
    "It's all right," said James. "He's out."
    "What'll happen to him?" asked Jazhara.
    "Arutha will almost certainly hang him, but he'll
be questioned first."
    "Do you think he's involved in the search for
the Tear?" James shook his head slowly. A Guild
apprentice appeared at the door and looked down
at the fallen journeyman. His eyes widened in
alarm. James shouted, "Get the city watch, boy!"
The youngster hurried off.
    James looked at Jazhara and said, "I think he
was merely a convenience for the Nighthawks and
the Crawler." Shaking his head at how little he
knew, James added, "Or whoever else is behind all
this madness." He sighed. "I think the Nighthawks
and whoever is employing them wanted to ensure
no one could raise that ship but themselves. If I'm
to guess, there's someone up in Ylith who's
arranging for a team from their Wreckers' Guild to
head down to Widow's Point—or there will be
soon." Pointing to the belt pouch in which Jazhara
had Kendaric's scroll, James added, "Finding that
scroll would simply have made things easier for the
Nighthawks. They would have promised Jorath
whatever he wanted, gotten him to raise the ship,
then killed him." Glancing down at the unconscious
journeyman, James shook his head in disgust.
"Either way, he ends up a dead man. What a
waste."
    "So what now?" asked Jazhara.
     "We visit Lucky Pete and see if we can uncover
this last nest of the Nighthawks and stamp them
out. Then we find Kendaric. I think it's safe to say
he's no longer a suspect."
    "How do we find him?"
    "We look for the woman he was engaged to;
perhaps she will know somewhere to start the
search."
    "Jorath said he didn't recall who she was."
    James grinned. "Maybe the journeyman didn't,
but I bet someone around here remembers.
Probably old Abigail knows. Gossip like that doesn't
say hidden long."
    Jazhara said, "I'll go ask her."
    James nodded. "I'll wait for the city watch."
    A few minutes later Jazhara returned just as
two city watchmen arrived with the apprentice.
James instructed them to take Jorath to the palace
and told them what to say to Duke Gardan. The
watchmen saluted and carried off the still-
unconscious guildsman.
   After they left, James asked, "Did you get a
name?"
    Jazhara nodded. "Her name is Morraine. She
runs a shop called The Golden Grimoire."
    James nodded. "Just your kind of place. An
apothecary shop with a bit of magic for sale,
according to rumor. It's in the nicer part of town."
He glanced around and said, "We're finished here."
    "Where to first?" asked Jazhara as they strode
toward the door. "First, to the palace to collect a
half-dozen or so of the duke's best swordsmen.
Then back to The Bitten Dog."
    "You expect trouble?" asked Jazhara.
    James laughed. "Always."


                       EIGHT
                      Kendaric
    James signaled.
    The squire and Jazhara surveyed their
surroundings as they walked toward The Bitten
Dog. Six of the Prince's Royal Household Guard
waited at the intersection of the two streets
nearest the entrance of the inn, hiding in the
shadows as night fell upon the city. In addition, a
young constable, Jonathan Means, was positioned
across the street. He was the son of the former
sheriff, Wilfred Means, and despite no direct order
from the Prince, he was acting in his father's stead.
James had also recruited him as one of his first
confidential agents in what he hoped one day
would be the Kingdom's intelligence corps. Young
Means would wait fifteen minutes, then enter the
inn. Alternately, at any sign of trouble, he would
signal to the squad of soldiers and they would rush
the building. James and Jazhara wanted to see
what sort of information they might weasel out of
Lucky Pete before resorting to threats. And if there
were Nighthawks in residence, it would be useful to
have a riot squad close at hand.
    James pushed open the door. Inside, the
night's revelries were starting to pick up, as whores
and dockworkers on their way home from a day's
labor lined up three deep at the tables to carouse.
    Glancing around, James realized they had
caught the attention of a worker near the door who
was looking at James and Jazhara's fine clothing.
"What have we here?" he said loudly. His
companion turned. "Looks like a court boot-lick and
his Keshian pet, to me."
    Without bothering to look at the man, Jazhara
said, "Careful, my friend. This pet has claws."
     The man so addressed blinked in confusion, but
his friend exploded into laughter.
    "That's enough," James said. "We seek no
trouble." He took Jazhara's elbow and guided her
through to the bar at the rear of the room, where
the owner was filling tankards and handing them to
a bar-boy to carry to the tables.
   As they approached, Lucky Pete looked up.
"What do you want now?"
    James said, "Just some information, Pete."
    The boy took the flagons and hurried off, and
Pete wiped up a puddle of spilled ale with a filthy
bar rag. "It'll cost ya. Like always."
   "Did you hear about the troubles at the
Wreckers' Guild?"
    Pete shrugged. "Maybe."
    James slid a coin across the rough-hewn planks
of the bar.
    "Okay, I heard something."
     James slid another coin, and Pete remained
silent. After a moment, James slid a third coin
across the bar, and Pete said, "Seems some
journeyman couldn't wait for the old master to die
so he could replace him and hurried the old fellow
off to Lims-Kragma's Hall. Fellow named Kendaric."
   "So we've heard," replied James. "Any idea
where we might find this Kendaric?"
    Pete said, "This answer's for free: No."
    James considered for a moment whether Pete
might be lying, but rejected the notion, given
Pete's appetite for gold. If he were to lie, it would
be to get more gold, not less. James glanced at
Jazhara and she gave him a slight nod, indicating
that she, too, thought this avenue of questioning
was a dead end.
    James lowered his voice. "I could also use
some information on obtaining some 'special'
services." He slid another coin across the bar.
      "What sort of 'special' services?" asked Pete,
sweeping it up. "I need the skills of some men with
. . . muscle."
    Pete shrugged. "Bashers are a copper a dozen
in Krondor. Find 'em at the docks, the markets . .
." He narrowed his gaze. "Of course you know that
already, don't you?"
     James slid yet another coin across the bar. "I
had heard this was the place to get in touch with a
special breed of nocturnal birds." Pete didn't touch
the coin. "Why would you want to talk to these
'birds?'"
    "We want to offer them a well-paying job."
     Pete was silent for a moment, then picked up
the coin. "You've got balls, boy, but have you the
cash to back 'em up?" James nodded. "More gold
than you've ever seen, if you've got what I want."
He placed another coin on the bar, then quickly put
four more carefully atop it, to make a small, neat
stack. Pete swept up the coins. "First payment,
only, Squire." He grinned, displaying discolored
teeth. "Aye, lad, you've come to the right place. Go
'round back, if you would. There's some gentlemen
in the rear room you ought to speak to." He tossed
James a key, then gestured with his hand toward a
door behind the bar. "You'll be needin' this, lad."
    James caught the key and started toward the
indicated door. He unlocked the door and glanced
over his shoulder at Jazhara, who looked ready for
trouble. James estimated they now had about ten
minutes before Jonathan Means entered the inn.
James's instructions had been clear; if he and
Jazhara were not in sight, Jonathan was to bring
the squad.
     James and Jazhara entered a corridor as the
door to the barroom clicked shut behind them.
Three more doors lined the hallway before them. A
door on the immediate left revealed a pantry, and
James spared it only a cursory glance. The first
door on the right, once opened, revealed a
miserable-looking bedroom, filthy and strewn with
clothing and remnants of food. James whispered,
"Must be Pete's room." He looked back over his
shoulder at the door that led back into the common
room and added, "Can you do something dramatic
with that door, something loud enough to bring
young Means and the guards in a hurry?" With a
slight smile, Jazhara nodded. "I have just the thing
if I'm not otherwise distracted."
    "Good," James said, opening the last door.
They entered a small room, furnished only with a
single table, behind which sat two men. The one
closest to James, on the right, was a bearded man
with dark hair and eyes. The other was clean-
shaven and blond, with his hair falling to the collar
of his jacket. Both wore black tunics and trousers.
Each had a blade at his hip, and wore a heavy
black gauntlet.
    Both men looked up at James and one said,
"Yes?" "Pete said we could find someone here who
might provide us with a solution for a particularly
bothersome problem."
    Both men moved back in their chairs, a
seemingly casual move, but one that James knew
gave each of them a better chance to stand and
draw his sword. "What do you want?" the second
man asked. James produced the letter he had
found in Jorath's room. "We know about your
arrangement with the Wreckers' Guild. For a small
price, we'll make sure no one else does."
     The two men glanced at each other, then the
blond man spoke. "If you're looking to line your
pockets with gold, you should be warned that you
are dealing with the Guild of Death. Those who try
to blackmail us tend not to live as long and
comfortably as they otherwise might. Unless, that
is, you're offering some other sort of
arrangement?"
    James smiled. "That's exactly what I was
thinking. Here's my idea—" Leaping forward, James
suddenly overturned the table onto the blond-
haired man, at the same time kicking out with his
boot to shove the chair out from under the bearded
man. "Jazhara! Now!" Jazhara turned and pointed
her staff toward the far door and uttered a few
syllables. A bolt of white energy exploded from the
staff, fired down the short hallway, and blew the
door off its hinges with a deafening sound.
     James had his sword in hand. He grinned.
"That should bring them running." The first
swordsman was scrambling backward, away from
James's blade, while awkwardly trying to draw his
own. The blond man used the overturned table as
a barrier, so that he could retreat an extra couple
of feet to the wall, gaining space to pull out his
sword. James had to leap away to avoid a lunge
from the blond man, aimed at James's left side.
Jazhara struck down with her staff at the
swordsman's arm, striking his wrist with a numbing
blow.
    The blond man yowled in pain as he dropped
his sword. As he attempted to pull his dagger out
with his other hand, Jazhara struck him on the
temple with the iron-shod butt of her staff. The
man dropped to the floor.
    James heard shouts and confusion from the
front of the building, and knew that Jonathan
Means and the guards were now in the common
room. Unless there were other Nighthawks there,
the dockworkers and other laborers would be
unlikely to challenge armed guardsmen. James
lashed out with his sword, slicing the hand of the
bearded man on the floor, who was still struggling
to pull out his sword. It had the desired effect, for
the man let go of the hilt. James touched the tip of
his sword to the man's throat. "I advise you not to
move if you want to keep breathing."
    Jazhara turned toward the door, readying
herself in case whoever came through it first
wasn't friendly.
    The bearded man shifted his weight slightly
and James pressed the blade into the man's skin
until he cried, "Ah ah!" Deftly, James flipped the
man's collar aside with the sword's point, and
slipped it under a chain around the man's neck.
Then, with a flick, he drew the chain over the
man's head. An amulet slid down the blade. As the
point rose in the air, the bearded man made a
frantic grab for his own sword. Without taking his
eyes off the amulet, James kicked with his left
boot, taking the man on the chin and knocking him
unconscious.
    At this point, Jonathan Means broke through
the door at the end of the hall, followed by two of
the Prince's Household Guard. They were frog-
marching Lucky Pete between them, his peg leg
slamming against the floor in a most comic fashion.
    Jonathan said, "Most of the lads in there
started clearing out when Jazhara blew the door off
the hinges." He smiled at her and said, "I assume
it was you and not some other magician, milady?"
She nodded and returned the young man's smile.
The acting sheriff continued. "Most of the rest of
them fled when they saw the seven of us rush in.
That one"—he pointed at Pete—"and a couple of
others tried to fight, but we had them under
control in a few minutes." He glanced at the two
unconscious figures on the floor. "What have we
here?"
    James turned his sword to Means and let the
amulet slip off the blade. "False Nighthawks. Part
of that band sent into the sewers to cast blame on
the true Guild of Death a few months back if I don't
miss my guess."
    "How do you know them to be false?" asked
Jazhara. "No poison rings, and they didn't try to
take their own lives," answered James. "The
Nighthawks are fanatics about not being taken
alive." He sheathed his sword.
    "What is the significance of these being false?"
asked Jonathan. James said, "That remains to be
discovered when we question these two. I suggest
you get them to the palace dungeon and hold them
for questioning. With the Old Market Jail gone, it's
either the palace or the jail at the docks."
    Means nodded. "The palace it is, Squire."
     Means called for help and another four guards
came in to carry the unconscious "Nighthawks"
away. James turned to Lucky Pete and said, "Now,
it's time for us to have a talk."
    Pete tried to smile, but his face was an exercise
in panic. "Now, Squire, I don't know nothin', really.
I just rented some rooms and the basement to
these lads."
    James's gaze narrowed. "The basement?"
    "Yes, through that trapdoor there and down the
stairs," he said, pointing to a spot on the hallway
floor.
    "Damn," said James, pulling his sword out once
more. To Means he said, "Leave a man here with
Pete and follow me." James pulled up the trapdoor
and scrambled through it without waiting to see
who was behind him. He ran down the stone stairs,
which led down to a small landing halfway down,
then doubled back to the basement floor below.
From above, Jazhara said, "James! There is
something very wrong here!"
    Turning to look up at her, James said, "I feel it,
too." Energy crackled in the air which indicated
that magic was being gathered nearby, and
James's experience told him it wasn't anything
good. The hair on his arms and neck rose as he
reached the bottom steps and confronted a door.
He waited until he knew that Jazhara, Means, and
another guard were behind him, then said,
"Ready!" He kicked open the door and found
himself in a large room carved out of the soil
beneath the tavern. Near the middle of the room
stood three men, two dressed in the same way as
the two men upstairs, in black tunics and trousers,
black gloves and with swords at their side. The
third man wore robes and James recognized him as
the magician they had seen at the Wreckers' Guild.
    But what drew James up short and made him
gasp was the figure forming in the center of the
room, inside a complex design drawn on the floor
in a white substance. "A demon!" he shouted. The
creature was coalescing into solid form, substantial
from head to waist. Its head was misshapen, with
two curving, horns that arched down and forward
from its brow. Glowing red eyes regarded the
intruders and it bellowed like a bull, its massive
shoulders flexing as it attempted to reach out to
them.
    The enemy magician cried out, "Hold them! We
are almost done!" The two black-clad swordsmen
drew their weapons and charged the short distance
that separated James from the demon. Jazhara
attempted to cast a spell, but had to break her
concentration in order to avoid being struck by one
of the two men.
   James parried the other attacker as Jonathan
Means and a guardsman burst into the room.
   "Gods!" shouted Means. "What is that thing?"
   "Kill the magician!" James cried.
     The guardsman didn't hesitate. Rather than
risk approaching the magician and coming within
reach of a demon that was almost completely solid,
the soldier pulled a dagger from his belt and with a
powerful throw sent the blade spinning toward the
magician. The dagger struck the magician in the
heart, knocking him backward as the demon
gained solid form. The demon bellowed in rage and
tried to attack, but the lines upon the floor seemed
to form a mystic barrier, preventing him from
reaching James and the others. James saw Means
rush to Jazhara's side, and concentrated upon his
own foe. The man was an expert swordsman and
James was conscious of the enraged demon he
could see over the man's shoulder. The assassin
was also aware of the demon behind him, for he
took a moment to glance back before focusing on
James. James sought to press his advantage, but
the swordsman anticipated it.
   James moved to one side, shouting, "Jazhara!
Can you do something about that thing?"
    Jazhara was attempting to disentangle herself
from the second swordsman, in order to allow the
guardsman or Jonathan Means to engage with him,
but the room was too crowded to allow an easy
transition. "I'm occupied at the moment, James,"
she called. Means cried, "Let me past!" and Jazhara
instantly drew her staff toward her, holding it
upright as she turned and suddenly Means was
past her, lunging at the swordsman, who was
forced to back away. Jazhara looked at the demon
and said, "I know almost nothing of such creatures,
James!"
    James beat back a high attack by the assassin
he faced and attempted to back him into the
demon's reach. "I'm turning into something of a
expert, I'm sorry to say," he retorted. "This is the
third of these creatures I've run into in my life."
    "One thing I do know," Jazhara shouted. "Don't
cross into that diagram and don't break the lines."
    "Thank you," said James. He thrust out with his
blade, managing to nick the assassin in the leg. "I'll
keep that in mind," he added as he pulled back.
     Jazhara saw the stalemate between her
companions and the two assassins, and stopped to
catch her breath. She closed her eyes, recalling an
incantation, then when she had it firmly in mind,
she slowly began to cast her spell. When she was
finished, a crimson bolt of energy flew from her
outstretched hand and struck the face of the
assassin attacking James. The man cried out and
dropped his sword. Clawing at his eyes, he
screamed in pain and staggered backward. Too
late, he suddenly realized he had backed inside the
inscribed design on the floor. He tried to retreat,
but the demon seized him. Picking the assassin up
from behind like a father might pick up a baby, the
twelve-foot-tall demon tossed the man high into
the air, literally bouncing him off the dirt and stone
ceiling. Then as the assassin fell, the creature
slashed with its bull-like horns, impaling him on the
points. The man screamed once and died.
     James ignored the gore and turned his
attention to the second swordsman, reaching over
Means's shoulder to slash at the man's throat. A
liquid gurgle sounded as the assassin dropped his
blade, a stunned look in his eyes as the blood
began to flow from his mouth and nose. He made a
daubing motion with his left hand at his throat, as
if trying to staunch the wound, then he fell forward
and expired. James turned to confront the demon,
which had finished tearing apart the assassin who
had lain upon its horns. Body parts littered the
room and the creature bellowed in rage as it
confronted James and his companions.
   "What do we do?" asked Jonathan Means,
shaking now that he realized the nature of the
monster they faced.
    "It cannot cross out of that space," said
Jazhara, "unless he who summoned it gives leave.
But it will remain there for a long time unless we
banish it or kill it."
    "Those things are hard to kill," said James.
    "I know."
    Jazhara turned to the guardsman. "Send word
to the palace. Summon Father Belson and tell him
we have a demon to banish."
    The guardsman glanced at James, who nodded.
James said, "Let us back out of here and wait for
the good father to show up."
     Time seemed to drag as they waited for the
arrival of Prince Arutha's religious advisor. James
stood just the other side of the door, watching the
evil creature as it raged and glared at him, full of
malevolence. Several times it feigned an attack,
but always it pulled up at the mystic barrier.
    "What's this nonsense about a demon?"
shouted a voice from above. James turned to see
Father Belson appear. The slender, black-bearded
cleric arrived in a hurry, minus his usual purple and
scarlet robes. Instead he wore a woolen nightshirt
over which a heavy cloak had been thrown. "This
idiot," he said, pointing back at the guard,
"wouldn't even grant me leave to dress—" Then he
glanced past James and caught sight of the demon.
"Oh, my," he said softly. "I'll get out of the way
and let you go to work, Father," James said. "Go to
work?" Father Belson replied, blinking in confusion.
"Work doing what?"
   "Getting rid of the demon. That's why we
summoned you."
    "Get rid of the demon? I can't do that," said
the priest of Prandur in horror.
    James blinked like an owl caught in a sudden
light. "You can't?" "Demons are creatures of the
lower realms, and as such often consume fire
energy. My service to the Lord of the Flames
prevents me from having any skills with the sorts
of magic that can possibly harm the creature."
Looking again at the demon, the priest added
softly, "Best I can do is irritate him, and at worst
make him stronger." "What about exorcism?"
asked Jazhara.
    Glancing at the Keshian magician, the priest
said, "That's not something my temple does. You'd
have to find a priest of Sung, and a powerful one at
that, or an Ishapian."
    James sighed. He turned to the guard who had
originally brought Father Belson and said, "Hurry to
the Temple of Ishap and tell the High Priest we
request the services of one who can banish a
demon—and quickly. Use the Prince's name."
    The guardsman saluted. "Squire." He turned
and hurried off. To Father Belson, James said,
"Sorry to have awakened you."
    Not taking his eyes off the creature, the priest
said, "Oh, I wouldn't have missed this for
anything."
    "Good," said James. "Then keep an eye on the
thing just in case, while I go interview a prisoner."
     James returned to the upper room. Pete was
sitting in a chair with a guard at his side. James
said, "Now, before we were so rudely interrupted .
. ."
      Pete looked close to panic. "I tell you, Squire, I
don't know nothin'. Just some lads throwin' gold
around for me to know nothin'. So I looks the other
way when they want to use the down-below, and
the pass-me-through to the sewers. You know how
it is."
    James nodded. He knew all too well how it was.
To the guardsman he said, "Take him to the
palace. Lock him in the dungeon, and we'll see
what else he knows at our leisure."
   The guard grabbed Pete roughly under the arm
and said, "Come with me, little man."
    The peg-legged former sailor squawked at
being manhandled, but went along peacefully.
    It took almost an hour for the Ishapians to
arrive, a gray-haired priest of some significant rank
and two armed warrior monks. Once James
acquainted them with the situation below they
agreed it had been a wise move to summon them.
   They hurried down the steps to the basement
and the Ishapian priest said to Father Belson, "You
may depart now, Servant of Prandur." Belson
bowed slightly. "As you wish."
    As he passed, James said, "You're leaving?"
    With a wry smile, the priest said, "I know when
I'm not wanted."
    James was puzzled. There was a great deal
about the politics of the Kingdom that James had
come to understand during his tenure at Arutha's
court, but the relationships among the temples was
a complex knot of intrigues he had scarcely been
aware of before then, and one he had had little
reason to investigate.
   The priest of Ishap turned to James and said,
"How did this come to be?"
   "That man," James said, pointing at the dead
magician lying on the floor near the far wall. "He
summoned the creature."
    The priest looked across the room, then
observed, "If he were alive it would be easier to
return the creature to the plane of hell from which
it was summoned."
    Dryly, Jazhara said, "Unless, of course, he
ordered it to attack first."
     The priest glanced at the magician, but did not
respond to her observation. Turning to James, he
said, "So be it. Let us begin." The two monks came
to stand on either side of the Ishapian priest and
began a low chant. After a moment, James felt a
distinct cooling in the air, and heard the priest's
voice rising above the others. The language was
tantalizingly familiar, but one he could not
understand.
    The demon glared from behind the barrier
erected by the mystic symbols on the floor,
helpless. From time to time its bovine features
would contort and it would bellow a challenge, but
finally it was done. James blinked in astonishment
as one moment the creature stood there, then an
instant later it was gone, the only evidence of its
passing a subtle shift in the pressure of the air
around them and a slight sound, as if a door closed
somewhere nearby. The priest turned to James.
"The Temple is pleased to help the Crown but it
would be better for all of us if you returned to the
critical task set before you, Squire."
    "We were going to leave this morning, sir, but
things have proved less convenient than I would
have liked. We'll go as soon as possible." The priest
nodded impassively. "Brother Solon will be waiting
for you at the gate at dawn tomorrow." He turned
and left the room, followed by the two monks.
   James sighed. "Arutha won't be pleased if we
have to wait much longer."
    Jazhara said, "We have but one task left before
we can go." "Find Kendaric," James said. "And I
think I know where to start."
     The Golden Grimoire was a modest but well-
appointed shop. It was an apothecary store of
sorts, but Jazhara recognized at once the contents
of many jars and boxes to be ingredients a
magician might employ. A sleepy looking young
woman had let them in only upon James's
insistence they were on the Prince's business.
"What do you wish?" she asked once they were
inside, suspicion in her voice. James regarded her.
This must be Morraine, he thought, the woman to
whom Kendaric was engaged. She was slight in
build, with a slender face, but pretty in a way. He
thought that when fully dressed and awake, she
probably looked a great deal more attractive.
     James produced the shell and said, "Can you
tell us what this is?" Morraine raised her eyebrows.
"Place it there, please." She indicated a green felt
cloth upon the counter next to which a lantern
burned. James did so and she studied it closely for
a bit.
    "This is a Shell of Eortis, I'm certain. It has
powerful magic properties. There are only a few
reputed to exist. It is an artifact of incalculable
value to a sea captain or anyone else who must
voyage across the ocean." She looked at James.
"Where did you get it?"
     James admired the woman's ability to maintain
a calm demeanor. She would be no mean gambler,
he thought. "I'm certain you know where we found
it, Morraine," he said.
    Morraine held his gaze for a moment, then
lowered her eyes. She betrayed no surprise at
hearing her name. "Kendaric. We were lovers for a
while, but my family forbade us to wed. I gave it to
him as a gift. It was my dearest possession." Then,
almost defiantly, she added, "I haven't seen him
for a long time."
    James smiled. "You can stop lying. You don't
do it well. Kendaric is innocent and we have proof.
It was Journeyman Jorath who had the Guild
Master killed to mask his embezzlement of Guild
funds."
     The woman said nothing, but her eyes flickered
from face to face. Jazhara said, "You can believe
us. I am Jazhara, the Prince's court magician, and
this is his personal squire, James. We require
Kendaric's presence for a most critical undertaking
on behalf of the Crown."
    Morraine said softly, "Come with me." She
picked up the lantern from the counter and led
them to a far wall, where several volumes rested
upon shelves.
    Jazhara glanced at the titles and saw that
many of them were herbalist guides and primers
on making remedies and potions, but that a few
dealt with magical issues. "I shall have to return
here when time permits," she muttered.
    Morraine removed one large volume, and the
shelf slid aside, revealing a stairway going up.
"This goes to a secret room in the attic," she said.
     She led them up the stairs and into a small
room, barely able to hold a single bed and table.
Upon the bed sat a man in a green tunic. He wore
a goatee and mustache and had a golden ring in
his left ear. "Who are these people?" he asked
Morraine in a concerned tone, staring at James and
Jazhara.
    "They are from the Prince," said Morraine.
    "I didn't do it!" exclaimed Kendaric.
   "Calm yourself," said James. "We have proof it
was Jorath who had the Guild Master killed."
    "What about those men in black?" asked the
journeyman of the Wreckers' Guild. "They were
trying to kill me! I barely escaped them." Jazhara
noticed a slight hint of a Keshian accent in his
speech, from one of the northern cities. "They've
been dealt with, as well," she said.
    Kendaric sprang to his feet and hugged
Morraine. "This is wonderful! I can return to the
Guild. Thank you for this news."
    Jazhara held her hands up. "A moment,
Guildsman," she said. "We have need of your
services."
    Kendaric said, "Certainly, but perhaps it can
wait for a day or so? I have much to do. If Jorath is
guilty of murder, I must return to take charge of
the apprentices. It will take a while before order is
restored to the Wreckers."
    James said, "Ah, unfortunately we need your
help now. The Prince needs your help. And
considering it might have been the Nighthawks that
found you first, but didn't because of our efforts,
you owe us." "I didn't ask for your help, did I? I
must get back to the Guild! All those debts to pay!"
    "Kendaric!" Morraine said, sharply.
    "Yes, Morraine?" he answered, meekly.
   "You are being ungrateful and rude to people
who have saved your life."
    "But the expenses, my love—"
    "We'll work something out. We always have."
She turned to James. "He'll help you, Squire. He's
a good man at heart, but sometimes he lets his
personal desires lead him astray."
    "Morraine!"
   "I'm sorry, dear, but it's true. That's why you
have me to set you straight."
    Jazhara said, "You plan to defy your parents,
then?" With a tilt of her chin and a brave smile,
Morraine said, "We shall have a wedding as soon as
Kendaric has returned from whatever mission you
have for him."
    Looking defeated, the guildsman said, "Very
well."
    "Please watch out for him. Kendaric sometimes
overreaches himself." Jazhara smiled. "We'll take
care of him."
    "Thank you for restoring his good name."
    They walked down the steps to the door. James
and Jazhara went out into the street and waited as
Kendaric bid Morraine goodbye. When the
journeyman emerged from the shop, Jazhara said,
"You should count yourself lucky to be so well
loved." Kendaric said, "Luckier than you know. I
shudder to remember the bastard I was before I
met Morraine. Her kindness saved my life, but her
love saved my soul."
    James glanced at the starlit sky. "We have
three hours to first light. Time enough to get back
to the palace, report to the Prince, and meet
Brother Solon at the gate."
   As they walked toward the palace, James said,
"Do you ride?"
    "Badly, I fear," said the journeyman.
    Laughing, James said, "By the time we reach
our destination, you'll be an expert."


                       NINE
                     Diversion
    William waited patiently.
    His horse pawed the ground, anxious to be
moving again, or to find something to graze on.
Either way William had to keep a firm leg and short
reins on the animal.
     The day had turned cold and he could see his
own breath before him as night fell. The patrol had
halted in a small clearing in the woods, large
enough for a camp. The men behind him were
silent, avoiding the casual small talk and muttering
that was common during a standstill in the ranks.
They knew the enemy was close. As evening
approached and the gloom of the woods deepened,
everyone was on edge. They could almost feel a
fight approaching. Swords were loose in their
scabbards and bows near to hand as the men kept
their eyes moving, watching for any sign of
trouble. Then from ahead two figures appeared on
the trail, emerging from the murk. Maric and
Jackson rode at a slow canter, and instantly
William relaxed. If the enemy were near, they
would more likely be coming back at a gallop.
    Without waiting for their report, William spun
his horse around and said, "We'll camp here."
    The sergeant in charge of the patrol, an old
veteran named Hartag, nodded and said, "I'll post
the sentries first, Lieutenant." As the sergeant
barked his orders, the two Pathfinders reined in.
Maric said, "We lost them."
    "What?" William swore.
     The other Pathfinder, Jackson, an older man
with almost no hair remaining above his ears, but
with a long flow of gray hair down to his shoulders
from what fringe remained, nodded. "They
suddenly turned among some rocks and we lost the
trail. We'll find it again in the morning, but not in
this light."
    William could barely hide his frustration, "So
they know we are following."
   "They know someone follows," said Maric. "But
we can't be certain they know who and how many."
    "How far ahead?"
    "Two, maybe three hours. If they press on later
today than we do, it'll be half a day before we find
their trail."
    William nodded. "Get something to eat and go
to sleep early. I'll want you out as soon as you
think it's light enough to pick up that trail again."
     The two Pathfinders nodded and dismounted.
William rode down the trail for a few yards, as if he
might just see something in the distance. The
horse demanded fodder, and using his empathic
talent for mental communication with animals,
William sent him a reassuring message: Soon.
    He dismounted and rubbed the horse's nose,
causing its lip to quiver. He knew the animal liked
the touch. All the while, he kept looking into the
darkening woodlands, thinking that somewhere out
there Bear was waiting. But at last he turned the
horse around and headed back to the clearing. He
could see fires were already being started and the
men had their bedrolls out.
    He found a spot close to where his sergeant
stood and nodded greeting. William undid his own
bedroll and tossed it to the ground, then led his
horse to where the picket had been staked out. He
unsaddled and removed the bridle, then haltered
the beast and tied it to the picket line. Finally, he
gave it a nose-bag of oats, then sent a reassuring
"Grazing soon" to all the horses. Several snorted
and sent back mental images that William could
only equate to human sarcasm, as if they were
saying: We've heard that before.
    That brought a smile to William's face. A
moment later he realized it had been his first smile
since Talia's death. He glanced heavenward and
silently told her, Soon you'll be revenged. As he
returned his attention to his men, William
wondered how James and the others were faring
with their quest.
     James was leading his horse. They had
dismounted a few minutes earlier to rest the
animals, but had kept moving. The journey from
Krondor had been uneventful thus far, and James
wished to keep it that way. They should reach the
village of Miller's Rest in one more day, and Haldon
Head another day after.
     James had decided to slip out of the city with a
small caravan, mixing in with the guards and
merchants. At a small fork in the road, he and the
others had slipped away onto a path that led to a
lesser-used road headed north. They had traveled
for a week, avoiding detection as far as they could
tell, and James was praying that they would reach
a small inn before nightfall.
    The inn would be where, if all went according
to plan, they'd make contact with one of Prince
Arutha's agents in the field, and James hoped to
incorporate that man into the network he was
establishing. Presently, the man, who went by the
name of Alan, was simply a minor court official
whose office was that of estate manager for
several of the Prince's personal holdings to the
north of the Principality. Unofficially, he was a
snoop and gossip who often sent important
information south to his ruler. Kendaric and
Brother Solon had been silent for most of the
journey. James judged the monk of Ishap a quiet
man by nature, who rarely volunteered
information, preferring to answer questions with
simple yes-or-no answers. James had tried to
engage the monk in conversation a couple of
times, simply to relieve the boredom, and also out
of curiosity. Solon had a slightly strange accent,
which James found vaguely familiar, but the monk
spoke so rarely that James couldn't place it.
     Kendaric had just been sullen for most of the
way. He had claimed confidence in his ability to
raise the ship with the spell Jazhara had found in
Kendaric's room, but he objected to the necessity
for travel by horseback. He was an unskilled rider
and the first few days had caused him a great deal
of soreness and discomfort, although by now he
was, at last, starting to sit his mount with some
grace and his complaints about his aching back and
legs had diminished. Jazhara had been James's
most voluble companion, though even she often
lapsed into deep, thoughtful silences, occasionally
punctuated by a question about their whereabouts;
she found the terrain north of Krondor fascinating,
the cool woodlands being new and alien territory to
a desert-born noblewoman. James continued to be
impressed by her intelligence and her interest in
everything around her. He had decided that not
only did he like her, but that she was a great
addition to Arutha's court. And he now understood
why she had held such a powerful attraction for
William when he had lived at Stardock. James
shared little of those feelings, apart from a man's
appreciation of a striking woman, but he
recognized how another man might easily be
smitten.
    Finally, Brother Solon said, "Doesn't the road
ahead look ripe for surprise?" His obvious concern
caused him to utter the longest single sentence
James had heard from him since the day they met.
The warrior monk rolled his "r's" and said "fer" in
place of "for." James halted and looked over his
shoulder. "Now I recognize that speech!" he said.
"I've spent enough time with dwarves to know that
accent." Glancing upward, above Solon's head, in
exaggeration of the man's height, he said, "You're
the tallest damn dwarf I've ever encountered,
Solon!"
    "And you're the dimmest lad ever to serve a
prince, if you think I'm a dwarf," responded the
monk. "I grew up on a farm near Dorgin, with
naught but dwarven lads with whom to play. So,
that's the reason for my manner of speech. Now,
don't change the subject." He pointed. "Do you ken
what I'm sayin' about the road ahead?" Kendaric
said, "A few bushes and a wide spot in the road
worry you?" James shook his head. "He's right.
There's someone hiding in the trees ahead."
    "And doin' a right poor job of it, too," added
Solon.
    Jazhara said, "Should we double back?"
     The monk handed the reins of his horse to
Kendaric and said, "I think not, milady. I'll not
skulk along this path like a coward!" He called out.
"You who are hidden are now revealed, by my
faith. Stand and face the might of Ishap or flee like
the craven dogs you are!"
    After a moment of silence, a small band of men
emerged from concealment. They were dressed in
clothes only slightly better than rags, with an oddly
mismatching assortment of armor and weapons.
Two bowmen stayed behind, while two other men
hung to the flanks. The small band moved onto the
road, and approached, stopping a few feet away
from Solon.
    The leader took a step forward, a gawky man
of middle height with an impossibly large nose and
Adam's apple. James was struck that he looked as
much like a turkey as any human he had seen. He
half-expected the man to gobble.
     Instead, the man smiled, revealing teeth so
decayed they were mostly black. "Your pardon,
sirs," he began, with a clumsy half-bow, "but if
you'd see the day safely to your destination, you'd
be wise not to begrudge us some silver for safe
passage. After all, these are rough hills indeed."
     Solon shook his fist at the man. "You'd dare to
rob a priest?" The leader glanced back at his
friends, who seemed uncertain as to what to do.
Then he turned back to Solon. "Your pardon, sir.
We wish no trouble with the gods. You are free
from our demands and may go as you will. But
they must pay." He pointed at the rest of the group
from Krondor.
    "They are under my protection!"
     The bandit stared up at the towering monk and
then looked again to his companions. Attempting to
look resolute, he said, "They don't wear any holy
vestments. They're under no one's protection but
their own." Solon stepped up close to him and said,
"If you'd tempt the wrath of my god, you'd better
have a very good reason!"
    James said, "Let's just kill them and get on
with it."
    Solon said, "No bloodshed if we can help it,
James." Then with astonishing speed for a man of
his size, the warrior monk swung one mighty fist
upward, catching the bandit leader squarely under
the chin. The slight man was lifted right off his feet
and flung backward. His ragtag band of
companions scrambled to catch him as he fell.
Solon glared out from under his gold-colored helm
and said, "Any other of you daft twits think you can
extort silver from us?" The men glanced at one
another, then as two of them carried their
unconscious leader, they hurried off, while those
on the side of the road vanished into the brush.
    When the road appeared empty once more,
Solon returned to his horse. "I thought not," he
said.
    James and Jazhara exchanged glances, then
both started to chuckle. James mounted his horse
and declared, "Let's go."
    The others followed suit and soon they were
again riding cautiously through the darkening
woodlands.
    As night fell, they turned a bend in the trail and
spied light ahead. James signaled for caution and
they slowed to a walk. As they approached the
light they discovered they had chanced upon an
inn, nestled close to the road in a small clearing. A
single two-story wooden building with a large shed
behind for horses, the inn was marked with a
cheery glow from within, smoke rising from the
chimney, and a sign depicting a man with a
rucksack and walking stick.
    "This must be the Wayfarer," said James.
    "Then the Prince's agent should be waiting for
us?" asked Kendaric. "This man Alan?"
    James nodded. "Before we go inside," he said
to Kendaric, "remember, don't be too free with who
we are or where we're going. Bear may have
agents here as well."
     Kendaric said, "Look, I don't care about any of
this intrigue. I just want a bed and a hot meal. Is
that too much to ask?" James looked at the
guildsman. Dryly, he answered, "Unfortunately, it
often is too much to ask."
    They dismounted and James shouted for the
hostler. Quickly a lackey arrived from the shed
behind the building and took the horses. James
spent a few moments instructing the boy on the
care he required for the mounts. When he was
satisfied that the horses would be well-tended, he
motioned to the others to follow him into the inn.
     James pushed open the door and they entered
a tidy, though crowded, taproom. A merry fire
burned in the hearth, and travelers and locals
mixed easily as they ate and drank.
    James led his companions through the taproom
to the bar. A stout-looking man behind the counter
looked up and with a broad smile said, "Sir!" Then
spying Jazhara and the other two men, added,
"Lady, and gentlemen, I'm Goodman Royos, the
innkeeper. How may I be of service?"
    "For a start, a round of ale for weary
travelers."
    "Certainly!" With practiced efficiency Royos
quickly produced four large pewter jacks of ale. As
he placed them on the bar, he asked, "Where are
you heading?"
     "North," James answered. "So, what's the news
in these parts?"
    "Oh, everything's been pretty quiet of late,
although Farmer Toth's wife just rode through for
Krondor. She seemed quite upset."
    "Any idea why?" asked Jazhara.
    Royos shrugged. "Can't say. She and her
husband have a farm ten miles or so this side of
Haldon Head. They usually stop here for a bite on
their way to the city or coming back, sometimes
spend the night under their wagon out back where
I keep the horses. Nice folks."
    Kendaric said, "You said something about
Haldon Head. We're heading there. Is it far?"
    Jazhara rolled her eyes. "Kendaric . . ."
    Royos said, "Haldon Head? No, just another
couple of days. I don't want to scare you folks, but
rumor has it that Haldon Head is cursed with
witchcraft!"
     Jazhara said, "What do you mean by
'witchcraft?'" Royos said, "Now don't get me
wrong. I'm not superstitious myself, but ships have
sunk off Widow's Point ever since men began
sailing these waters. Some say it's a curse, but I
figure it's just the reefs and shoals when the tide is
tricky."
    Brother Solon said, "You say lots of ships go
down there?" "For hundreds of years. Some fall
prey to their captains' ignorance of the reefs and
the tides, others are taken by pirates. There are
pirates who know this shoreline like the backs of
their hands. They'll run ships aground, then board
them while they're helpless." James said, "You
sound like you know what you're talking about."
Royos laughed. "I wasn't always an innkeeper . . ."
    James nodded. "I'll not ask what you were
before."
    "Wise choice," said Royos.
    Solon said, "So what's up at Haldon Head to be
superstitious about?" Royos chucked. "Well, some
say the area is haunted by the ghosts of all the
dead sailors." He shook his head. "It's probably
just the fog that lingers offshore."
   "That's all?" asked Solon.
     Royos frowned as his demeanor turned a little
more serious. "Well, lately I've heard tales about
some folks gone missing up there, and cattle
getting sick and the like." Then, returning to his
cheery mood, he said, "Still, cattle are always
getting sick, seems to me, and people do wander
off from time to time."
     Kendaric said, "We're also looking for a fellow
named Alan." Royos said, "That's Alan over there in
the corner to your right. He regularly stops by
when passing through." Lowering his voice, the
innkeeper said, "I think he does some business for
the Crown, though he's not much of a talker."
Leaning back, he added, "But he's a wonderful
listener. Never once saw him walk away from a
yarn or tale." James threw Kendaric a black look,
then turned and crossed through the crowd to the
opposite corner. A solitary man occupied a small
table there, watching the room with his back to the
wall. James said, "Alan?"
   "I'm sorry. Do I know you?"
     "I don't think you do. We're from the 'Citadel.
'" Alan waved James closer. "Glad to hear it. 'Uncle
Arthur' sent word you'd be coming by."
    James sat at the only other chair at the table,
with Kendaric and Jazhara standing behind. Solon
looked around the room to ensure they weren't
overheard.
    "What's the word on William's quest?"
    "He's doing fine. He and his friends are hunting
up in the mountains. Word was sent back they've
found 'bear tracks.'" Lowering his voice, James
asked, "What have you heard from Haldon Head?"
    "I haven't been up there for a while. That town
seems to be under some sort of curse. I've heard
about sick people, sick farm animals, missing
children, and there are rumors of dark creatures
roaming the night. I don't know what's true, but
I've met a lot of people on the road who are
getting away from there in a hurry. They say it's
witchcraft."
    Jazhara said, "I hate that word! What do you
mean?" Alan glanced up at Jazhara, and while he
had never seen her before he must have deduced
she was the Prince's new magician, for he said,
"Begging your pardon, milady. There's an old
woman living at Widow's Point who the local
villagers in Haldon Head go to with their common
ailments. They've always tolerated her, even
welcomed her when they were ill, but with the
strange goings-on of late, they've taken to calling
her a witch."
    Jazhara said, "Perhaps we can be of some
assistance when we reach Haldon Head."
    James said, "Where are you off to next?"
    "I'm hurrying down to the garrison at Sarth.
Word is we've got goblins raiding to the east of
here. Likely there's a camp nearby." "They going to
be a problem to us in reaching Haldon Head?"
asked James.
    "I don't think so, but it's best to stay on the
road during daylight. So far, I've only heard of
them hitting farms for food animals." Looking
around the crowded room, he said, "I'd best slip
out now. I've got a small patrol camped down the
road. Thought it best not to call attention to
myself. I should rejoin them and start out for the
south at first light." He rose. "One last thing, the
patrol sent to aid you hasn't reached Miller's Rest
yet. They could be there by the time you pass
through, or show up later. Best to stay out of
trouble at Haldon Head until you know they're in
place."
    James thanked Alan and the agent departed.
    Kendaric asked, "Can we get something to
eat?"
   James nodded. "And some rooms." He stood up
and returned to the bar to arrange it with
Goodman Royos.
    William waited patiently for the return of the
Pathfinders. He had stopped his patrol at a small
clearing near a brook. A tree had been blazed with
the agreed-upon cut, a symbol that meant "wait
here." He could feel the tension in the pit of his
stomach. The only reason for making such a mark
was that they were closing in on their quarry. Time
dragged as he waited for the return of the scouts.
He considered his options. He had been trailing
Bear for over a week now. Several times he had
waited while the Pathfinders had lost the trail only
to pick it up again a few hours later. On two
occasions, it was clear that Bear had met with
other men. The Pathfinders deduced that he was
recruiting mercenaries. Twice, other riders had left
Bear's group to ride off on errands of one sort or
another. Three times they had come across signs
of goblins in the area, and William had even
dispatched one of his riders back to Krondor to
carry word of their possible incursion into the
Principality. William prayed this was just some
tribal migration to better hunting grounds, and not
a gang of raiders. He wanted to concentrate his
energy on Bear and his men, not a group of
nonhuman troublemakers looking to steal cows and
children. He knew that if he did encounter a raiding
band, he'd be honor-bound to attempt to drive
them back up into the mountains and that to do so
would risk losing track of Bear. As much as he
wanted to avenge Talia's murder, he couldn't abide
the thought of a human child being sacrificed in
one of the goblins' magic rites. Finally, one of the
two Pathfinders appeared. It was Jackson who
came into the clearing, leading his horse. "We've
spotted a band of mercenaries, Lieutenant."
    "Bear's men?"
    "Maric thinks so, but we saw no sign of the
man himself. From the description, he'd be a hard
one to miss. Maric's staying close. They're camped
in a little clearing about a mile up the road. Best if
we slip half the company around them, then hit
them from both sides." William considered the
plan. He disliked the idea of splitting his forces
while on the march, yet he knew that if he came at
the mercenaries from one side only, they might
break and flee into the woods. He needed
intelligence more than dead bodies. At last he
nodded. "How long?"
    "We can be in place in an hour."
    William glanced at the late afternoon sky. They
would attack the mercenaries as it was getting
dark. "Good. Be ready at sunset. Don't attack until
you hear us coming, then hit them hard."
    "Lieutenant?"
    "Yes, Jackson?"
     "I recognize this company. They're the Grey
Talon, up from Landreth." "Landreth?" asked
William. "Valemen."
    Jackson nodded. "Tough bastards. Last I heard
they were fighting down in the Vale for a trading
concern against Keshian raiders. They sometimes
come up to Krondor to spend their gold, but usually
we don't see them this far north."
    William pondered the significance of this. "They
must have been in Krondor when Bear was there,
and Bear's agent must have gotten word to them
to head north."
    "Something like that," agreed Jackson.
    "Which means Bear doesn't have many of his
original crew left." "Fair guess," agreed Jackson.
"But these lads will not cry quarter unless they're
seriously beaten. I know that from their
reputation." "Still, it means they won't have any
personal loyalty to that monster. If we can capture
. . ." He turned and signaled for Sergeant Hartag.
    "What's the lie of the land? On foot or horse?"
"Foot, I think, Lieutenant. Too noisy getting the
horses in place in the evening, and if we get close
before we spring the attack, we have a better
chance of taking charge of the fray."
     "On foot, then," agreed William. "Take half the
men and go with Jackson. Picket the horses and
get as close to the other side of their camp as you
can. Deploy your archers to one side. They'll signal
when they're ready. We'll need their covering fire
to make sure that none of these ruffians escape. If
you get into trouble, lead them toward the trees,
then disengage and let the archers cut them down.
Wait until you hear us attack from this side of the
trail and then go in fast and hard. But remember—I
want at least one of them taken alive." To Jackson
he added, "Go now, tell Maric to meet me at the
trail, then get these men into place."
    The Pathfinder nodded, mounted his horse, and
rode off. In moments the sergeant had all the men
mounted, and the company divided into two
squads, and he led the first up the trail to
rendezvous with the Pathfinders.
     William waited until they were well along the
trail, then gave the order for his own squad to
follow.
    Riding into the gloom of the woodlands, William
could feel his anticipation mounting. Soon he would
know where Bear was hiding, and then he would
face him.
     The men waited for the signal. William had
inspected the enemy camp and was forced to admit
that the men he faced were seasoned
professionals. There were about thirty of them, and
while they had elected to sleep on the ground, they
had still picked the most defensible site in the
clearing, atop a small hillock, with clear lines of
sight in all directions. The good news was that they
hadn't bothered making any sort of defenses. Even
a rude earthen berm fortified with cut stakes would
have proven a hindrance for William's men. These
men were obviously in a hurry, making camp just
before nightfall, probably planning on breaking
camp at first light. They would set sentries, and
those would be vigilant. William waited until the
sun had set low enough past the distant hills to
throw the entire landscape into a chiaroscuro of
dark gray and black. He devised a plan and relayed
his orders to his archers. Five of the dozen men
with him would hang back. William motioned with
his sword, and walked out into the clearing, seven
men walking easily alongside him. He had covered
a dozen yards when a voice called out from the
camp. "Who goes there?" "Hello, the camp!"
William shouted, continuing to walk casually. "I
seek the Grey Talon company."
   "Well, you've found them," came the response.
"Come no closer!"
   William stopped. "I bring a message for Bear."
The agreed-upon signal to the archers was the
word "Bear."
    As the sentry was about to answer, five arrows
shot overhead and William shouted, "Now!"
    The archers had picked their targets well, and
before they realized they were under siege, five of
the mercenaries were down. More arrows flew from
the other side, and William realized Sergeant
Hartag had his own bowmen ready.
     From both sides of the camp, soldiers of the
Kingdom appeared, while the Grey Talon
mercenaries grabbed their weapons and made
ready to answer the attack. William charged the
nearest sentry, who raised his shield to take the
blow from William's large hand-and-a-half sword.
William started to swing downward, then turned
the blade in an elliptical swing that brought the
huge blade crashing into the side of the shield,
knocking it aside, and turning the soldier so he
couldn't return the blow, since his sword-arm was
now away from William. As the sentry turned to
strike, William swept his blade downward from the
shield, slashing the back of the man's leg,
hamstringing him. The man went down with a cry
and William kicked him over with his left leg. The
mercenary wasn't dead, but he wouldn't be
fighting. William wanted prisoners. William wanted
to know where he could find Bear. William's men
had the advantage of surprise, but the Grey Talon
mercenaries were a hard and experienced bunch.
The struggle was bloody and only the fact that a
half-dozen mercenaries had gone down early
enabled William's men to carry the day. After
William's third kill, he glanced around, expecting to
see mercenaries asking for quarter, but he was
surprised to find they were still fighting, even
though there were now two of the Prince's soldiers
facing each mercenary. "Keep at least one alive!"
William shouted, even as he remembered the man
he had hamstrung, lying somewhere on the ground
in the midst of the carnage. He turned to see how
his own command was doing. The archers had put
up their bows, drawn their swords, and were now
entering the fray. The mercenaries continued to
resist and several of William's men were down,
either dead or seriously wounded. "End this!"
William shouted to a retreating mercenary who was
desperately attempting to keep two Krondorian
soldiers at bay. The man ignored William and kept
looking for an opening. William swore in disgust as
another mercenary was killed. He circled around
behind one of the last remaining mercenaries, and
struck him from behind across the helmet with the
flat of his blade. "Don't kill him!" he shouted to the
two men who were about to run him through. The
man staggered, and one of William's soldiers leapt
forward, grappling with the mercenary's sword-
arm. The other stepped inside and struck the
mercenary hard across the face with the hilt of his
sword, stunning the man.
   Then it was over. William looked around and
shouted, "Sergeant!"
    Hartag hurried over and said, "Sir!"
    "What's the damage?"
     "Six men down, sir. Three dead, two more
likely to join them, one who might survive if we get
him to a healer quickly. Several others wounded,
but nothing to brag about."
    "Damn," muttered William. That left him with
eighteen men, not all of them fully able. "What
about the mercenaries?"
   "Damnable thing, sir. They wouldn't ask for
quarter. Fought to the death. Never knew
mercenaries to do that. Usually they're smart
enough to know when they're whipped."
    "How many alive?"
    "Two," answered Hartag. "One's bleeding to
death from a deep leg wound and won't be with us
much longer." William nodded, realizing this must
be the man he'd hamstrung. Hartag continued.
"The other's that fellow you banged across the
head. He should be rousing soon."
    The mercenary came around after a few
minutes and William had him dragged over. "Who
are you? Are you one of Bear's men?" "Not
anymore. Name's Shane McKinzey. Currently—" He
glanced around. "Used to be with the Grey Talons.
We was contacted by Bear's agent so we came to
join up. We met with this Bear, and he told us what
to do."
     "Why the fight to the death?" asked Hartag.
"Orders." He rubbed the back of his head. "Seems
our captain"—he motioned toward a corpse being
dragged to a makeshift funeral pyre—"he got the
word that Bear had some sort of magical powers.
Said he'd hunt down and eat the soul of any man
who betrayed him." He blinked, as if trying to clear
his vision. "Man, I've been hit before, but nothing
like that." He shook his head. "Anyway, Capt'n, he
says a clean death and fast ride to Lims-Kragma's
Hall is better than being' sucked dry of blood and
havin' your soul captured by some hell's spawn."
    "Why were you camped here?"
     "We was left to kill anyone following him. This
was our first job for him. Looks like it'll be our
last."
    "Where's Bear now?"
    "Don't know. We were supposed to camp here
and kill anyone coming this way, then meet him on
the morning of the new Small Moon, at Two Fangs
Pass."
    Hartag said, "You're lying."
    "Maybe, but since you'll have to kill me anyway
to keep me from warning Bear . . . why should I be
honest?"
    "Since we'll kill you anyway," said William,
"maybe you ought to come clean and help us get
the man who set you up."
    Shane looked at William, and said, "I've been a
mercenary for more years than you've carried a
sword, boy. I don't fear dying, but I can see you're
afraid of killin' in cold blood."
    William pointed to where his men piled the
dead. "Take a look at the rest of your men and tell
me again that I'm afraid. Still, you could live if
you're honest. You've never worked for Bear
before, right?"
    "What of it?"
   "Then you don't need to share in Bear's
punishment. Tell us what we want to know and my
men will escort you back to Krondor. From there
you can take a ship to wherever you like. I suggest
back down to the Vale."
     The mercenary rubbed the back of his head as
he weighed his options. "Well, I guess I've not
much of a company left. All right, you've got a
deal. I was lying about the killing-anyone-who-
followed part. We were supposed to make it look
easy to attack us—damn we did make it too easy—
bleed a little, then run like hell. Bear's setting a
trap for you at Two Fangs Pass. We were supposed
to lead you to it. If you hurry, you can beat him
there."
    "You made the smart choice. Thanks." William
beckoned to a nearby soldier. "You and Blake take
Mr. McKinzey here back to Krondor with anyone
else who's too badly wounded to go any further."
    "Yes, sir!" came the answer.
    Hartag spoke softly. "You think he's telling the
truth this time, Will?"
     "Yes. He's got no reason to lie, and getting as
far from Bear as he can is obviously his best
choice." William's eyes seemed to light up as he
continued, "We have him. Get the men ready to
ride. We're pushing through this night, and the
next if need be, and we'll get to Two Fang Pass
before Bear."
    "Sir!" said Hartag, and he turned to carry out
his orders.


                        TEN
                       Goblins
    James awoke.
    Something was wrong. He leapt to his feet and
kicked at the foot of Kendaric's bed. The guildsman
sat up with a sleepy expression and mumbled,
"What?"
    "I smell smoke."
   James hurried to the next room, where Jazhara
and the monk were sleeping, and pounded on the
door. The hall was already blue with smoky haze
and the acrid smell of burning wood stung his eyes.
"Get up!" he shouted. "The inn's on fire!"
    Doors up and down the hall flew open as the
handful of other guests looked out to see what the
fuss was about. James repeated his warning as he
buckled on his sword and grabbed his travel pack.
Jazhara and Solon appeared a moment later and
hurried after him and the others down the stairs.
     In the common room, it was obvious that the
fire had been started near the front door, for now
the entire wall around the exit was engulfed in
flames. "The kitchen!" James shouted. He hurried
through the door behind the taproom bar and saw
Goodman Royos and a young woman drawing
buckets of water. "Stay calm!" shouted the
innkeeper. James grabbed the man by his shirt.
"Don't even try. You'll never put that fire out with
buckets of water. Get out while you can!" The man
hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He ushered
the girl out of the kitchen into the backyard as the
last of the guests fled through the rear door.
   Screams alerted James to the fact that
something even direr than a fire was at hand.
    He and Solon had their weapons at the ready
when they emerged from the rear of the building,
only to discover a band of goblins trying to untie
the horses from their picket line beneath the run-in
shed. James counted quickly: there were a dozen
of the creatures nearby. The goblins stood shorter
than men, and were smaller across the shoulders,
but not by much. Sloping foreheads terminated in
heavy brows of thick black hair. The black irises of
their yellow eyes caught the firelight, seeming to
glow in the darkness. James had fought goblins
before and realized at once that this must be an
experienced raiding party. Three of the warriors
wore tribal topknots complete with feathers or
bones in their hair, signifying that they were
chieftains or priests. They all carried bucklers and
swords, and James was only thankful that they
didn't appear to have archers with them. There
were three other armed men emerging from the
inn, so including Solon, himself, and a few of the
guests, James counted eleven warriors. Jazhara
could handle herself, he knew, so he shouted to
Royos, "Get the girl behind us!"
     The goblins charged, and Jazhara unleashed a
ball of fire at the center of the group. It struck
square on. Flames immediately consumed three
goblins, while another three off to one side were
badly burned.
    The remaining six goblins came forward at a
howling run, swinging furiously. Out of the corner
of his eye, James saw Solon wield his heavy
warhammer deftly, caving in the skull of one goblin
before the creature could dodge away.
    One more down, five to go, thought James.
Kendaric came into James's view awkwardly
waving a short blade, and suddenly James realized
that the journeyman had no skills whatsoever to
defend himself. James leapt to one side and kicked
at the goblin who had overrun his position, sending
the creature sprawling. He then leapt to his right,
and with a spinning blow, cut at the goblin who
menaced Kendaric, slashing him across the back of
the neck. The panic-stricken wrecker stared at
James with wide-eyed terror. James yelled, "Get
over there by Royos!"
    Kendaric seemed unable to move, and James
barely avoided being struck by a sword-blow from
behind. He only sensed the attack at the last
second and ducked to his left. Had he ducked to his
right, he thought, he'd have been a head shorter.
    James spun and saw that he had been attacked
by one of the burned goblins. This one's entire
right side was still smoking, his eye swollen shut,
so James immediately moved to his own left,
attacking the goblin's blind side.
    Jazhara unleashed another spell, a searing red
beam that struck the face of one of the goblins
approaching Kendaric. The creature screamed,
dropped his sword and clawed at his eyes. The
other turned toward the source of the attack, and
hesitated. Kendaric used the distraction to turn and
flee, leaving the goblin isolated. Brother Solon and
another man from the inn appeared in Kendaric's
place and both attacked the goblin at the same
instant. The goblin saw Solon's huge warhammer
coming at him and dodged, while the other man
attempted to strike out with his sword. The two
attacks confounded each other, and the goblin
turned and fled.
    Suddenly the remaining goblins were all
running for their lives. James gave a half-hearted
lunge at one who managed to elude his sword-
point, then stood up and surveyed the damage.
    The inn was now completely in flames, and
Royos and the young woman were watching it,
holding onto one another. The stable-boy stood
near the horses, his eyes wide with fear.
    A half-dozen goblins lay on the ground.
    James shook his head. "What brings goblins so
close to the coast?" he wondered aloud.
   Brother Solon came to stand beside James.
"Goblins tend to be a stupid lot, but not stupid
enough to raid for horses unless they've a camp
nearby."
     The young girl approached and said, "Farmer
Toth's wife rode through on her way to Krondor,
sir, looking for soldiers to come save her baby girl."
   "Maria!" exclaimed Goodman Royos. "You
weren't supposed to hear of such things."
    "Father," the girl replied, "do you think you can
shield me from every trouble in the world?" She
turned to look at the burning inn. "Is my home not
destroyed before my eyes?"
   The innkeeper put his arms around her
shoulders. "I forget that you are growing up,
daughter."
    The other guests, two men with swords, and
another with a large hunting knife, as well as two
women gathered around. Royos said, "My thanks
for all that you did in driving off the goblins."
James nodded.
    "I wish we could have done more."
     "You saved lives," said Royos. "Inns can be
rebuilt. Customers are much harder to come by."
He kissed the top of Maria's head. "As are
daughters." Royos and Maria turned back toward
the inn, to arrange a bucket brigade to douse the
remaining flames. "Aye," said Solon. "They were
awaitin' for us to come out so they could butcher
us."
    James scratched at his ear. "Why such a
blatant raid? They have to know there'll be a patrol
up in the hills after them soon . . ."
   Jazhara said, "To draw a patrol away from
somewhere else?" James looked at the young
magician and motioned for her to walk with him.
When they were out of earshot of the others, he
asked, "Bear?" "Perhaps. It would certainly suit his
cause if soldiers were not near Widow's Point and
Haldon Head when he attempted to claim the Tear
of the Gods."
    James said, "If we knew how he planned on
getting to the Tear, then we'd have a better notion
of where he is likely to be."
    "Were I this Bear, and failing to gain Kendaric's
spell, I would wait for Kendaric to appear and
capture him."
   "Or wait for us to do the work, then take the
Tear from us once we're back on dry ground."
   "Either way, I would allow Kendaric to reach
Widow's Point," finished Jazhara.
    James said, "I don't wish to wait, but I'm
reluctant to attempt this without the reserves down
in Miller's Rest." He glanced over to where the
others waited, and called out, "Brother Solon! You
seem to have some knowledge of goblins. How
large a camp do you judge they'd have nearby?"
    The warrior monk paused to consider, then
said, "'Tis hard to judge. The daft creatures do not
think as you and I think. Perhaps three companies
such as this one. One to hold the camp while the
other two raid. They numbered chieftains and
priests in this party, which is somewhat unusual."
    "To what end?" asked Kendaric, now
sufficiently recovered from his fright to follow the
conversation.
    "Ah, that is as plain as can be," said Solon.
"They've taken a baby." He glanced at the sky,
where Small Moon was waning. "They'll sacrifice
the wee one in two days when the moon is dark,
an offering to their god. So, these aren't bandits
out lookin' for plunder. This is an all-out ghost-
appeasement raid. Their ancestors are tellin' them
to come down and spill human blood, take human
slaves and horses, then come back. 'Tis a very bad
business."
    Jazhara said, "We must do something. If
they're going to kill the child in two nights, the
soldiers will not be here in time." James said, "As
loath as I am to think of a child dying in such a
fashion, we have more pressing business
elsewhere."
     Jazhara grabbed James by the upper arm and
in a low, angry tone, growled, "You'd leave a baby
to be butchered like a food animal?" James rolled
his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not going to win
this one, am I?"
    "No. I'll go alone if I have to." James pulled his
arm free of her grip. "You have your duty." "And
you've already said this may have been done to
draw away our soldiers. We will have to wait
anyway, James, if you won't move to Haldon Head
before the patrol gets here. If we can rescue the
child and return her to her family, we lose only a
couple of days, and when the soldiers following us
arrive here, they can move straight on to Miller's
Rest."
    Sighing in resignation, James motioned for
Solon and Kendaric to approach. "Solon, could
these goblins be working for Bear?" "I think not,"
said the monk. "Though he could be influencin'
them. A few weapons or a bit of magic, as gifts,
some intelligence on safe places to raid, some jars
of wine or ale, they might think plunderin' down
here was their own brilliant idea."
   Kendaric said, "Is this Bear everywhere?"
James answered, "No, I don't think so. I don't think
Bear is behind this. I think he's working for
another."
    "Why?" asked Jazhara.
    "I'll tell you as we travel." He glanced up at the
sky. "Dawn will be here in a couple of hours and
we have to be ready to ride." "Where are we
going?" asked Kendaric.
    With a wry smile, James said, "We're hunting
goblins."
    Kendaric was complaining, again. "This is not
at all wise!" James shook his head, ignoring him.
To Solon he said, "They're not taking pains to hide
their tracks, are they?" The warrior monk was
leading his horse as he followed the goblins' trail.
"No, they're a wee bit damaged, and in a hurry to
get back to their healers, I'm thinkin'"
    James pointed ahead. In the distance the hills
rose and behind them the peaks of the Calastius
Mountains. "You think they'll be up in the rocks?"
    "Almost certainly," answered the monk. "They'll
have found a defensible position, maybe a box
canyon or small meadow, but it'll be hell to pay to
dig them out of it."
    "And the four of us are going to 'dig them
out?'" demanded Kendaric. Running out of
patience, James said, "No, we're not going to dig
them out. We're going to hold the horses and send
you in to destroy them." Kendaric stopped his
horse, looked down with a stunned expression.
"Me?"
    Jazhara couldn't contain herself and started to
laugh. Even the taciturn Solon allowed himself a
chuckle.
    James shook his head. "Don't worry. I have a
plan."
    He turned away from Kendaric, who was now
falling farther behind, allowing Jazhara to lean over
and say, "You have a plan?" James whispered
back. "No, but I will have by the time we get there
and I look around. And maybe he'll shut up until
then."
    Jazhara smiled and nodded. They rode on.
    At last, Solon signaled a halt. "I'm not a proper
tracker, it's true, but you'd have to be a blind man
to not see this." He dismounted and pointed at the
ground where James could see heavy boot-prints in
the dirt.
   "He's in a bit of a hurry, apparently," said the
monk.
    "Who is it?" asked Kendaric.
    "Unless someone here has the gift of future
sight," said Solon, "it's only guessing, but I suspect
we're lookin' at the tracks of that farmer, come to
fetch home his bonny girl."
      "Good guess," said James, pointing ahead. In
the distance they saw a solitary figure cresting a
hill. He had been hidden from sight by a closer rise,
but now they could see him marching purposefully
down the trail. "We'd best catch up with him before
he gets himself killed."
    Solon mounted and they urged their horses
into a fast canter. They overtook the farmer
quickly. The man turned and regarded the riders
with suspicion. He held a scythe like a weapon,
across his chest, ready to block or swing.
    "Hold," said James with his right hand held up
palm outward. "We're on the Prince's business."
   "Finally! I was beginning to think help would
never come. How is my wife?"
    James said, "I believe you've mistaken us for
others."
    The farmer asked, "What?! You mean Becky
didn't send you from Krondor? I thought you had
come to rescue my daughter!" Solon said, "Be
calm, Farmer Toth. You are in Ishap's grace now.
We know something about your child. Please, tell
us what happened to your daughter."
    The man seemed to relax. "It's been almost a
week, now, since my friend Lane and I were out
hunting. We were in the foothills east of here,
when at night we heard flutes and drums. We went
to see what it was, and in a canyon not too far
from here we came upon a band of goblins. They
had a little boy, and then they . . . oh, gods . . .
they cut the child in two. Sacrificed him! I cried
out. I couldn't help myself, and they came after us.
We managed to escape, but then the day before
yesterday they fell upon us back at my farm. Lane
and I tried to hold them back, but there were just
too many. They got into the house . . . and they
took my daughter! Lane's a tracker and went after
them, and I sent my wife Becky to Krondor for
help, and then followed after Lane. Now you've
shown up."
    James asked, "Which way did Lane go?"
    "Back to the canyon, I'm almost certain. He left
small signs for me to follow. I was going to wait for
the soldiers . . . but I couldn't bear the thought of
them sacrificing my little girl."
    "She's safe until the dark of the next moon,"
said Solon. "It was the dark of the Middle Moon the
night we saw the boy killed," agreed Toth.
     Then he became concerned. "Tomorrow night
is the dark of the Small Moon!"
    "We must act quickly," said Jazhara.
    "It's all that witch's doing," said Toth.
    "Witch?" asked Jazhara.
    "There are rumors of witchcraft up at Haldon
Head that accursed witch must have had my
daughter stolen for her foul spells!" Jazhara's eyes
narrowed. "Did you see the 'witch' when the
goblins killed the little boy?"
    "Well, no, but . . ."
    "It is of no matter now," injected Solon. "If we
are to help, we must move quickly."
    "I beg you do!" said Toth. "Please help me find
my daughter." Solon glanced around. "Camp here,
good farmer. We shall have to strike this night,
else the bonny child is lost."
    James nodded. "Let's get moving."
    They led their horses along the road while the
farmer looked around for a place to wait. James
glanced back and saw the man's face. Clearly all
his hopes rode with them.
    "Looks like Toth's friend Lane ran into some
trouble," said James. A short way down the trail
they had followed for the last hour lay a small
mound of corpses. Beyond that another pair of
goblins lay across a still, human form. "He made
the bastards pay," growled Solon.
   Kendaric said, "But at what price? The man is
dead!"
    "Calm yourself," said Jazhara.
    "Calm, she says," Kendaric muttered, shaking
his head. "I think that body just moved," said
James, jumping from his horse and hurrying over.
He pulled the two goblins off the pile and examined
the man. "Bring water!" he instructed.
    Jazhara hurried over with a waterskin while
James cradled the man's head, watching as the
magician poured a little water onto the man's face,
reviving him.
     Blinking, Lane said, "Goblins . . . they took my
friend's daughter. I found their camp, but . . .
there were too many . . ."
    "Don't worry, we'll find them," said Jazhara.
"They're close. The box canyon, north of here.
Please. Don't let them kill that little girl."
    James started to ask a question, but Lane's
eyes rolled up into his head. James put his ear
near the man's mouth and after a minute, said,
"He's gone."
     Solon said, "He'll not die in vain. We'll see
justice done." James gently rested the man's head
on the rocks, and stood. Glancing upward, he said,
"It's going to be dark in less than two hours. Let's
see if we can find that box canyon." He motioned
for Solon and Kendaric to dismount. "We'll walk the
horses and leave them at the mouth of the canyon.
When we return, we'll give Lane a proper burial." It
took them less than an hour to reach the entrance
to the canyon. A small stream emptied out of the
rocks there, cutting across the trail, before
splashing down the hillside. Turning to Kendaric,
James said, "Water the horses and keep them from
wandering off. We'll be back as soon as we can."
    "You're leaving me here alone?" he asked,
alarmed. "Well, if you'd rather go to the goblin
camp . . . ?"
    "No! It's just, well, alone . . ."
    James said, "As much as it pains me to say
this, right now you are more important than either
Jazhara or myself." He thought about it, then
added, "Solon, you stay here as well. If we don't
come back, go to Miller's Rest and pick up the
patrol. Then go to Haldon Head, raise the ship and
get the Tear."
    Solon seemed to be on the verge of objecting,
then saw the wisdom of the plan. "Aye, I'll wait."
    James and Jazhara moved up the canyon. After
carefully picking their way through the narrow
opening, they came to a quarter turn, bending to
the left. James peeked around the corner. Then he
turned and held up two fingers to Jazhara, and
mouthed, "Two guards." She nodded. He glanced
up at the rim of the canyon and pointed to a spot
slightly behind Jazhara.
   Following his gaze, she saw a handhold, and
nodded quick agreement. Shouldering her staff
across her back, she climbed nimbly up onto the
ridge. James followed. At the top he whispered in
her ear, "I'm going to move up the draw a bit and
see what's there. If there's a way to get past the
guards, I'll find it. If not, we'll try the other side."
"What if there is no way on the other side?" she
whispered back. "Then we have to kill the guards
and move quickly before we're discovered."
   Jazhara's face revealed her reaction to that
possibility. "Please find another way," she asked.
    James crept along the rim of the canyon,
keeping low to reduce the chance of being seen
against the still-light sky. He passed the bend and
glanced down to make sure he wasn't likely to be
spotted by the guard stationed at the opposite side
of the canyon, but to his relief the guard was
nowhere to be seen.
    James continued his slow approach. The rise
increased in height as he reached the lip of the box
canyon. Below he could see a dozen tents,
dominated by a huge one capable of housing at
least a dozen warriors. He sat back on his
haunches for a moment and weighed his concerns.
The tents were of human origin. Goblins built huts
from sticks and branches in their own villages, or
stayed in caves or under lean-tos when out
foraging or hunting.
    Then James saw a human. So: human
renegades were behind the goblin raids! He half-
expected the man to be wearing the black of the
Nighthawks, and was almost disappointed when he
approached the fire and revealed himself to be a
simple mercenary. James gave that some thought:
mercenaries and goblins. It seemed that Bear must
be involved in the goblin raids—or whoever was
behind Bear . . . Which left James with a problem
to consider at some other time, since right now he
needed to focus on rescuing the child. The
mercenary kicked a goblin who grudgingly moved
aside so that the human could take out a knife and
cut a hunk of meat off a quarter bullock that was
roasting on a spit. The man deftly impaled the
meat with his dagger, tore off a piece, and turned
away from the circle of goblins around the fire.
James watched him chew the savory beef. Then he
heard the baby crying. An influx of emotion he
hadn't expected accompanied the realization that
the child still lived, filling him with relief and a
redoubled sense of urgency. James's eyes glanced
here and there, his gaze traveling around the
camp. The old thief in him spied a course along the
canyon rim that would put him above the big tent
in which the child lay.
    James glanced at the camp below. A couple of
goblins sported wounds, obviously from their
aborted raid on the Wayfarer the night before. How
to get in and out without being detected? James
wondered. He looked up at the sky and judged it
about three hours before the waning Small Moon
rose. Middle Moon was a quarter full, and was now
high in the sky. It would set as Small Moon rose.
Large Moon was also waning, and would rise an
hour after Small Moon. James calculated. That
gave him roughly an hour of relatively deep
darkness in which to infiltrate the camp, steal the
baby, and return to where Solon and Kendaric
waited. As loath as he was to risk passing by the
guards three more times, he knew he had to return
to Jazhara and discuss his plan with her; he would
need her help. Moving slowly he passed the bend
and reached the point above Jazhara. Softly, he
whispered her name and from below heard her
answer, "Here."
    He jumped down.
    "What did you find?" Jazhara asked.
    "The baby lives and I think I can get to her,
but I need to know if you have anything that we
can use to keep her quiet. I will almost certainly be
discovered if she cries out."
    Jazhara said, "I can make something; how
much time do we have?" "I must be back above
the tent within the hour."
   "Then I have little time. I'll need a small fire
and my things are on my horse."
     James motioned her to follow. "Quietly," he
said. He led her back down the canyon to where
Solon and Kendaric waited. At once, Kendaric
started to ask questions, but James waved them
away. "The child lives and I'll fetch her out, but
right now I need a fire." Solon didn't hesitate.
Instantly he started casting around for small
branches and twigs. Jazhara took her pack down
from her horse, and sat down on the ground,
swinging the pack around before her as she did so.
She quickly removed several vials, a small copper
vessel, and a pair of thin cloth gloves. While she
worked, she said, "Getting the child to drink
anything could be difficult and she might cry out in
the attempt. I can make a potion that will cause
the baby to sleep deeply for a few hours if you can
get her to breathe it in. A bit on a cloth, held over
her nose and mouth for a few moments, will
suffice. Be careful, though, not to breathe the
fumes yourself, even at a distance. While it might
not put you to sleep, it can disorient you and make
it difficult for you to return."
    "Get you killed, is what she means," said
Kendaric. Solon said, "Laddie, has anyone ever
previously mentioned that at times you possess the
charm of a canker on the buttock?" James
chuckled, but Jazhara was all concentration as she
poured tiny amounts of liquid and powders from
the five vials she had chosen. She added a few
drops of water and then with an incantation placed
the vessel close to the tiny fire Solon had started.
Pulling an empty vial from her bag, she removed
the stopper and deftly picked up the copper vessel,
holding it gingerly with two gloved fingers. Quickly
she poured the contents into the vial, then
replaced the stopper.
     She handed the vial to James, saying,
"Carefully." Then she rummaged around in her
pack. At last she held something out to him. "Here
is a clean cloth. Just before you attempt to touch
the child, pour a little of the liquid on the cloth, and
hold it above the baby's face. A few moments is all
it should take. She will not rouse, even if you jostle
her or there are loud noises."
    "Thank you," James said. "If there's loud
noises, it doesn't matter if she wakes or not." He
glanced at the sky. "I must hurry. Wait here and
have the horses ready for a very fast retreat if I
come running." Then he thought a bit more and
said, "Have the horses ready for a very fast retreat
no matter what."
    "At last a wise suggestion," Kendaric said as he
grinned. James unbuckled his sword-belt, knowing
that should he have need of his blade he and the
child would most likely be facing death, anyway.
He checked his dagger and placed it firmly in its
sheath. Tucking the vial and cloth inside his shirt,
he turned and hurried back toward the entrance of
the canyon.
     He made his way quickly along the ridge and
this time continued until he was above the tent.
Middle Moon had sunk in the west, and Small Moon
and Large Moon were going to rise soon. The fire
had burned low in the center of the camp and
several goblins lay sleeping on the ground near it.
From within several tents, the sound of snoring
told James the entire camp had turned in for the
night, save for whatever guards were on patrol. He
prayed quickly to Ruthia, Goddess of Luck and of
thieves, that the goblins and renegades weren't
smart enough to have set someone to patrolling
the rim. He positioned himself above the largest
tent and looked around. Then he began his careful
descent. When he reached the ground he put his
ear next to the tent and listened, but could hear
nothing through the heavy canvas. The bottom of
the tent was tightly staked, so lifting the canvas
and crawling under it was not an option. He pulled
out his dagger.
   Quietly, he pushed the point into the heavy
canvas, and cut downward in a steady, firm
motion, so as not to make too much noise. He
made a slit that was big enough to peer through
and looked inside. The stench that struck him
almost made him vomit. He knew that stink: dead
bodies. He choked down his gag reflex and looked
around. Three goblins slept on bedrolls on the
ground, while another lay upon a raised dais before
an altar of some sort. James looked for the baby
and saw a small object behind the altar, about the
size of a cradle. Slipping through the cut in the
canvas, he crept toward the object. It was indeed a
rude cradle and in it the baby lay sleeping. He
glanced around and suppressed a shudder. There
were body parts lying upon the altar, arranged in a
grotesque parody of a human form. An upper torso
from a woman lay above the pelvis of a man. A
child's arm had been placed to the left, while the
arm of an older child or a small woman lay on the
right. Equally mismatched legs and feet were
positioned below the pelvis. James glanced into the
cradle. It seemed likely that this child was to
provide the head. He had no idea of what black
sorcery was being practiced, and he had no
intention of lingering to find out. His recent
experience in the Nighthawks' desert stronghold,
where he had almost been the guest-of-honor at a
demon-summoning, had left him with a strong
aversion to such goings-on.
    James adroitly removed the vial and cloth from
his shirt and, holding his breath, dabbed some
liquid on the cloth. When it felt damp, he held out
the cloth, and hung it above the child's face. After
a moment, he put the cloth down on the edge of
the cradle, and returned the stopper to the vial. He
put the vial back in his shirt and bent over to pick
up the baby.
     A startled grunt caused him to look across the
altar. The goblin priest who had been sleeping on
the other side was standing there, staring at James
in wide-eyed amazement. James grabbed the cloth
and flipped it, sending it spinning across the altar
to cover the goblin's nose and mouth. The priest
blinked in surprise then started to reach up, but as
his black-clawed fingers touched the cloth, his eyes
rolled back up into his head and he slumped to the
floor. Silently, James said, "Thank you, Jazhara,"
and scooped up the baby. Taking the child's
blanket, he rigged a shoulder sling, and fled the
terrible place, carrying the baby as he had often
carried treasure after burglarizing houses as a boy.
He climbed the rock face and quickly made his way
back around the rim, expecting a cry of alarm
every step of the way. When he reached a place
where it was safe to descend, he jumped down and
started running. It seemed to take forever to get
back to the others; but they had the horses ready
and were in the saddle by the time he reached
them. "I have her," James said, and Jazhara held
out her arms. James handed the child to the
magician, then mounted his own horse. The four of
them urged their horses forward and soon were
trotting down the trail.
    An hour later they found Farmer Toth, sitting
beside a small fire waiting anxiously. When they
rode into view, he leapt to his feet and hurried
toward them.
     Seeing the bundle in Jazhara's arms, he cried,
"Is that her?" Jazhara handed the baby down and
said, "She will sleep until morning, then she will be
a little listless for the next few hours. After that,
she will be fine."
   "Thank you! Praise the gods! She's still alive
and well. Thank you so very much."
    James glanced around. "We'll ride with you
back toward your farm. The goblins may not realize
she's gone until dawn, but it's better to be
cautious."
    "I'm grateful to you," said the farmer, turning
to walk beside them along the trail.
    Jazhara said, "We have other—ill—news, I'm
sorry to say. Your friend Lane is dead."
    Toth said, "I suspected as much when you
returned without him." "He gave the bastards a
fight of it," said Solon. He glanced at Kendaric, who
was wise enough to stay silent. "He was a hero, of
that there is no doubt."
    Toth was silent for a moment, then said, "We
had yet to name our baby, but I think from now on
I shall call her 'Lane' in his memory."
    "'Tis a fine honor," agreed Solon.
    As dawn broke, they were miles down the road.
They had taken a couple of short breaks and James
and Solon had let Toth ride for periods while they
carried the baby, Lane.
    A little after sunrise the baby stirred and
fussed. "She's hungry and her mother's nowhere
nearby," said the farmer. "She'll have to wait until
we reach my farm and I can milk the goat."
     "How far?" asked Kendaric, who was getting a
stiff neck from looking back over his shoulder every
few minutes.
    "Not far," answered Toth. "And with luck, if my
missus got any help in Krondor, she might be back
at the farm by the time we get there." James and
Jazhara let their horses fall back a little and
Jazhara said, "You've been very quiet about what
you saw in the camp."
    "Yes," agreed James.
    "Something disturbed you," she said.
    "Yes."
    "Something you don't wish to talk about?"
    "Yes," James replied, then after a moment, he
said, "No, perhaps I should talk about it, to you at
any rate. You're the Prince's advisor on things
magical." He described the altar and the body
parts. "Some black necromancy, certainly," said
Jazhara. "It's a very bad business, but it fits in with
that monster we found in the sewers of Krondor.
Someone is creating agents of chaos to unleash
upon the Kingdom, but toward what end . . . ?"
    "Could it be a coincidence? Maybe the goblins
just happened to be interested in the same . . ."
The questions petered out under her disapproving
look.
     "You know better," she replied. "There is an
agency behind this, some force that's orchestrating
it all."
    "The Crawler?" asked James.
    Jazhara shrugged. "Perhaps, or perhaps it is
someone in league with the Crawler, or someone
using the Crawler, or perhaps the coincidence is
that there are two malevolent forces loose in the
West of the Kingdom."
    "Wonderful," James muttered. "My old bump of
trouble tells me that none of this is unrelated. It's
just that we can't see the pattern."
    "What if there is no pattern?" mused Jazhara.
    "What do you mean?"
    "What if everything we see is the product of
some set of random choices? What if there is no
single plan in place but, rather, a series of events
designed to destabilize the region?"
    "To whose benefit?" asked James.
    Jazhara smiled. "Do you have an hour to run
through the entire list, James?"
    James nodded, yawning. "I must be getting
tired," he confessed. "Kesh, Queg, some of the
Eastern Kingdoms even, then a half-dozen minor
nobles who would find opportunity in an unstable
period to become major nobles, etc."
     "Those are just the political realities," said
Jazhara. "There are dark forces who have no
political aims, but who have social ambitions, or
worse."
    "What do you mean?"
   "I mean forces who are in league with dark
powers who would cherish chaos as a kind of
smokescreen behind which they may move to
preeminence."
   Solon turned. "I heard that. She's right, you
know. There are forces in the universe whose only
aim is to bring misery and darkness upon us all."
    James said, "I have always had trouble with
that as an idea, but then again I've never been a
mad priest of a dark power."
    Jazhara laughed, and even Solon was forced to
chuckle. "Well, then, at least you're wise enough to
admit something you can't imagine exists," said
the monk, letting his horse fall back a little so he
could ride abreast of James and the magician.
    James said, "I can imagine a lot. And what you
just said about forces whose only aim is misery and
chaos is certainly in character with our current
mission."
    "Aye," agreed the monk. "There is that."
    They continued on in silence until they reached
Farmer Toth's farm. A dozen horses were tied to a
fence a short distance from the farm. There was a
company of militia in the yard and James was
surprised to see a familiar face leading them.
     "Jonathan!" he called out. "What brings you
this far from the city?" The son of the former
Sheriff of Krondor turned and held up his hand in
greeting. "Things are still being sorted out, Squire,
so His Highness thought it best if I was out of the
way for a little while." James dismounted and
handed his reins to a nearby soldier, while Farmer
Toth and his wife had a joyous reunion. James
motioned for Jonathan Means to step away and
said, "What's that mean?" "It means Captain
Garruth is trying to convince His Highness to do
away with the office of sheriff and consolidate all
enforcement of municipal order in the city guard's
office."
    "And thereby elevate his own power and
authority," said James. "And importance," said
Jonathan. "I don't seek the office for myself, but
there's always been a Sheriff of Krondor."
     James shook his head. "Sometimes . . ." He let
out his breath slowly. "It's never been wise to turn
the city into a private estate of the Crown. The
founding princes of the city learned that the hard
way. A court of magistrates and a sheriff's office
that is outside the court has always been the
wisest way to deal with petty crimes and civil
disputes." He looked directly at Jonathan. "I'll
speak to Arutha about it when I get back. I doubt
he'll agree to Garruth's proposal." Almost to
himself he added, "So then what is the reason he
got you out of town?" Means had never struck
James as someone with an abundance of humor,
but he did smile as he replied, "Perhaps to return
with some word from you regarding things in the
north?"
    James said, "Too iffy, unless you had other
instructions after coming to the relief of the farmer
and his wife."
    Jonathan nodded and they moved farther away
from the others. "Arutha says there are reports of
some fairly horrific things going on in this vicinity.
Alan, his factor, has sent along several such
reports in the last two weeks—livestock sickening,
monsters in the woods, children vanishing, and
similar tales. You're to concentrate upon your
mission, but you should be cautious. I am to
rendezvous with the patrol heading up to Miller's
Rest, and be ready to render aid."
   James said, "So Arutha thinks a dozen
Krondorian regulars might not be enough?"
    "Apparently," said Jonathan. "Be wary once
you're past the cut-off road to Miller's Rest. From
there to Haldon Head you are on your own until we
get word to come fetch you out."
    "Thank you," said James. With an inclination of
his head he indicated that Jonathan should return
to his men.
    Left alone with his thoughts for a moment,
James again wondered at the scope of the attempt
to seize the Tear. How did that fit into the
seemingly patternless mess made up of
Nighthawks, dead thieves, monsters, sorcerers,
mad priests, and all the rest they had encountered
since the betrayal at Krondor engineered by Makala
and the other Tsurani magicians? There had always
been a third player in the mix, he knew. Not the
Crawler, and certainly not the Brotherhood of the
Dark Path, nor even the mad priests who had
seized control of the Nighthawks.
    He sensed that Jazhara was right; there was an
overriding presence behind all that had occurred in
the last year, and he was determined before all
was said and done to unmask that presence and rid
the West of it for good.


                      ELEVEN
                   Haldon Head
    For two days they traveled.
    James and his companions found no patrol
waiting at Miller's Rest. They had little reason to
linger, so they purchased some provisions at a
small store near the mill that gave the town its
name, and headed north toward the village of
Haldon Head.
    South of the village a small road branched off
to the west, and led down through coastal cliffs to
a broad beach. James dismounted and said, "We're
only a short walk from the Point." He indicated a
promontory of land jutting out into the sea. "If the
maps back at the palace are correct, we should find
a headland below those cliffs just around the
bend."
     They watered and tied up the horses, then
started walking. "We have a few hours of daylight
left," said James as they trudged through the sand.
"Kendaric, how long does the spell take?"
    "Minutes," said the wrecker. "I can raise the
ship and hold it above the waves long enough to
gain entrance and retrieve whatever it is you're
looking for."
    "We'll need a boat, then," observed Solon.
Kendaric laughed. "Not so, monk. For the genius of
my spell is that not only can one man cast it, has
he the talent, but it also solidifies the water around
the ship. You can walk over to it and retrieve your
bauble."
     James grinned. "Perhaps we'll get lucky and
retrieve this 'bauble' easily."
    They rounded the promontory and discovered
that the prince's map was indeed accurate. A long
finger of rock and soil extended out into the sea.
The afternoon weather was moderate, and lazy
combers rose and fell off the Point. They could see
a few masts poking above the water, remnants of
old wrecks not yet completely consumed by the
sea. They made their way along the natural
breakwater, until they reached the end.
    Kendaric surveyed the wrecks revealed by the
relatively low tide, the dozens of tilting masts like
so many cemetery markers. He frowned. "Which
one am I supposed to raise?" he asked. James
replied, "I have no idea."
   Solon came over to them. "This is a place of
death," he said portentously. "A graveyard of ships
and men."
     Solon gazed at the wreckage and was about to
speak again when Kendaric said, "What's that
smell? Like before a storm . . . sharp . . ." Jazhara
was the last to reach the point and she shouted,
"It's magic!" Gusts of wind seemed to arise out of
nowhere, buffeting them and tearing at their
clothes. Around them the sea began to boil, while a
short distance away all was calm.
    A sudden blow sent Solon reeling and he fell
hard onto the rocks. James had his sword out, yet
he could not see anything to strike. Kendaric
dropped down, keeping as low as possible, while
Jazhara raised her staff above her head and
shouted, "Let the truth be revealed!"
    A brilliant white light erupted from her staff,
blinding enough to cause James to avert his eyes
and blink away tears.
    Then James heard Jazhara shout, "Look!"
     He cleared his vision and, looking ahead, saw
two creatures floating in the air above one of the
ships' masts. Both appeared to be roughly
reptilian, with long, sinuous necks and tails. Large
bat-like wings beat furiously, causing the buffeting
winds. The heads were almost devoid of features,
save for two ruby-colored eyes and a slit for a
mouth that opened and closed, like a fish gulping
water. Jazhara kept her feet and had to shout an
incantation in order to be heard. A crimson ball of
energy appeared in her hand and she cast the spell
at the creatures. The ball of red light struck the
creature on the right and it opened its mouth as if
shrieking in pain. But all they could hear was a
renewed howling of the winds. The monster on the
left dove straight at the party, and James leapt to
his feet, sword poised, as Solon also rose,
flourishing his warhammer. The creature was
heading straight for Jazhara, and James cut at it.
As his blade touched it white-hot sparks exploded
from it as the creature opened its mouth in
apparent shock. The sound of shrieking wind rang
in their ears. The monster faltered, and Solon
stepped forward, striking downward with his huge
warhammer. Stunned by the blow, the creature fell
to the rocks.
     The tip of one wing struck the ground, and
instantly a green flame erupted there and traveled
quickly up the wing, engulfing the monster. It
writhed for a moment on the rocks, flopping
around helplessly, as James and his companions
stepped back. Then it was gone, the faint smoke of
its passing swept away by the wind, which blew
only half as strongly as before.
    The second creature had thrown off the effects
of Jazhara's spell and was circling. It hooted,
making a noise that sounded like wind gusting
through a hollow tree.
    Jazhara pointed, "Look!"
     Another creature appeared out of the air,
circled once, then joined the first. Again the wind
that buffeted them redoubled in intensity and they
had to struggle to stay upright. Once more Jazhara
cast a spell, this one a single piercing line of
crimson energy that struck the first monster in the
face. It writhed in agony, losing its orientation, and
rolled over, as if trying to lie upon its side in
midair, then started a slow tumble into the sea
below. As soon as it touched the water, it vanished
in a flare of green flames, as the first one had
done.
    James glanced around and found himself a rock
that was large enough to have some heft, but small
enough to hold. He reared back and threw it as
hard as he could at the remaining creature. It too
had started to make the hooting noise, which
James took to be a summoning call. The rock
smashed the monster in the face, interrupting the
summoning. "Jazhara!" James shouted. "If you've
got anything left to deal with that thing, use it now
before it calls yet another of its kind." Jazhara said,
"I have one trick left to try!" She pointed her staff
and a ball of flames erupted from the tip. James
and Solon both turned aside as it flew between
them, for they could feel its blistering heat. The fire
went unerringly to the creature and surrounded it.
The flames suddenly turned bright green, and the
creature vanished from sight.
    Instantly the winds ceased.
    Slowly, Kendaric stood up. Looking around as if
expecting another attack, he said, "What were
those things?"
    Jazhara said, "Air elementals, I believe, though
I've never seen them before. My mentors claimed
things like that once attacked Stardock." James
nodded. "I've heard that story from Gardan. If they
touch fire, water, or earth they're consumed."
   Kendaric nodded vigorously. "I hope to the
gods that's the last we see of them!"
    Solon said, "Someone doesn't wish us to raise
that ship." "All the more reason to raise it before
whoever set those guardians over the ship
returns," observed Jazhara.
    "But which ship?" asked Kendaric.
   Solon said, "You're a slab-headed fool. That
one!" He pointed.
    "How do you know?" asked Kendaric.
    James laughed. "Because that's the one those
elementals were guarding!"
   Solon closed his eyes for a moment. "And I
sense something down there, as well."
    "What?" asked the wrecker.
   "What we've come here to recover," replied the
monk.
    "Very well," said Kendaric. "Let me have the
scroll."
   Jazhara set down her backpack, and opened it.
She reached in and withdrew the scroll she had
been carrying since finding it in Kendaric's room
and handed it to him. He took it, read it, then
nodded. "I could do it alone, but with your help,
magician, we should be able to do this quickly." He
pointed at two places in the spell and said, "Make
this incantation with me, then this other passage
here. For a spell-caster of your power, this should
be easy."
    "I've examined your spell," Jazhara said
judiciously. "I will do what I can to help."
    Turning to face the sea, Kendaric pointed one
hand at the mast of the ship in question and began
to chant. Jazhara joined in at the passage Kendaric
had indicated, and their voices filled the air with
mystic words.
     A fog appeared where Kendaric had pointed. It
coalesced above the water, and the sea began to
boil with mystic energies. A keening sound filled
the air and James saw the top of the mast start to
vibrate.
    Abruptly, everything ceased. The fog vanished,
the water calmed, and the ship stopped moving.
    "I think your spell needs work," said James.
"No," contradicted Jazhara. "It wasn't his spell. As
we cast it, I felt something fighting against us.
Someone else did this to us." Kendaric glanced
back up at the cliffs as if seeking sight of someone.
"She's right. I felt it, too."
    Solon's gaze also went to the cliffs behind
them. "Then we'll have to locate the source of the
interference. For if we do not, the entire Order of
Ishap may be in jeopardy and one of its deepest
mysteries may fall into the hands of the enemy!"
    Kendaric looked at James as if questioning
whether this was an exaggeration. James returned
a grim expression. Kendaric nodded, and Jazhara
led the way back toward the horses.
     Haldon Head was a small village, comprised of
only a dozen or so buildings around a crossroads.
The north-south route of the King's Road ran from
Miller's Rest to Questor's View. The east-west route
led from Widow's Point out to farms scattered
between the village and the forested foothills.
    At the center of the village sat an inn, the
Sailor's Rest. As the travelers rode in, they saw
two men standing in front of the inn, arguing
loudly.
    One of them—a farmer, judging by his rough
dress—was shouting. "This has gone on long
enough! She must be stopped! You should have
had those soldiers execute her when they were
here!" The other man wore a well-made tunic with
a sleeveless over-jacket. He was of middle years
and rather portly. He shouted back, "You've no
proof, Alton. With all the pain we've gone through,
you want to cause more?"
    "You keep this up, Toddy, and you won't be
mayor much longer. Hell, you keep this up and
there won't be a village much longer. Lyle told me
that—"
    As James and his companions reined in, the
man named Toddy interrupted, "Lyle is a drunk! If
he thinks we are going to . . ." The arrival of
strangers finally caught his attention.
    The farmer said, "Looks like we've got visitors."
    "Welcome to Haldon Head, strangers. Will you
be staying long?" the mayor asked.
   The farmer interjected, "Not if they know
what's good for them."
     "Alton! There's other business you'd best be
attending." The man named Alton replied, "We'll
talk about this later, Toddy. By the heavens, we
will!"
    Farmer Alton turned and walked quickly away.
The other man said, "I apologize for Farmer Alton's
rudeness. He's a bit upset about some recent
troubles."
    "What was he saying about soldiers?" Jazhara
asked. "A squad of Krondorian guardsmen came
through here a few days ago, chasing a fugitive, I
think."
   Jazhara glanced at James. "William's
company?"
    James nodded. "Could be."
    Solon dismounted. "What were the troubles the
farmer was referring to?" he asked.
    Toddy glanced down at the ground, then
looked up again. "We . . . uh . . . We've had some
problems with wolves lately. What with the long
winter and all . . . Now, if you'll excuse me, I must
be getting back to the inn. You'd do well to join
me, as I only keep the doors open for an hour or
two after sunset, and I'd hate to see you trapped
outside . . ." He hurried inside the inn and closed
the door.
    "That was odd," observed Kendaric.
    James indicated that they should ride to the
rear of the inn, and by the time they had reached
the stabling yard, a boy was hurrying to take their
horses. James instructed the boy on the care they
required, then they walked back to the front of the
inn and entered through the main door.
    The inn was pleasant enough, if small. The
lower floor was occupied by a taproom and kitchen,
with a single flight of stairs running up the rear
wall leading to the second floor. A fireplace off to
the left contained a roaring blaze. A savory-
smelling broth simmered in a huge copper kettle
that hung before the fire. To one side a large spit
stood ready for whatever meat was to be that
evening's fare. Toddy appeared a moment later
carrying a large, spitted haunch of beef, which he
put into the spit cradle. "Maureen!" he bellowed.
"Come turn the beef!"
     An older woman hurried out of the kitchen and
nodded as she passed the innkeeper. Toddy turned
to James and his companions. "I'm glad you
decided to spend the night here. It may not be as
fancy as you're used to, but I'd like you to consider
it a home away from home. I can serve you an ale,
if you like."
    "That would be a start," said Kendaric.
   "Well, then," said the innkeeper. "Seat
yourselves and I'll fetch the ale."
    He was back in a few minutes with four
ceramic mugs full of frothy ale. "My name is
Aganathos Toddhunter. Folks around here call me
'Toddy.' I'm both innkeeper and mayor of this
small village. Hold the Prince's writ to act as justice
in misdemeanor and justice of the peace in civil
issues," he noted with some pride.
    "Quite a bit of responsibility," said James,
dryly. "Not really," Toddy said, looking a bit
deflated. "Truth is, the worst is usually a pig who
wanders onto a neighbor's property and having to
decide who pays damages or who keeps the pig."
The attempt at humor was forced.
     Jazhara said, "Why don't you join us for a
drink?" "Ah, you're being kind to spread so much
cheer on this cheerless night," Toddy said. He
retreated to the bar and poured himself a mug of
ale, then returned and remained standing next to
the table. "My thanks." He took a long pull on his
ale.
    Jazhara asked, "Why so cheerless?"
     "Well, with the . . . wolves and all . . . we've
lost several villagers already."
     Solon looked hard at Toddy and said, "Wolves
this near the coast are unusual. They tend to stay
away from populated areas. Is there no one who
will hunt them?"
    Toddy took another drink of his ale. Then he
said, "Please, I'm sorry I mentioned it. It's not your
concern. Simply enjoy yourselves tonight. But I
beg you not to go outside tonight."
    James studied the innkeeper and saw a man
trying his mightiest to hide a deep fear. Changing
the subject, James asked, "You mentioned some
guardsmen earlier. Do you know anything else
about them?"
   "They stayed here a single night, two days ago,
and then moved on."
     Jazhara asked, "Do you recall who led them?"
"A rather young officer. William, I think his name
was. One of his trackers found the trail of their
fugitive somewhere east of here." He drained the
last of his ale and said, "Now, please excuse me
while I take care of my duties. When you're ready
to turn in, I'll show you to your rooms."
     The only other customer in the inn was a man
sitting by himself in the corner, staring deeply into
his cup.
   James leaned forward, so as not to be
overheard by the lone drinker, and said, "Well,
does anyone have any bright notions of what we
should do next?"
      Kendaric said, "I can't understand why my spell
failed. It should have worked, but some other force
. . . balked me. There is something in this area that
is working against us."
    Jazhara said, "It is possible that some other
enchantment is in place keeping the ship under the
waves until such time as Bear or whoever is
employing him is ready to raise the ship himself. If
that's the case, when that spell is removed, your
spell will work."
    James was silent for a moment. Then he said,
"So what we have to do is find the source of this
blocking magic and remove it?" Solon nodded.
"Easier said than done, laddie. While my knowledge
of the mystic arts is far different than Jazhara's, I
know such a spell is not fashioned by a dabbler.
Whoever put the charm on that ship to keep it
below the waves is no mean practitioner of the
magician's arts."
    Kendaric nodded in agreement. "This must be
true. For no known force should have kept my spell
from working."
     James sighed. "Just once I'd like a plan to go
as originally designed." With only slightly feigned
frustration he added, "Wouldn't it be lovely to be
back in Krondor tomorrow and say, 'Why, no,
Highness, no troubles at all. We just strolled up to
Widow's Point, raised the ship, got the Tear,
wandered back down the coast, and here we are.'
Wouldn't that be fine?" He sighed again. They fell
silent. After a few minutes of quiet drinking, the
party was approached by the innkeeper. "Will you
be eating?"
   Noting the dearth of customers at the tables,
James said, "Anywhere else around here to eat?"
    "No," said Toddy with a pained smile. "It's just
that some travelers are trying to keep expenses
down and bring their own, that's all." "We'll be
eating," said James, nodding to where the woman
was turning the side of beef.
    "Food should be ready in an hour," said the
innkeeper.
   As he was about to depart, Jazhara asked, "Sir,
a moment."
    The innkeeper paused. "Milady?"
    Jazhara said, "There seems to be some trouble
here, or am I mistaken?" Solon added, "We
couldn't help but notice that the town seems
almost deserted. What vexes this place?"
      Toddy looked concerned, but he forced a smile
and said, "Oh . . . well . . . just a little slow this
time of year. No harvests in yet, no grain caravans
. . . you know how small villages can be."
     James looked directly at the mayor. "Frankly,
sir, we've heard some strange things about this
area. What truth is there to these rumors?"
   The mayor glanced around, as if someone
might be listening. "Well . . . some folks say that
Widow's Point is haunted by the souls of the
drowned, kept from Lims-Kragma's Hall by an
ancient and horrible evil . . ." He lowered his voice.
"Others claim that witchcraft has cursed our town,
but I think it's all superstitious nonsense."
    "This 'witchcraft' has been mentioned several
times," said Jazhara. James studied the man's face
and said, "Sir, I am on the Prince's business. You
are not free to repeat that to anyone, but I am on
a mission of some urgency and the situation
around here may prove difficult for the completion
of my mission. Now, I urge you to be forthright
with me or Haldon Head will have a new mayor as
soon as I return to Krondor. What is going on
around here? Why are the streets deserted during
the day?"
    The man looked defeated. At last, he nodded.
"People are frightened, sir. They hurry from one
place to another, and dare spend as little time
outdoors as they can, even during the day. At night
they bar their doors and cling close to their
hearths. There is evil afoot."
    "What sort of evil?" asked Solon.
    Letting out his breath slowly, Toddy said, "Well,
I guess I need to tell someone. This town is beset
by some creature—or creatures—that stalk the
night, killing good townsfolk, and stealing their
souls. Even Father Rowland has been powerless to
stop them."
    "Who is Father Rowland?" Solon asked.
    "The good father is a devotee of Sung. He's
been in the area for a number of years, but he's
recently decided that the witch is responsible for
our troubles." At the mention of the word "witch"
Jazhara stiffened her posture, but kept silent.
Toddy continued.
   "Now, I'd expect that kind of thinking from
someone like Farmer Alton, but not a priest of
Sung the Merciful and Pure."
    Jazhara nodded. "'Witchcraft' does not exist.
Either someone is a natural healer, and uses true
magic, or simply knows the medicinal value of
certain herbs and roots. 'Witchcraft' is an ignorant
belief." "You're right, of course," agreed Toddy.
"The old woman has helped some of the townsfolk
with poultices and brews in the past, and has been
kind to most people who ask for help, but you
know how people are: with the troubles now,
they've come to fear what they don't understand.
She lives up near the promontory above Widow's
Point, if you'd care to speak with her yourself." He
scratched his head, and dropped his voice to a
conspiratorial whisper. "I know she's not involved
with these horrors, but she may know something
that will help you decide if our troubles are a
danger to your mission for the Prince."
     "Have you reported these troubles to the
Prince?" asked James. "Only to that patrol that
went through here a few days ago, and they
seemed intent upon another mission. Alan, the
Prince's factor in the area, was due here last week,
but he never showed up. That happens from time
to time if he's on special business for the Crown. I
was thinking of sending a boy with a message
south, but no parent is willing to risk a child on the
road . . . given the horrors we've seen."
    "How did they begin?" asked James.
     "I wish I knew," answered the mayor. "One day
things were as they always were, the next . . . It
began over a month ago. A woodcutter and his
family who live a few miles to the east of the
village disappeared. We don't know when exactly,
but the woodcutter missed his usual delivery of
wood for the village, so we began to worry. Six
men went to his shack the next day, but only two
returned."
     "What did the two who returned tell you?"
asked an alarmed Kendaric. "Nathan and Malcolm?
Malcolm, Lims-Kragma guide him, was killed last
night by . . . whatever creature is responsible for
this terrible situation. Nathan boarded himself up in
his house and hasn't come out since. He has my
stable-boy bring him food every day."
    "Will he speak with us?" asked James.
    "You can try. His house is less than a ten-
minute walk from here. I would wait until the
morning, though, sir, as he will almost certainly
refuse to speak to anyone after dark." Pointing to
the solitary drinker in the corner, Toddy said, "Lyle
over there was a close friend of Malcolm." Leaning
toward them, he added, "But I'd weigh his words
carefully; his love of the spirits"—he made a
drinking motion—"often clouds his judgment."
    James stood up and Jazhara followed. Kendaric
started to rise, but Solon reached out with one of
his massive hands, firmly gripped the guildsman's
arm, and pushed him back into his seat, shaking
his head gently. Then the cleric rose and followed
James and Jazhara. Kendaric opened his mouth to
object, but Solon silenced him merely by pointing
at the man's ale, indicating that he should continue
to drink. James, Jazhara, and Solon crossed to
where the solitary figure sat staring into an empty
mug. "Buy you a drink?" asked James. The man
looked up and said, "Never one to say no to that,
stranger." James motioned for Toddy to bring over
a fresh tankard of ale, and when it was placed
before the man, James pulled out a chair and sat
down. "Your name is Lyle?"
    "That's me," the man agreed.
   "I understand you're friends with one of the
men who survived some sort of attack here."
    "Malcolm, he was my friend," agreed the man.
"Died last night." He hoisted the ale flagon and
said, "To Malcolm!" Then he drained it. James
waved for another and when it was placed before
him, Lyle asked, "What do you want?"
    "We want information," James replied.
    "Tell us about this 'witch,'" added Jazhara. Lyle
said, "Everyone thinks she's in league with dark
powers, but I don't believe it! She's a kind old
woman. You can go see for yourself. Take the trail
to the point and when it cuts down to the beach,
stay on the small path up to the point. You'll find
her in her hut most times when she's not out
gathering herbs." He sighed deeply. "No, the real
source of this evil is something else."
    "What?" asked James.
    Lowering his voice, Lyle said, "Blood-drinkers."
    James's gaze narrowed and he looked at
Jazhara before returning his attention to Lyle and
repeating, "Blood-drinkers?"
    "Night creatures. The dead returned to life."
    Jazhara gasped. "Vampires!"
    James looked at her. "Vampires?"
    "Creatures of legend. Created by the foulest
necromancy," she replied. Remembering the dead
bodies being arrayed by the goblins and the
creatures in the sewers of Krondor, James said,
"We've encountered a lot of that lately."
    Jazhara said, "They drink the blood of the living
to sate their unholy thirst, and those whose blood
they take rise to join their number."
    James closed his eyes for a moment, then said,
"And I suppose because they're already dead,
they're very difficult to kill again?" Jazhara nodded.
"They can be destroyed by magic or fire, or by
cutting them up."
    "Which they usually object to, I'll wager," said
James dryly. "They came from the woodcutter's
shack!" said Lyle. "The woodcutter and his wife had
lived there just a few months before they vanished.
Six good men went to look in on that poor family.
Whatever was up there killed four of 'em, and
scared Nathan and poor Malcolm out of their wits."
    "What happened to Malcolm?" asked James.
    "Dead. Dead at the hands of those monsters.
Malcolm always knew they'd come for him once he
and Nathan got away, so he tried to get them first.
He thought he could hide and watch for them, the
old fool. He knew they came from the woodcutter's
shack, but once he told me they'd desecrated our
graveyard, too. He got a couple of them, first,
though. Poor old sod."
    "How'd he get them?" asked James.
    "He found one in a grave, asleep during the
daylight. He doused it with some oil we use to clear
the fields, and set fire to it. Went up like a torch,
he said. The other was just waking up at sundown;
he cut its head off with his old sword from his duty
during the Riftwar. Threw the head in the river and
watched it wash away. Went back to the grave the
next day and said the body had turned to dust. But
there were just too many of them. They caught
him out last night, old fool." Solon, who had
remained silent so far, could contain himself no
longer. "Vampires, you say? Man, are you sure?
They're the stuff of legend, things to scare small
children on dark nights."
    Jazhara nodded agreement. "I always thought
they were mythical."
    "But after what we've seen so far . . . ?" James
asked. Lyle said, "Nay, good sir and lady, they're
real. Nathan says they come for him every night!
That's why he locks himself in. He's got no fear of
dying, but if those creatures get him, he says
they'll keep his soul and he'll never take his turn on
Lims-Kragma's Wheel of Life again!"
     "'Tis a foul blasphemy, indeed, if true," agreed
Solon. James stood up. "Well, it seems this Nathan
is the only one here in Haldon Head who has seen
these creatures. I suspect we'd best go talk to
him."
   "I'd be cautious," Lyle said. "It's almost
sundown and once the sun sets, Toddy locks the
door and nothing you say will get you back inside."
     "How far is it to Nathan's place?" asked Solon.
"Open the door," replied Lyle, "and you're looking
straight at the road leading to it. Can't miss it.
You'll pass two shops, and the first house on the
left is Nathan's shack."
    "We have time," James said, "if we hurry."
   They collected Kendaric and hurried to the
door. As they made to leave, Mayor Toddhunter
shouted out, "Be back before the sun sets, or you'll
spend the night outside!"
    After they left the inn, Kendaric said, "Why are
we doing this? I heard every word. Blood-drinkers!
Are you mad?" James said, "Do you think there
might be another reason why your spell didn't
work?"
   "I have no idea why it didn't work," admitted
Kendaric. "But vampires? They can't be real!"
    "I hope you're right," said Solon. "Holy writ is
clear on the living dead. Specifically, they are an
abomination to Lims-Kragma, and to Ishap, for
they defy the natural order of the world."
     "Not to mention they'll almost certainly try to
kill us," added James. Kendaric glanced at the
setting sun and said, "We have maybe a half-hour,
Squire."
    "Then we'd better hurry," said James.
      They reached Nathan's house in five minutes,
and even if Lyle hadn't told them where to look, it
would have been easy to find. The small house,
little more than a shack, was boarded up. All the
windows had stout planks nailed across them; the
door, obviously the only point of entry, was shut
tight; nail points protruding from its perimeter
indicated that it was similarly covered from within.
In the red light of sunset, it looked almost
deserted, though James saw a glint of flame
escaping through a crack in the boards, no doubt
coming from a lantern or fire pot.
    "Hello, the house!" Kendaric shouted from the
front stoop, a wooden platform in need of some
repair. "We'd like to speak with you!" From inside
the house came a reply. "Go away, foul beasts!
You'll never get me to quit my house!"
    "Hello," said James. "I'm Squire James, from
the Prince's court in Krondor."
    "Leave me in peace, you bloody demons! I can
see through your evil tricks."
   James looked at Jazhara and shrugged.
    Jazhara said, "Sir, I am the court magician to
the Prince. We need some information about these
creatures that trouble you. We may be able to
help!"
    "Ah, very clever, very clever indeed," came the
reply. "Go away, you soul-sucking fiends!"
    James shook his head in defeat. "What's it
going to take to convince you, friend?"
   "Go away!"
    James turned to Jazhara. "Maybe you can do
better?" Solon said, "Let me try." He stepped up to
the boarded door and shouted, "In the name of
Mighty Ishap, the One Above All, I bid you let us
enter!"
    There was a long moment of silence and then
Nathan said, "That's good. I didn't know you blood-
stealers could invoke the name of the gods! Almost
had me for a moment there, with that bad dwarven
accent!" Solon's face flushed with anger. "'Tis not a
bad dwarven accent, ya gibbering loon. I grew up
near Dorgin!"
    James turned to Jazhara and said, "It does get
more pronounced when he gets upset, did you
notice?"
    Jazhara said, "Let me try again." Speaking up,
she said, "Sir, I am a magician and could enter
your house at will, but would not violate the
sanctity of your home. If you won't let us enter, at
least tell us what you know about the evil that
besets this town. Perhaps we can help. We have
our own reasons for wanting to see it banished."
There was another long silence, then Nathan said
through the boards, "Almost got me with that one,
you monster!"
    He laughed madly. "Trying to find out how
much I know so you can plot against me! Well, I'm
not falling for it."
    Kendaric said, "James—"
    James waved him to silence. "Look, Nathan, if
you don't want to come out, you don't have to, but
we need to find the cause of all this trouble in the
area. We have, as my friend said, our own reasons
for wanting to see it come to an end. If these
'vampires,' as you call them, are real, they may be
causing us our problem and we'll deal with them."
   "You'll get your chance soon enough!" shouted
Nathan.
   "James—" Kendaric repeated.
     James again waved his hand and said, "Just a
minute!" As he was about to speak again, James
felt his arm gripped by Kendaric, who swung him
around to face down the path to the house.
"James!" shouted the wrecker. "It looks like we get
our chance now." As the sun was dropping below
the horizon, dark shadows seemed to coalesce in
the air at the edge of the nearby woods. In the
darkness other shapes could be seen moving, and
suddenly human forms appeared where there had
been empty air a moment before. James slowly
drew his sword and said, "Solon, Jazhara, any
advice would be greatly appreciated."
    A half-dozen figures advanced from the nearby
woods. They appeared human, save for their
deathly pale white skin color, and eyes that
seemed to glow with a reddish light. Several of
them showed gaping wounds on their necks and
they shambled with an awkward gait. The one in
the front spoke. "Nathan . . . Come to us . . . We
miss you so . . ."
    From behind it others called, "You should have
stayed with us, Nathan. There's no need to fear us,
Nathan."
     With rising revulsion, James saw that one of
the figures was a child, a little girl of no more than
seven years of age. Solon said, "There's but one
piece of advice I can give, laddie. Destroy them
all." He raised his warhammer and advanced on
the first figure.


                      TWELVE
                    Dark Magic
    James charged after Solon.
   Jazhara shouted, "Be wary, you must destroy
them by fire or cut their heads from their bodies!"
    Kendaric hung behind the magician, holding his
short sword, but appearing ready to bolt if the
opportunity presented itself. Jazhara began an
incantation and lowered her staff, pointing it
toward the group of oncoming creatures. A ball of
green flame erupted from the tip of her staff and
shot across the space between them, engulfing
four of the creatures in mystic flame. They howled
and writhed, and stumbled forward, staggering for
a few paces before falling face-down onto the
ground.
      Solon reached out with a gauntlet-covered
hand and seized the child-creature, hurling the
small form backward, into the green flame. The
tiny creature shrieked and thrashed, then lay still.
"May Ishap bring you peace, child," shouted the
monk. He swung his huge warhammer at an adult-
sized creature, smashing the thing's shoulder, but
still it lunged at him, its one remaining arm
outstretched, the fingers bent like talons trying to
rend and tear.
    Solon lashed back the other way, and his
hammer caved in the creature's skull. It fell to the
ground and lay writhing, but despite having half its
head pulped, it still tried to rise. Jazhara ran up to
the monk and shouted, "Stand back!" He retreated
and she lowered her staff. In a moment, the
creature was aflame. James was having difficulty
with a particularly powerful man—or creature,
rather, he corrected himself. The thing had
obviously been the woodcutter Lyle had first told
them of. He had been a big, broad-shouldered
man, and his arms were long and meaty. He tried
to grapple with James, who dodged aside. But the
damage inflicted on the creature by James's rapier
did little to slow it. "Kendaric!" James shouted. "I
could use some help!" The wrecker stood with his
back to Nathan's doorway, his sword clutched in
his hand. "Doing what?" he shouted back.
   "My blade isn't exactly a meat cleaver."
     Kendaric waved his short sword and said, "And
this is?" James ducked under a huge hand swinging
through the air, and shouted, "It's a better blade
for hacking than what I've got!" "I'm not going to
loan it to you!" cried Kendaric, watching as other
creatures came into sight. "I've got problems of my
own." Suddenly Jazhara was at Kendaric's side and
she wrenched the blade from his hand. "Yes, a
decided attack of cowardice," she said with
contempt. Throwing the sword so that it sailed
through the air, she shouted, "James, catch!"
    With a speed bordering on the supernatural,
James lashed out with his rapier, cutting the
shambling creature across the back of the leg.
Then he leapt into the air, catching the short sword
with his left hand. He tossed his rapier and the
short sword in a juggle, ending up with the rapier
in his left hand and the short sword in his right.
The thing that had been a woodcutter stumbled
onto one knee, and James lashed down with the
sword, cleanly severing the creature's neck, so that
the head came rolling free. James threw the short
sword back to Kendaric, and shouted, "Better lend
a hand here, unless you're anxious to end up like
them!" More creatures were emerging from the
woods and Jazhara unleashed several bolts of her
mystic flame. She shouted, "James, I can't keep
this up! I'm almost exhausted."
    "We have to get to someplace defensible!" said
Brother Solon, as he slammed his hammer into yet
another creature, knocking it backward a half-
dozen feet.
     James hurried to the door of Nathan's house
and pounded on it as he cried, "By the gods, man,
let us in!"
   "No, it's a trick and I won't be fooled!" came a
shout from inside. "Let us in, or I'll burn this place
down around your ears," said James. "Jazhara, do
you have one shot of that fire left?"
    "I can manage," said the magician.
    Loudly, but in measured, calm tones, James
said, "Open this door or you're going to get very
warm. Which will it be?" After a moment of silence,
they heard the creak of nails being pulled and a
series of thumps as heavy boards hit the floor.
Finally the door-bolt slid free, and the door cracked
open a bit. A pinched-faced man peered out at
James and said, "You don't look like a vampire."
James nodded. "I'm glad you finally recognize the
obvious. Clear the way while I go help my friends.
We'll be right back. We'll hammer the boards back
into place once we're all inside."
      James didn't wait to see the man's nod, but
turned and hurried to intercept a particularly
nasty-looking creature heading straight for
Kendaric. The wrecker waved his sword
ineffectually in the direction of the creature, which
paused to consider the potential for injury. That
pause gave James just the opening he needed to
circle behind the creature and hamstring it with his
rapier. "It won't kill him," shouted the squire, "but
it'll slow him down! Try to cut his head off."
    Kendaric's expression left no room for doubt as
to how he felt about that suggestion. He backed
away, putting distance between himself and the
creature.
     "Kendaric, you useless bag of pig-swill,"
shouted Solon. He ran over and used his
warhammer to break the creature's spine. Kendaric
proffered his sword. "You cut its head off!" "Ya
gibbering jackass! Holy orders prevent me from
cutting flesh with a blade. If I do, I lose my
sanctity and must be cleansed for a year by holy
rite, fasting, and meditation! I donna ha' a year to
waste on such foolishness! We ha' work to do."
   Jazhara said to James, "You're right, the accent
does get thicker when he's upset."
    James shouted, "Open the door!" More
creatures were coming into sight, and James had
no doubt they would soon be overwhelmed.
Kendaric was at the door, and pounded on the
planks. Nathan swung the door wide with one
hand, as he brandished a hunting knife in the
other. "Get inside!" shouted the villager. Kendaric
entered the cottage as the others began to rush
toward the house. Suddenly James wheeled at the
sound of a footstep behind him, slashing out with
his blade, and slicing through the throat of what
had once been a young woman. She didn't fall, but
faltered long enough for him to turn and run. Solon
smashed another in the face and also ran.
    Jazhara hurried through the door, Solon and
James on her heels. Nathan slammed the door shut
behind them and threw the bolt. He then picked up
one of planks he had just removed and cried,
"Start boarding this up!"
    Solon picked up another piece of wood and
used his warhammer to drive heavy nails back into
the doorframe. "This will not hold if they get
determined," said the monk.
    "It'll hold," said the townsman. "They're
persistent but stupid and don't work well as a
group. If they did, I'd have been dead four nights
back."
   James sheathed his rapier and sat down on a
small trunk next to the fireplace. He glanced
around. The building was a single room with a
small kitchen off to one side. A feather bed, a
table, a chest of drawers and the trunk upon which
he sat were the sole contents of the room.
    Their host was a wiry man of middle years, his
dark hair and beard shot through with gray. He had
the weather-beaten look of a farmer: once-broken
fingers and heavy calluses betrayed the hands of a
man who had worked all his life.
   Letting out a slow breath, James said, "Just
what is going on?"
    "So, then we started hearing about others
vanishing, from farms outlying the village. There's
the odd homestead up in the hills, and some nice
meadows that folks use to graze herds or grow
summer wheat. Some of those creatures that
attacked earlier tonight were the poor souls who
lived up there. Not townspeople, but folks we knew
from when they'd come in to buy provisions or sell
their wares." He shook his head as if he still had
trouble believing what he was describing. James
and the others had been listening to the farmer for
over an hour. The narrative had been rambling and
disjointed at times, but a pattern had emerged.
   "Let me sum up," said James. "Someone or
something has come to the area. It has infected
your community with a horrible curse that is
turning ordinary people into blood-drinkers. Is that
right?" The farmer nodded. "Yes."
    James continued. "These creatures are feeding
on others, thereby turning them into blood-
drinkers, too."
   "Vampires," said Jazhara. "The stories about
them are full of superstition."
    "But these are real enough," said Kendaric.
"Yes," agreed Solon. "But Jazhara is right. There
are legends about these creatures that have
nothing to do with truth, flights of fancy and tales
told to frighten naughty children."
     "I must be a naughty child, then," said
Kendaric with an angry edge to his voice, "because
I for one am very frightened."
    James said, "So the woodcutter and his family
were the first around here to be turned into these
creatures?"
    Nathan said, "Yes. Six of us went to
investigate. Only two of us survived. We found a
dozen or so of those creatures waiting there. A few
of them were the folks from the nearby farms I
spoke of; a couple were unknown to me."
    "Then who was the first?" asked James.
    Nathan looked around blankly. "I don't know,"
he said in a weary voice.
    "Is that important?" asked Kendaric.
    "Yes," said Jazhara, "because as James said,
someone or something had to bring this plague
here."
     Solon said, "This sort of magic is evil beyond
description." James sat on the floor with his back
against the wall. "But to what end? Why plague
this little village of all places?" Kendaric said,
"Because they can?" James looked at the wrecker
and said, "What do you mean?" Kendaric shrugged
and said, "They have to start somewhere. If they
get enough people around here to . . . become like
them, they can send some of their number to other
locations and . . . well, it's like you said, a plague."
    "Which means we'll have to stamp out this
infection here," said Solon.
    James could hear the shuffle of feet outside.
Nathan shouted, "Keep away, you murderous
bloodsuckers!" From outside, voices called, "Come
with us. Join us." Jazhara shivered. "I know little of
these creatures, save for legends. But already I
can see the legends are only partially correct."
   James looked at Nathan and said, "Got
anything to drink?"
    "Water," said the farmer, pointing to a large
crock near the table.
    As James fetched a cup and went to the crock,
he said to Jazhara, "What do you mean 'only
partially correct?'"
    Jazhara said, "The legends of the vampires tell
us of great and powerful magic-users, able to alter
their shapes and commune with animals, such as
rats and wolves. The pitiful creatures we face here,
while far from harmless, could have all been put to
rest tonight, had we a trained squad of soldiers
with us." James quietly reflected on this as he
remembered a time in Krondor when, as a boy, he
and Prince Arutha had faced the undying minions
of the false moredhel prophet, Murmandamus. "My
experience tells me that things that hard to kill are
far more dangerous than they seem."
    Nathan added, "Besides, lady, you miss the
obvious. These aren't great and powerful magic-
users. These were farmers and laborers." James
said, "So that would mean the great and powerful
magic-using vampire is out there somewhere. And
he—it—is behind all this." Solon said, "Aye. The
Temple teaches what it knows about the forces of
darkness. The blood-drinkers are an old and
powerful line of evil, said to have descended from a
single, cursed magician who lived ages ago in some
distant and unknown land. No one knows if the tale
is true, but it has been told in the chronicles that
from time to time such a cursed one appears, and
woe betide those who chance upon him."
    "Why?" asked Kendaric.
    All eyes turned to him.
   Solon asked, "Why does 'woe betide' those who
chance across him?"
    "No, I mean why do such creatures exist?"
Solon replied, "No one knows. What the Temple
teaches is that the forces of darkness often benefit
when chaos reigns, so much of what they do is
merely to cause problems for order and good."
Kendaric nodded. "All right, I can accept that. But
why here?" James said, "It should be obvious.
Someone doesn't want us to reach the Tear."
    "The Tear?" Farmer Nathan asked, bewildered.
    James waved away the question with a
gesture. "You don't really wish to know, trust me.
Just suffice it to say that magic around here is not
what it should be."
    "That is the truth," agreed Jazhara.
    "It must be that witch," said Nathan. "She's the
only user of magic in these parts."
    Jazhara said, "Has she been a problem
before?"
    "No," admitted the farmer. "But . . . well, who
else could it be?"
    "That is what we must find out," said James.
Listening to the voices from outside, he added,
"How long will they keep this up?"
     Nathan said, "Until first light. They perish from
its touch, it is said."
    James said, "Said by whom?"
    Nathan blinked. "Sir?"
    "Never mind," said James, as he lay down on
the floor. "I'm dubious as to the origin of many
beliefs. It's a character flaw. Wake me when they
go away."
    Jazhara nodded and said, "Then what do we
do?" "Find this magic-using vampire and put him
out of his misery." "Aye," said Solon. "If we can do
that, the rest will fade away, it is said."
    James resisted the urge to ask again "by
whom" and merely said, "There can't be many
places around here for such a one to hide."
    "Oh, I can tell you where one such place is,"
said Nathan.
    James sat upright. "Where?"
    "In the graveyard, south of the village. There's
a crypt there that has been broken into. There's
something in there, I'm thinking."
    "Why didn't you tell anyone?"
    "I did," said Nathan. "But Toddy and the others
wanted to hear no part of it. Father Rowland said
something about the forces of the gods would
protect the properly buried, or something like that,
and ignored me."
    "That's odd," said Solon. "A priest of Sung the
Pure would be among those most interested in
investigating such a desecration. Their order is in
the forefront of the battle against just these kinds
of dark forces."
    "Maybe others are," said Nathan. "But he just
holds his prayer meetings and rails against the
witch. Maybe he's right." "Again, 'the witch!'" said
Jazhara with open contempt. "What has this
woman done?"
   "Well, Farmer Alton claims she's poisoned his
cows, and Farmer Merrick's little girl lies abed with
some cursed sickness the witch sent her way."
    "But why?" asked Solon. "If this woman has
been kind to you before, why'd she turn her hand
on you now?"
    Nathan shrugged. "You tell me. You're a
priest—"
    "Monk," corrected Solon.
   "—monk, so you must know why these things
happen."
   Shaking his head, Solon said, "Ah, if only it
were so. No, the ways of evil are a mystery."
     James said, "Hold the theological debate down,
will you? I'm going to get some sleep."
    Listening to the low voices from outside and
the shuffling of footsteps around the house,
Kendaric said, "How can you sleep with that going
on?"
    James opened one eye and said, "Practice." He
closed it and within minutes was asleep.
    Just before sunrise the voices ceased. James
woke up to find Solon sound asleep on the floor,
while a fatigued Jazhara sat with her arms around
her knees, her staff at hand, watching the door.
Nathan sat silently nearby. Kendaric had
succumbed to sleep and lay on the wooden floor,
snoring.
    James rolled over, his joints protesting a night
spent on such an unyielding surface, and got to his
feet. He gently nudged Kendaric with his boot. The
wrecker sat up with an alarmed expression on his
face, shouting, "What!"
    Solon was instantly awake, then, realizing it
was only Kendaric making the noise, sat back
again. "Sunrise?"
    James nodded.
     Nathan stood as well and asked, "What will you
do this day?" Jazhara said, "Find the source of this
evil."
    "Then look to the witch up on Widow's Point,"
said Nathan. "I still think she must be behind all
this. Someone has to destroy her!" Solon said,
"Have faith, friend. We will crush her evil just as
we destroyed the evil that has plagued you."
    "If she is, indeed, the source of this evil," said
Jazhara pointedly. Nathan said, "Are you mad? You
did nothing last night. Don't you think I've fought
those things before? Except for one or two you
burned with magic fire or beheaded, the rest will
return. In the darkness they can't be destroyed!"
   "Well, we'll see what we can do," said a tired
James. "But first we need to get something to eat."
    "Toddy will open the door for you once the sun
is up," said Nathan. "Tell him to send my food
over, would you, please?"
    "What will you do?" asked Kendaric.
    "Barricade my door again." Then his voice took
on a frantic quality. "But you know they'll get me in
the end, turn me into one of them. It's just a
matter of time."
    "Easy," said Solon. "We'll have none of that,
laddie. With Ishap's divine guidance, we'll see an
end to the troubles that plague this poor village."
    James and Solon removed the boards that
were nailed across the door and went outside.
Before they were off the porch, they could hear
Nathan again nailing them into place. Kendaric
looked at the sky. "What is it?" asked James.
"Rain?"
    "No, something . . . odd," said the wrecker.
"For nearly twenty years I've worked the sea and
I've never seen a sky like that." "Like what?" asked
Jazhara. "I don't see anything odd."
    "Look toward the sunrise."
    They did so and after a moment, Solon said,
"Ishap's mercy! What has happened to the sun?"
     In the distance the sun rose, but despite the air
being clear and there being no clouds in sight, the
light seemed muted, and although the sun glowed,
its brilliance was dimmed. "Magic," said Jazhara.
She paused, as if listening to something. "There is
something in the air which drinks the light. We
didn't notice it yesterday, because we arrived near
sundown, but some dark agency is lessening the
sun's radiance here."
    "What could do that?" asked James.
    Jazhara shrugged. "A relic of great power, or a
spell forged by a magician of great arts. It would
have to cover a very large area indeed to dull the
sun's brilliance."
    "I thought it a little overcast when we arrived,"
said James. "But I didn't note if there were clouds
over the cliffs or not."
   "There is nothing natural in this," affirmed
Kendaric. "But to what purpose has this been
done?"
    "So that things that walk the night can walk
the day?" mused Solon. James said, "Forget
breaking our fast. We must go to confront this
witch now."
    Without further comment, James turned toward
the peak at Widow's Point on the other side of
Haldon Head and started walking.
   As they walked through the village, they saw
Toddy hurrying from his inn. "You!" he said with a
broad grin as he spied James and his companions.
"You survived the night!"
    James smiled. "Surviving is something we do
well. You seem to be in a hurry."
    The mayor of the village lost his smile. "Farmer
Merrick's daughter is ill, and he's gathered some of
the village folk at his home. I think they mean
some mischief."
    James glanced at Jazhara, who returned a
slight nod. They fell into step behind the portly
innkeeper, who was hurrying along as best as his
girth permitted.
    When they arrived at Farmer Merrick's house,
they found a half-dozen of the village's men, and
an equal number of women, gathered before the
farmer's door. The farmer and his wife stood in the
doorway. A florid-faced, stocky man was saying,
"We must do something. This has gone on too
long!"
     Toddy pushed through the small crowd. "What
is this, then?" The florid-faced man shouted,
"We're going to do something about that witch,
Toddy!"
    "Now, now," said the mayor, holding up his
hands. "Let's not do anything rash. This lad here"—
he indicated James—"is a representative of the
Crown and will take care of things."
     Instantly all speaking stopped and eyes turned
to James. James threw a dark look Toddy's way,
then said, "Very well. Now, we're here on a matter
of interest to the Crown and what has been going
on around here is of importance to His Highness.
So, who can tell me what has occurred?"
    Instantly everyone started speaking at once.
James held up his hand and said, "Wait a minute.
One at a time." He pointed to the florid-faced man
who had been railing when they arrived and said,
"You. Speak your piece."
    "My cows come down sick!" the man shouted.
Then he realized he didn't need to be shouting over
others, and he lowered his voice. "My cows come
down sick, and it's that witch. She's sent a curse to
make them die slowly."
     A woman in the crowd spoke up. "And we're
losing our daylight, little by little. Sunrise has been
coming later every morning; sundown earlier every
evening. And what sunlight we do have is, I don't
know how to explain it, but look around, it's
different. Pretty soon we won't have any daylight
at all. And you know what that means!" she
sobbed.
    Muttering broke out among the small crowd.
James held up his hand for silence.
     From the doorway, the farmer named Merrick
spoke. "It's not only our cows that're sick. Our little
girl, she's gravely ill."
    James looked at Merrick and said, "What ails
the girl?" "She's cursed," shouted a woman from
the edge of the group gathered in the yard.
    Jazhara said, "May I see her?"
    "Who are you?" asked the frantic-looking
woman by Merrick's side, her face pinched and
pale.
   "I am Prince Arutha's personal advisor on
magic," Jazhara answered. Brother Solon added,
"And I am a monk of Ishap's Temple. If there's evil
magic afoot, we'll root it out."
     The woman nodded and motioned them into
the small house. Inside they found a single room,
with a small hearth on the wall opposite the door.
A pair of beds stood there, one obviously big
enough for the farmer and his wife and the other a
child's bed. A small girl, her features wan, occupied
this bed. Jazhara knelt by the side of the bed and
put her hand upon the girl's forehead. "She has no
fever," said the magician. "What can you tell me?"
The farmer said, "Nothing, save she's become too
weak to walk or stay awake for more than a few
minutes at a time. When she is awake, she seems
unable to recognize us."
   The farmer's wife added, "Sometimes she'll
shake."
    Brother Solon knelt beside Jazhara and
examined the girl. "What is this?" he asked,
fingering a small amulet. "This looks to be the sign
of Sung."
    "Father Rowland gave it to us," said the
woman. Then she blurted, "I went to the old
woman on Widow's Point, and she gave me a
charm to heal my child. She told me a great
darkness was trying to take the children. She was
trying to protect them."
   "Larissa!" scolded the man. "I told you not to
speak of this." "Go on," said James to the woman.
    Defiantly, she looked at her husband. "She was
trying to protect our daughter."
    "Like she 'protected' Remy's son?"
     "Yes, exactly like that!" She turned to James.
"She was too late to save Remy's boy, but when I
got home and put the charm under the bed, my
girl stopped shaking. She wasn't getting better, but
she wasn't getting any worse! Then Father Rowland
returned from a journey and came here. He prayed
all last night, and my daughter began shaking
again. When the sun rose, I swear he seemed
irritated she was still alive!" The woman's look was
one of desperation. "Larissa, that's blasphemy!"
said Merrick. "The good father was trying to save
her soul. It's the witch's fault. He said as much
before he left."
    "But what if it's not?" asked the woman.
    "May I see the charm the 'witch' gave you?"
Jazhara asked. The woman drew it out from under
the bed and handed it to Jazhara. She looked at
the small wooden box, within which she found
several herbs and some crystals. She closed her
eyes and held the box for a long minute, then said,
"There is nothing malicious in this. This is a simple
ward to help the child's natural energy heal
herself." Then she looked at the child. "But there is
something . . ."
    She reached out and took the small amulet
from the girl's throat, then suddenly withdrew her
hand as if it had been burned. "Brother Solon. You
know more of clerical arts than I; will you please
examine that ward?"
   Solon gently touched the amulet. He closed his
eyes and made a short incantation, and then his
eyes snapped open. "This is no ward of Sung!" The
amulet began to change and he withdrew his
fingers from it. The metal seemed to ripple and
warp and darken, until suddenly what had
appeared to be a simple metal icon of Sung
became something resembling a tiny maw, a
mouth of black lips and ebony teeth. It opened
wide, as if to bite, then the girl coughed. A plume
of green gas erupted from her nostrils and mouth,
to be sucked into the tiny black orifice. Solon
grabbed the trinket and ripped it from the
unconscious child's neck. The girl gasped slightly,
and her tiny body convulsed once, then settled
down into the bed. With a sigh she took a deep
breath, then seemed to breathe more easily.
Jazhara examined the child and declared, "Already
she seems a little stronger."
     Solon held out the trinket, which was now
revealed to be a claw holding a black pearl. "I
would venture that this is the cause of the child's
illness."
    Merrick looked confounded. "But it was given
to her by Father Rowland!"
    James looked at Jazhara and the others and
said, "Before we go rushing off to burn out an old
woman, I think we need to have a serious 'talk'
with this Father Rowland."
    He didn't wait for an answer, but walked out of
the tiny farmhouse.
                     THIRTEEN
                    Misdirection
    James halted.
    Looking skyward for a moment, he then turned
to Jazhara and the others hurrying to keep up with
him and said, "Is it me, or is it getting darker?"
   Kendaric glanced to the west. "There is no
weather front approaching, and I see no clouds."
    Solon looked at the sky and after a few
seconds said, "No, it isn't you. It is getting darker."
    Jazhara looked to the east, and pointed. "Look
at the sun!" They all turned to face the sunrise,
and as they watched with a fascination that turned
quickly to dread, the sun dimmed. The brilliant
white had now darkened to a dull yellow. Jazhara
said, "I can feel the heat upon my face, but the
light is fading!"
   Solon said, "Yes, you have the right of it.
Something is stealing the light from the very air!"
    "What does this mean?" Kendaric asked
anxiously. "I don't know," Jazhara said. "I know of
no magic that should be able to do this."
    Kendaric repeated doggedly, "But what does it
mean?"
   James moved to stand before the now-terrified
wrecker. "Pull yourself together! What it means
should be obvious."
    "So what does it mean?" demanded Kendaric.
"It means that soon our friends from last night will
be able to walk abroad at any time."
   People were hurrying past and James
overheard someone say, "Father Rowland will know
what to do!"
    The florid-faced man who had been inciting the
others in front of Merrick's house approached and
said, "If you're a servant of the Prince as you
claim, you'll go burn that witch out right now!"
    "And who are you?" James asked.
    "My name's Alton. After I spoke against the
woman at a town meeting, she fixed my cows with
the evil eye, and put the wasting curse on them.
Ask any of my neighbors. They've seen my animals
dying. And she's done worse."
    "Such as?" said James, impatiently.
    "Well, take the woodcutter and his family. They
were nice, normal folks, then suddenly they
vanished. Then the blood-drinkers showed up. And
Remy's little boy; he took ill after spying her one
day up at Widow's Point. Died a fortnight later."
    James said, "Your mayor doesn't seem to think
she's the cause of these ills."
    "Toddy's a wonderful, kind man, but he can be
a bit of a fool." James shook his head as other
townspeople hurried by. "Where's Father
Rowland?" he asked Alton.
    "Just follow everyone else to the church across
the square. That's where we're going." Suddenly,
he gasped. "Look!" He pointed to the east and they
could see how the sun was now darkening to an
orange color as if heavy smoke were obscuring the
orb. As the farmer pointed, James noticed a glint of
metal around his neck, a chain that moved as his
tunic shifted. At the base he caught a glimpse of
something black.
    James had not been called "Jimmy the Hand"
as a boy for nothing. With startling swiftness, he
reached out and pulled the chain high enough to
reveal a black pearl in a metal hand hanging from
the chain. "Who gave this to you?"
     The farmer's eyes grew round and he stepped
back as James released the chain. "I . . . I found
it."
    "Where?"
    "Ah . . ."
   "We found a similar charm—around Merrick's
daughter's neck," said Jazhara.
    "It's just a simple bauble," said Farmer Alton.
Solon moved suddenly, far quicker than one would
expect of a man his size, and came to stand just
behind Alton. "Don't be thinking of leaving any
time soon, my friend."
    James drew his sword slowly for dramatic
purpose. He didn't think this blustering farmer was
particularly dangerous. But he also felt time was
running short and he needed answers. "Again: Who
gave you that charm?"
    Alton attempted to move away, but Solon
grabbed his arm and held him fast. "I think you'd
best answer the lad; he doesn't appear to be in a
mood for foolishness."
    Alton glanced at Jazhara, whose expression
was cold, then to Kendaric, who also looked as if
he were running out of patience. Suddenly the
farmer blurted, "I'll tell you everything! It wasn't
my idea. I was just an honest farmer, minding my
own business when he came to me. I trusted him;
everyone does. He offered me gold, lots of gold, to
poison my own cows and blame the witch, so I
agreed. She's just one old lady, and she's going to
die soon, anyway. But I didn't know what he really
was. I thought he was human when I agreed to
work for him. I didn't know—"
     Suddenly the man's tumbling words were cut
off by a strangled, gurgling sound as the chain
around his neck abruptly tightened. Alton
staggered backward, his eyes bulging and his face
turning crimson as he clawed at his neck. Solon
found himself holding the man upright as his knees
buckled, and he let the farmer slowly sink to the
ground. Blood began to flow from the wound in
Alton's neck. As the farmer's eyes rolled up into his
head, the sounds of muscles snapping and bones
breaking could be heard. A moment later, the
farmer's head rolled free from his body and
dropped to the ground. Solon released the man's
arm and the body crumpled to the dust.
     James stared at the corpse and then at the
darkening sun. He motioned for the others to
follow and hurried toward a small building on the
edge of the village common. Upon reaching it, they
saw it was a simple church with a large, open
entrance. No benches or pews were provided, so
the congregation stood, listening to a man in white
robes, who must surely be Father Rowland.
    "Again, I say, if we wait much longer, we will
be swept away by a tide of evil. And where, must I
ask, is the justice in this? I will tell you where
justice lies. It lies in the strength of our arms, the
purity of our souls, and the burning that will rid the
world of the witch's evil!"
    Several of the townspeople shouted
agreement. "He sounds a wee bit harsh for a priest
of Sung," Solon observed.
   James nodded. "He does seem to be in an
awful hurry to get rid of the 'witch.'"
     "And to have others do the deed for him,"
Jazhara added. The priest's voice rose. "Some say
this witch has summoned wolves who walk like
men at night, blood-drinkers who devour the souls
of the innocent, turning them into monsters like
themselves! I say she has summoned darkness
incarnate spirits so foul they drain the life from
good people like you and me. Either way, the
blame for this lies on her doorstep. This darkness
approaching signals the final attack! We must
move now!"
    Some of the men cheered and shouted threats,
but James could discern their fear for many of the
responses were halfhearted and weak. He pushed
through the villagers to stand before the priest.
"Welcome, stranger," said Father Rowland. He was
a man of middle height, with dark hair and a small,
pointed beard. Around his neck hung a simple ward
of the Order of Sung. His white robes showed faint
stains and dirt, as if old and oft-washed. "Have you
come to help rid us of this blight?"
   James regarded him steadily. "I have, but I
doubt the blight is what you say."
   The priest looked at James, his eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean?"
    "Alton is dead," James said.
    The priest looked shocked. "Farmer Alton is
dead? Another victim of that wicked woman!"
Looking past James, the priest shouted, "Is this not
enough? Isn't it time for us to act?" More voices
were raised in agreement, but James heard
Jazhara shout, "James, be wary! There is
something not right here!"
    James looked and saw that several of those
who were shouting had a vacant expression, their
staring eyes fixed and lifeless. James turned
toward the priest, then with unexpected swiftness,
reached out and grabbed at the amulet around the
man's neck. With a single yank, he tore it away
and held it up. Before his eyes it shifted and
changed, from the benign icon of Sung to a hand
holding a black pearl. "These are servants of the
Dark One! They must die!" shouted the priest, his
hands reaching for James's throat, fingers bent like
talons.
     James tried to jump backward, but suddenly
was seized by hands, holding him in place. He
could hear Jazhara shouting, "The people are
innocents! They are possessed! Try not to harm
them!" James felt the priest's fingers at his throat
and shouted, "I'll try to keep that in mind!" He let
his body go limp and dropped away, the priest's
fingers slipping over his head for a moment. From
the floor, James could not draw his sword, but he
could reach the dagger that was tucked in the top
of his right boot. He drew it and slashed upward,
striking the priest in the leg.
    Father Rowland shouted in pain and fell
backward, and James rolled his legs under him in a
crouch as strong hands tried to hold him in place.
Then he leapt forward with all his strength and, as
he had hoped, the hands lost their grip upon him.
     Several townspeople stumbled forward, and he
barely avoided being pulled down from behind. The
priest was retreating. James glanced quickly from
one side to the other. Jazhara was wheeling her
staff, keeping the villagers at bay. Kendaric was
being borne down, pinned to the floor by a pair of
strong farmers, while another was attempting to
kick him in the head. Brother Solon was using his
warhammer to shove people away as much as
strike them, in his attempt to reach the wrecker's
side and render aid.
     James tossed his dagger from his right hand to
his left, and drew his sword in one fluid motion. He
shifted his blade and struck the closest man across
the head with the flat; even so, the rapier's thin
blade still cut the man, but it wasn't a deep wound.
The blow sent the man staggering back a step,
blocking those behind him for an instant. An
instant was all James needed. He lunged forward,
as Father Rowland began to weave a magic spell.
Before the priest had finished, James had skewered
him through the stomach. The man looked down in
stunned amazement, then his eyes widened in pain
as James yanked free his blade. Then the priest's
eyes rolled back into his head. But rather than fall,
he continued to stand. His head lolled back and his
mouth hung open, but from within a deep, alien
voice declared, "Though our servant lies dead, our
power remains undimmed. Taste the bitter draught
of evil . . . and despair." The priest crumpled to the
floor and James wheeled, ready for the next attack,
but rather than being assaulted, James was met
with the sight of the townspeople standing around,
blinking in confusion. Several looked at one
another, or at Kendaric and Solon, or Jazhara, and
then the babble of voices began.
    "What happened?"
    "How did we get here?"
    "Why are you bleeding?"
    James held up his hand and cried, "Silence!"
    Voices stilled. James continued, "This man was
no priest of Sung. He was an agent of the very
darkness he claimed to be fighting. He kept you
distracted from the true source of the evil." One of
the women in the group screamed. "The sun!" she
shouted, pointing at the morning sun.
    James turned. It was even darker. "It'll be
night soon," he said, not trying to explain what he
couldn't. "Get to your homes and bar the doors.
We'll see to the cause of this."
     The villagers fled. Some had to be helped by
friends, because of the battering they had taken
from Jazhara's staff and Solon's warhammer, but
James was relieved to see that the only corpse in
the room was Rowland's.
    Kendaric looked frightened, but he also seemed
to have kept his composure. He brushed himself off
as they all gathered around James.
    "Did the rest of you hear what he said?" James
asked. "No," answered Kendaric. "I was too busy
being attacked."
    Jazhara said, "I heard him speak, but not what
he said." "I heard it," said Brother Solon. "He was
an agent of darkness, there's no doubt of that.
That he could take the guise of a servant of the
Pure One is troubling. Even a false icon such as he
wore should be difficult to endure by a servant of
evil."
   "These are very powerful enemies," said
James. "I've heard that voice before."
    "When?" asked Jazhara.
   "Years ago, from the mouth of a Black Slayer.
The servants of Murmandamus."
     "But Murmandamus was destroyed," said
Jazhara. Then she glanced at Solon and Kendaric,
unsure of what more she should say. As Arutha's
court mage, James had told her some of the truth
behind Arutha's slaying of the false moredhel
prophet, and the recent troubles in the Dimwood,
for there were rumors that he was still alive.
    James nodded. "I know he was, but while we
may not be dealing with that black heart, we are
certainly facing someone who is nearly his equal in
power. And that means we're up against something
far more dangerous than we thought."
     "You knew it was dangerous when we told you
about our ship being taken," said Solon. "You're
not backing out now, are you?" "No," said James,
glancing at the darkening sun. "Especially not now.
I can feel things rushing forward and if we hesitate,
I think we are lost." He realized he was still holding
his weapons and he put them up. "We don't have
time to send for reinforcements, and we don't
know how effective William will continue to be at
keeping Bear away from here. I think this will end
before more than two days pass, one way or the
other."
     "What now?" asked Kendaric, crossing his arms
as if cold. James let out a long breath. "When
darkness finally comes, those blood-drinkers will be
back, and I think they are here for no other reason
than to keep us busy. So whatever we do, we have
to do it quickly." He looked at Jazhara. "One thing
strikes me. Rowland and Alton were too anxious to
get rid of that witch for it to have only been about
finding a scapegoat. There's something about her
they feared."
    Jazhara said, "Then we should go talk to her."
Glancing at the sun, she added, "And quickly. I
think we have less than two hours before night falls
again."
    James nodded. Walking past Jazhara he said,
"Let us go visit the witch at Widow's Point."
     As they climbed the hillside toward Widow's
Point, the woods turned ominously dark. The fading
sun created darker shadows on the trail than usual.
"It's like traveling at twilight," whispered Solon.
    James laughed. "I feel the need to speak softly,
too."
     Jazhara said, "Stealth may be prudent, but
time is fleeting." As they rounded a bend in the
trail, James held up his hand. "Someone's ahead,"
he whispered.
    They moved forward and James soon clearly
saw a figure crouched in the gloom. It was a boy of
no more than nine years of age. James walked up
behind him, making no effort to be silent, yet the
child's attention remained fixed upon a small hut
near the cliffs. When James put his hand on the
child's shoulder, the boy shouted in alarm and
nearly fell down in surprise.
    "Don't be afraid," said Jazhara. "We mean you
no harm."
    The boy's eyes were large with terror. "Who
are you?" he asked. "I am Jazhara, and this is
Squire James of Krondor. That's Brother Solon, and
Kendaric. Who are you?"
    The boy's voice lost its quaver, but he still
looked frightened. "I'm Alaric. I'm here to watch
the witch. Pa says they're going to burn her real
soon, so I wanted to see her do some black magic
stuff before they get her."
   "I think you should hurry home before it gets
much darker," said James.
    Jazhara asked, "Is she in the hut now?"
    "I haven't seen her. Sometimes she wanders
the beach below Widow's Point. I'd be careful;
she's really dangerous.
   James said, "Thank you. Now, get on home.
Your family will be worried about you."
    The boy didn't need any more urging and
turned and ran down the trail. They walked on
toward the dwelling and James shouted, "Hello, in
the hut!"
    There was no answer.
    James approached and climbed the single step
to a wooden porch. The small stoop had an
overhang from which hung a variety of gourds.
Jazhara inspected the corpses of a couple of small
animals hung there to dry and then an assortment
of herbs. "This 'witch' is either a practitioner of
magic or simply an old woman well-versed in the
arts of remedy. I recognize several of these plants.
They are used for poultices and herbal teas."
    The hut had been constructed on a wooden
platform, the porch extended out a few feet from
the front wall. Looking down, Solon said, "At least
she's dry when it rains."
    "And it rains a lot along this part of the coast,"
Kendaric added. He wrapped his arms around
himself as if he were cold and said, "Not only is it
getting darker, but it feels like rain is coming."
"Just what we need," said James. He pushed aside
a piece of hide strung across the lintel, serving as a
door. Inside the hut were a crude table and a
single stool. A cauldron simmered before a fire.
Kendaric looked at the brown mixture. "Not a
witch? Then what's that?" James walked over and
inspected the bubbling liquid. He took a ladle from
a hook over the fireplace and dipped it into the
cauldron. Raising it he sniffed, then sipped it.
Turning to Kendaric he said, "Soup. And very good,
too."
    He replaced the ladle when a voice at the door
said, "Come to burn me?"
    James turned to see a frail-looking old woman
standing in the entrance, holding a bundle of
sticks.
    "Well, don't just stand there, staring. You
expect an old woman to gather all the wood for her
own burning?" The old woman looked barely larger
than the child they had just sent home. Her skin
was almost translucent with age, and her hair was
completely white. Her tiny fingers looked like skin
over bones, but she had all her teeth and her eyes
were bright and alive.
   James smiled. "We're not here to burn you,
woman."
    "Oh, that's what they all say," she said,
pushing past Kendaric and throwing the bundle of
sticks down next to the hearth.
    Jazhara said, "You practice magic?"
    The old woman sat down on her small stool
and shrugged. "I know a thing or two. But mostly I
mix up remedies for people, or tell fortunes." Her
eyes got a faraway look. "Sometimes I see things,
but that's . . . difficult. It's rarely pleasant."
     Kendaric said, "I'm from the Wreckers' Guild in
Krondor and I've tried to raise a ship recently sunk
off the Point. Something is blocking my magic. It's
powerful and I need to know what it is."
    The old woman studied Kendaric for a moment,
then turned to face Jazhara. "You practice the
craft?"
    Jazhara said, "I am the court magician to
Prince Arutha." "Ah," said the old woman, a
bemused smile on her face. "A woman magician.
Time was you'd have been put to death for even
claiming to know the arts in Krondor."
    "Times change," said James.
    "In some ways, maybe," said the old woman.
"Others, not at all." James said, "Well, perhaps
someday we can sit in more comfortable
surroundings and discuss it. But right now we have
other worries." He gestured outside at the fading
sun.
   "I saw," said the woman. "That's why I thought
you might be from the village, come to burn me."
    Jazhara said, "That was 'Father' Rowland. He
was rallying the villagers to come here and do just
that."
   "How did you stop him?" asked the woman.
    James said, "With my rapier. He was no priest
of Sung."
    "I could have told you that," said the old
woman. "His pores just oozed evil. I think that's
one of the reasons he wanted me gone; he realized
I knew him to be a charlatan."
    "There had to be another reason," said Solon.
"You would hardly have been a compelling witness
against him just because you sensed the evil in
him."
    The woman nodded. "It is because I know the
secret of Haldon Head and Widow's Point."
    James said, "Will the secret explain what is
going on around here, and why we cannot raise
that ship?"
    "Undoubtedly," said the old woman.
    Jazhara asked, "What is your name?"
    The old crone paused and then laughed. "It's
been so long since anyone has called me anything
but 'witch' or 'old woman' I can scarcely
remember." She sighed. "Call me Hilda."
     "Hilda," asked James. "What is the secret you
spoke of?" The old woman looked around, as if
fearful of being overheard. "Below the cliffs, in a
deep cavern, lies an ancient place. It is a temple of
evil, older than the memory of the oldest living
human."
     "What sort of temple?" asked Solon, his hand
reflexively going to the hilt of his warhammer.
    Hilda stood slowly and crossed to an old
wooden chest. She threw back the lid and reached
inside. From within she removed a small cloth
pouch. Handing it to Solon, she said, "Open it."
    The monk did so, and when he saw what was
inside, he seemed loath to touch it. "This is like
those others," he whispered. He shook the thing
into his hand and held it out. Upon his palm was a
carved metal hand of either pewter or iron, within
which rested a black orb, fashioned from a stone
like obsidian. But unlike obsidian, however, it did
not reflect the light of the fire.
    The old woman said, "I do not know who first
built the Black Pearl Temple, but they were not
human."
     Solon put the artifact back into its pouch. "My
order has a catalogue of every cult and faith known
to man in the Kingdom, the East, and down
through Kesh. As a Defender of the Faithful, I have
studied those documents. I have never heard of
such an order as the Black Pearl." The old woman
sighed. "And yet it exists." She took the pouch
from Solon. "What lies below the cliffs is a festering
evil. It is partially to blame for why so many ships
are drawn to their demise on the rocks below. It is
why few try to farm the good land that lies
between the village and my hut. Those who do try
grow restless or fearful and leave after a season or
two. Even the hunters avoid the woods around
here."
    "How is it you can abide?" asked Kendaric.
     "This," said the old woman, holding up the
pouch. "It is a talisman and protects me from their
evil, as if I were already one of their own. I'd like
you to have it, for you face a grave challenge." She
looked into the eyes of each of her guests before
handing the pouch to Solon, who accepted the gift
with a nod of thanks. She sat down again, and
said, "And it is more."
    "What?" asked James.
     "It's a key. If you go down the pathway to the
rocks below, turn into what appears to be a small
alcove fashioned by the sea in the rocks. There you
will see a small, faint pattern in the rocks, at my
eye level. With this key, a door in the rocks will
open."
    "You've seen this done?" asked Jazhara.
    "Yes," said Hilda. "Many times I have spied
upon those who come and go below. One of my
talents is concealment. I was standing but a few
feet from the porch when you passed, yet you had
no inkling, right?"
    Jazhara smiled and nodded. "True."
   "Have you tried to use this to get in?" asked
James.
    "Yes," admitted Hilda. "I've tried. But I did not
get in."
    "Why not?" asked Kendaric.
      "Because only those who are sworn in the
service of those black powers in the temple can use
it. I tried, but the door would not open." James
said, "Then how can we use the key?" "I believe
you have one choice," said the woman. "In the
village a creature hides. I do not know who he is or
what his name is, but that he is there is certain. He
is the one who first infected those who became
blood-drinkers. He is a servant of those dark
powers below. I don't understand his purpose, for
it's only a matter of time before the Prince comes
to Haldon Head with his army to set things right."
   "We know why he's here," said James. "To
keep us busy and away from the Point."
    "So his master can raise the ship," added
Kendaric. "How do we use this knowledge to get
inside the temple?" James probed. "Find the
monster who has killed so many. Kill him and
remove his hand at his wrist. Bind the talisman to
the hand. Then the door should open."
    "Where do we find this monster?" asked James.
The old woman said, "There is an ancient crypt in
the graveyard. The oldest family in this area, the
Haldons, built it. None live today, but it is kept up
out of respect for the town's founder. Inside is
where I think you'll find the monster. And if you
find him, you'll find the cause of this darkness. And
when you do, please return, so that I may know
that I have not sent you to your death." James
said, "We must be going. For by the time we reach
the graveyard, those things will be wakening, and I
would rather put paid to this before they're upon
us."
    They hurried from the hut and the old woman
crossed to the door and stood there, watching
them flee down the path toward the town. Softly
she said, "May the gods watch over you, children."
Then she slowly hobbled back to her stool, to wait.


                    FOURTEEN
                     Vampire
   The sky darkened.
    As James and the others approached the south
edge of town, where Hilda had indicated they'd find
the burial crypt, the light faded. "It's getting
darker," said Kendaric, his voice almost quavering
with fear.
    "Expect the worst," said Solon. "Assume the
bleeders know we're coming for them."
    Kendaric asked, "Doesn't your order have some
sort of magic prayer-thing that makes these types
of creatures just . . . vanish?" "Ha!" replied the
monk. "Wish it were so, laddie. The only order with
the power to do so are those who worship Lims-
Kragma."
     Kendaric glanced around. "I thought they'd be
in league with these creatures."
     "Nay, boy," said Solon, the tension of the
moment thickening his accent again. "They're
servants of the right order of things, and despise
any creature that thwarts their mistress's will. The
creatures we're facing are more of an abomination
to her servants than they are to us. That's why our
mission is to send them along to her so she can
sort the buggers out." "Well, here comes your
chance," said James as a half dozen creatures
appeared to rise up out of the gloom, from among
a field of headstones. He drew his sword and
dagger, but kept moving. "Don't let them delay you
too long. If Hilda is correct, once we locate their
master and deal with him, these will fall."
    Kendaric said, "So, you're telling us to fight
through these creatures, but be efficient about it?"
    "That's wha' the man said, laddie," replied
Solon, pulling out his warhammer, and swinging it
before him in a lazy circle. "Just crack a head or
cut off a leg or some such, and keep goin'."
    Kendaric's face was pale, but he attempted to
look resolute. "Sure. No problem."
   Jazhara said, "I'll deal with this first batch."
She lowered her staff and the air crackled with
energy. A brilliant flash of actinic light shot out, as
if lightning had been released from a bottle. It
bounced across the ground like a ball. As it landed
before the first of the undead creatures, it split into
smaller balls, each lashing out in electric fury to
encapsulate the vampires. They stiffened and
howled in agony as the crackling energy seared
their flesh and rendered them motionless.
    James started to run. "We need to move fast!"
he shouted. "There's the crypt!"
     In the center of the small graveyard, a stone
building rose, a small mausoleum with a peaked
roof, its doors open. Within, they could see at least
a half-dozen marble catafalques, upon which stone
coffins rested. "Why couldn't they burn their dead
properly," Kendaric muttered, "like the rest of the
Kingdom?" "We're close to Yabon," said Solon.
"Burial is still popular up here."
    "For once," said Jazhara, lowering her staff and
pointing it toward the door, "I agree with
Kendaric."
     Inside the crypt, an eerie red glow illuminated
figures moving behind the stone coffins. "We've got
to fight our way in," said James. Jazhara unleashed
another bolt of energy and several of the creatures
in the first row stiffened. James raced past them,
only to be confronted by a burly-looking man, his
skin pale and his eyes seeming to glow with a
reddish light. Behind him, James spied another
figure, not as bulky, but radiating immense power,
and he knew he was looking at the master
vampire.
    "Kill that one!" James shouted.
   The master vampire laughed. "Child of woe, I
was dead before you were born!"
     The burly vampire lashed out at James, and his
fingers were curled like talons. James didn't
attempt to parry the blow. Instead, he ducked
below the swing, then rose and kicked out with his
right leg, planting his boot in the vampire's chest.
He shoved and the burly man was thrown
backward into the path of the Vampire Lord. Then
James lunged and attempted to hamstring the
approaching master vampire, but the creature
leapt aside with astonishing speed. James suddenly
felt afraid. Nothing living should move that quickly.
James's previous experience with the supernatural
had been entirely unpleasant, and his one
advantage in those cases had been his combination
of instinct and speed. His plan had been to render
the master vampire helpless by cutting his legs
from under him, or otherwise injuring him, then
leaving it to Jazhara to burn him with her mystical
fire. He now saw that his plan was not going to
work.
   "Get back!" James shouted. "We have to burn
them in here!"
   Solon crushed the skull of one vampire, and
Kendaric managed to inflict enough damage on
another that it was keeping its distance from him.
     Jazhara used her staff to good advantage,
tripping two of the creatures and causing a third to
fall over them. She now busied herself with
breaking heads with her staff; but, as they had
been warned, the damage merely slowed the
creatures down rather than causing permanent
damage.
    They started to retreat, Jazhara and Solon
attempting to clear a path for James. James fought
down panic. He had to back away from the pair of
advancing vampires, and the burly man was
shrewd enough not to let James trip him again.
    James risked a glance backward and almost
had his head taken from his shoulders for his
trouble. Only by lashing out with his rapier did he
manage to drive the Vampire Lord back.
     Suddenly Solon charged forward, swinging his
warhammer with both hands. He smashed it into
the burly vampire's chest, sending the creature
flying backward thorough the air, into its master.
The Vampire Lord was knocked off his feet, but
again he sprang up with supernatural ease and
speed, throwing the other vampire aside like a doll.
The burly vampire, however, lay upon the stone
floor, writhing in agony.
     The unexpected counterattack gave James the
time he needed to leap away, through the doorway
of the small mausoleum. "Close the doors!" James
shouted. "Jazhara, burn them!" Jazhara lowered
her staff and a gout of green flame exploded from
its tip. Kendaric struggled with one door, while
Solon easily moved the other.
    As James watched, his eyes widening in
disbelief, the master vampire walked through the
flames, unburned.
    At last the doors slammed shut. Solon threw
his weight against them.
   "We need to block them!" shouted James.
    Jazhara grabbed Kendaric by the collar of his
tunic and pulled him around. "Stones!" she shouted
as the wrecker almost fell over, only regaining his
balance at the last moment. They hurried to a
small headstone that rose from a grave and
together managed to pull it out of the ground.
"Thank you, whoever you were," Jazhara directed
toward the now-unmarked grave as she and
Kendaric dragged the stone over to the mausoleum
doors. James and Solon had thrown their shoulders
against the doors that bulged outward as the
master vampire threw his unnatural strength
against them. First one, then another stone was
piled in place, until the door refused to give.
    "I don't know how much time we've bought,"
said James, out of breath. "But I saw that thing
walk through your fire, Jazhara. It didn't faze him."
     "Then I don't know what to do." She replied.
"Maybe it has to be natural fire," said Kendaric.
"We could build a fire, then light a bundle of rags in
oil. Toss it in."
   "I doubt it would make a difference," said the
magician. She pondered. "Perhaps Hilda can tell us
what to do."
     Solon said, "You two run back to Hilda, while
Kendaric and I endeavor to keep these doors shut."
As if to punctuate this statement, there came a dull
thud from within the crypt and the doors shook and
rattled against the headstones. "Hurry!" Solon
urged. "He may not be able to move those stone
doors, but he can certainly reduce them to rubble
in time."
    James nodded, turned to look at Jazhara, who
nodded. They set off at a jog back north through
the town and toward Widow's Peak.
   Nearly breathless, they reached the hut
overlooking the cliffs. Hilda heard them
approaching and came to stand out on the porch.
    "Naught goes well," she observed.
    James nodded, attempting to catch his wind.
He took a deep breath then said, "The master
vampire won't die."
    "The Vampire Lord will be difficult to destroy,"
said Hilda. "But he is no god."
    "He will not burn," said Jazhara.
    "Ah!" the old woman responded, looking
thoughtful. "Then he has placed his essence
somewhere else."
    James looked at Jazhara who returned a blank
expression. "I do not understand," she said to
Hilda.
     Hilda shrugged. "I am no expert. Necromancy
is the foulest of the arts and to be shunned." She
paused, then added, "But over time one hears
things."
    "Such as?" asked James.
    "It is said that some of the servants of the dark
powers are not truly living; even those poor souls
captured by this vampire master have a thread of
life within; cut it and they fade," Hilda explained.
"But a few of the more powerful servants of evil
have conspired to rid their bodies of mortality
completely."
    "Then how do we destroy those?" asked
Jazhara. "Find the soul vessel. To attain such
power, sacrifices are made, and what one gains on
one hand"—she held out one hand—"one loses on
the other." She extended her other hand. "To make
the body immortal, the spirit essence is placed
somewhere close by. It is often protected by wards
or hidden in such a way it is unlikely to be found."
    "We don't have time for this," said James.
"That Vampire Lord is strong. Even now he may be
out of the crypt and have overcome Solon and
Kendaric."
    Jazhara said, "And if we lose Kendaric—" James
nodded grimly. "We had no choice but to leave him
with Solon. But we must hurry."
     Jazhara said, "Where should we look? Will it be
in the crypt with the master vampire?"
    Hilda shook her head. "Unlikely. He will have
brought it with him, but placed it someplace safe,
as soon as he arrived."
   "Where was the first place he was seen?" asked
James.
    "The woodcutter's cabin," Hilda replied.
     "Then that's where we'll look," said James.
"Which way do we go?" "Run to Farmer Alton's
farm, and follow the road that passes east before
his house. A mile beyond the last fence you'll see a
path into the woods and another mile beyond that
is the woodcutter's home. Tread lightly, for the
Vampire Lord will have other allies."
    James glanced around. "It's almost as dark as
night now. Have you a lantern or torches?"
    The old woman nodded. "Torches. I'll get
them." She went inside and a moment later
reappeared with three torches—one was burning;
the remaining two were held in the crook of her
arm. "These are all I have."
    James took the burning one and Jazhara took
the two others. James said, "They will have to do.
Thank you, Hilda, for all your help." "No thanks are
needed."
   Jazhara said, "When all is done, I shall return
and tell you of Stardock."
    "I will listen," said the old woman.
   James took a last look at the old woman's face.
"Goodbye," he called. Then he turned, and hurried
back toward the village. Jazhara followed him.
    The old woman watched until they were out of
sight, then turned and slowly walked back into her
hut.
     James and Jazhara ran most of the way,
stopping only when feeling at risk. Through the
town they went and onto the eastern road, until
they left the road when they found the indicated
trail. The forest was plunged into darkness, as if
noon and midnight had exchanged places.
Moreover, no moon illuminated the way, and the
murk was both unnatural and ominous. The trail
was well-traveled, but narrow, and James had to
fight the urge to jump at every single noise. The
day birds had ceased singing, but the soft hooting
of their nocturnal counterparts was also missing.
The air was unnaturally still, as if the magic
dampening the sun was also silencing the wind.
Suddenly the night air was rent by the sound of a
distant howl. It was quickly answered by others.
    "Wolves!" said James.
    "Hurry," Jazhara cried, and James started to go
at such a pace that they risked injury on the
narrow trail.
    Dodging between the boles of trees and along
rocky footing, they at last came to a small hut in a
clearing. From within the hut came a red glow,
which seeped through the cracks around the door
and the tiny window next to it.
    "Someone's inside," James cautioned.
    "Someone's outside," said Jazhara, pointing.
Four figures emerged from behind the hut, all
walking purposefully toward James and Jazhara.
    Jazhara lowered her staff and again blinding
lightning spilled forth from the tip. The leaves on
the ground smoked as the lightning bounced along
to strike the four creatures. The vampires
struggled to keep moving but their bodies just
twitched and shivered uncontrollably. "Get inside!"
Jazhara shouted. "I'll deal with these."
    James ran past the quivering figures, two
having fallen to the ground where they flopped like
landed fish. He hardly slowed, but lifted his right
leg and kicked hard against the door, smashing it
inward. A woman sat on a stool, appearing to care
for a baby in a bassinet, but as soon as she turned
at James's intrusion it was clear that she was a
vampire. She rose, snarling, from her stool and
launched herself at James, her fingers clawed
talons and her fangs bared. James dodged to one
side and cut at the back of her leg, hamstringing
her. She fell with a shriek of pain and outrage and
James slashed her across the neck. His light blade
struck bone and was turned aside, and at that
moment he wished for a heavier blade. He pulled
the rapier free of the woman's neck and hacked
away at her outstretched arms. She recoiled in
pain, scrambled backward, then tried to rise.
    As she stood, James leapt forward, put his foot
to her stomach and pushed her outside. Her
wounded leg betrayed her: as she fell backward,
James lashed out with his torch, catching the hem
of her skirt with the flame and igniting it.
    In moments the woman was rolling on the
ground, trying to extinguish the blaze. James
turned his attention to the interior of the hut.
There was nothing in it except for a small table, the
bassinet, and a bucket near the fireplace. There
was no obvious hiding place, no chest or likely
receptacle for an important item such as the
vampire's soul vessel.
    James stepped forward and looked into the
bassinet. He grimaced at what he saw: the body of
a baby lay in it. It had obviously been dead for
some time. Its tiny body was shrunken, the skin
stretched over the fragile bones. But what was
most repulsive was the red light which emanated
from its body.
    James hesitated, reluctant to touch the little
corpse. Then, he put aside his revulsion and
touched the child's stomach. Something hard
resisted his finger. He pulled out his dagger,
swallowed hard and cut into the infant's flesh.
Inside the baby's ribcage a large ruby-colored
stone glowed with an evil brilliance. James was
forced to break two ribs to remove the object. By
the time he had done so Jazhara had reached the
door.
   "They're all dead—" She stopped, aghast.
"What is that?"
     James said, "I'm not sure, but I think the baby
is the vessel." Jazhara stared at the red jewel.
"Then that would be the Soul Stone," she mused.
She closed her eyes and made an incantation, then
opened them and said, "There is a great deal of
magic locked within that gem. And it reeks of evil."
    "What do we do with it?" asked James.
    "Take it outside," said Jazhara.
    The howling of wolves could be heard, getting
closer by the moment. "Hurry," she insisted.
    James complied with alacrity.
    Once they were both outside, Jazhara looked
around. "There!" she said, pointing to the
woodcutter's work-shed. In the corner was a small
bellows and forge, where tools could be repaired
and sharpened. She located at once what she was
looking for.
     "Put the gem on this anvil," she instructed.
James did so. Jazhara reached over and took a
small iron hammer and lifted it. "Avert your eyes!"
she commanded, and James looked away. He
heard the smash of the hammer on the gem, then
felt his skin crawl. A wash of energy made him
physically ill and he had to fight to keep from
retching. Next came a sense of loss and
haplessness, a futility that seeped into his bones;
that was followed by a blast of anger and rage that
caused his heart to race and his eyes to tear. He
gasped and heard Jazhara also gasping. When he
opened his eyes, he saw she had been
unsuccessful in controlling her nausea. Despite
feeling light-headed and disoriented, the howl of
the approaching wolves made him focus; he forced
himself to become alert. Then the sky shattered.
Like a latticework of faint lines, the darkness was
shot through with light. As if shards of a broken
window fell from above, the black night
disappeared. It looked as though pieces of the dark
sky were falling down, only to dissolve and fade to
insubstantial mist before striking the tops of the
nearby trees. From behind each shard the brilliance
of the day's light shone. Then, abruptly, there was
daylight again—total daylight. The howling of the
wolf pack ceased, and the day birds started
singing.
   "I didn't expect that," said Jazhara.
    "Well, expected or not, I'm glad to see the sun
again," James replied. He glanced in the direction
of the fiery orb and remarked, "It's barely midday."
    "A lot has happened," she said. "Come, we
must return to the graveyard and see what has
transpired there."
    They hurried back through the town and down
the road to the graveyard. Along the way they saw
the townspeople looking out of their doors and
windows, astonished and delighted at the return of
daylight. A few hardier souls had ventured outside,
and were now looking at one another as if seeking
reassurance that something approaching normalcy
was returning.
    They were out of breath and sweating from the
returned heat of the sun by the time they reached
the vault. Solon and Kendaric were still blocking
the crypt door.
    "Where have you been?!" cried Kendaric.
    "You did something," said the monk. "All
manner of madness erupted inside here and then
the sky above shattered. I assume the two were
related?"
    "We found and smashed the soul-gem," said
Jazhara. James said, "I thought he would . . . die
or something when we smashed the stone."
    "I'm no expert in this sort of thing," Jazhara
mused. "Hilda might know more. But I'm wagering
now that since the gem has been destroyed, we
can find a way to destroy him, too."
    Kendaric asked, "Can't we just leave them
locked up until they wither away?"
   "Not if he's the source of whatever is blocking
your spell." Kendaric stood with a resigned
expression on this face. Then he started to haul
away the first of the headstones blocking the crypt
door. "Care to give me some help?"
    "Not really," answered James, but he set to
picking up another headstone.
    "Do we have a plan?" asked Solon. "We must
cut off one of the Vampire Lord's hands," Jazhara
reminded him. James said, "We let them open the
doors. They don't like the light, so maybe that will
weaken them. I encountered a demon not too long
ago whose flesh burned in the sunlight. Perhaps it's
the same with these."
     "With the lesser vampires, perhaps," said
Solon, heaving away another stone. "But I suspect
the master vampire will find it only somewhat
irritating."
   "Maybe we can kill them one at a time as they
come through," suggested Kendaric as he dropped
a stone a few yards away, and returned to pick up
another.
    The door started to move, as the vampires
inside threw their weight against it. "We can't burn
them," said Jazhara, "or at least we can't burn the
leader; we need his hand."
     "Maybe we can get him to stick it out,"
suggested Kendaric, "then lop it off and run like
hell."
     Solon chuckled. "We break heads and cut
throats. It's simple." James stepped back from the
doors as they began to push outward. "Yes, it's
simple." Then the door swung suddenly outward
and two figures leapt at him. "But that doesn't
mean easy!" James slashed the closest vampire
across the throat as it staggered in the unexpected
daylight. As soon as the sun touched the creature,
its flesh started to blacken and it began to howl in
pain.
    The second vampire turned and tried to reenter
the crypt, but was pushed back by two more
coming after it. Solon laid about him with his
warhammer and knocked them first to one side,
then the other.
    Jazhara struck downward with the iron end of
her staff, and soon three corpses lay smoking in
the sunlight. James peered into the gloom of the
crypt. The bright sun made the interior dark and
indistinct. Nothing appeared to move.
    "I think we're going to have to go in and get
him," James said softly. Turning to Kendaric, he
nodded toward the wrecker's sword. "You've got
the only blade that could cut that thing's head off.
If we get him down, try not to chop either Solon or
me while you're at it."
    Kendaric went pale, but nodded.
    James looked then at Jazhara and raised an
eyebrow. Then he spoke again to Kendaric. "Should
she be forced to set him alight, I want you to be
ready to run in and chop off a hand."
    Kendaric wiped perspiration from his upper lip
with the back of his sleeve. "Which hand?"
    "Either should do, I think," said James. He
nodded once to Solon and they both charged into
the crypt. They raced inside, one on either side of a
central catafalque, their eyes darting to left and
right. Three sets of three catafalques dominated
the floor of the crypt and both men knew that
crouched behind one of them was the Vampire
Lord. As James reached the second set, he had a
premonition. "Solon, look up!" he shouted.
    As the monk obeyed, a figure dropped from the
peak of the roof, and only James's warning saved
him. Reacting swiftly, he spun and swung his
warhammer, smashing the Vampire Lord's ribs.
The master vampire flew across the room,
slamming into the stone wall before James, who
swung his rapier and lunged, attempting to skewer
the creature on the floor, but with supernatural
speed the creature was up and on his feet, slipping
right past James's sword.
    Then a second vampire dropped from above,
and suddenly James was borne down to the floor.
The stink of carrion assaulted his sense of smell as
he struggled against the power and weight of the
two vampires. "Solon!" he shouted.
    The powerful monk closed upon the three
figures on the floor in two strides. He gripped one
by the collar of his tunic and threw him toward the
door. The creature slid into the light of day and
started to shriek in agony.
    Kendaric stepped forward and with as powerful
a blow as he could muster he chopped off the
creature's head.
    Jazhara cried, "Duck!"
    At once, Solon crouched. Jazhara pointed her
staff upward and unleashed a blast of green fire.
The flames danced along the stone ceiling and two
more vampires fell, writhing in burning agony.
James found himself struggling against the
strongest foe he had ever grappled with. The
Vampire Lord was only the size of a tall man, but
his hands gripped James's chin and turned his head
as easily as James might have turned a child's
head. As hard as he tried, James could not resist.
His neck muscles felt as if they were being ripped
apart, and he tried desperately to keep his head
turned toward his foe. Out of the corner of his eye
he could see the creature's fangs, and realized with
horror that he was about to have his throat ripped
out. Frantically, he tried to convulse his body to
buy himself a moment of freedom, but the Vampire
Lord had the strength of three men. Then he saw
Solon appear behind the vampire. The powerful
monk gripped the monster by his long flowing hair
and yanked his head back. James heard Jazhara
shout, "Close your eyes!"
    Jabbing with the end of her staff, Jazhara
smashed the Vampire Lord right in the mouth. His
eyes opened wide with surprise and he froze for a
moment as if appalled by this unexpected attack.
Then Jazhara uttered a quick phrase and energy
exploded from the tip of her staff. The creature's
head erupted in a gout of white flame, and the
room filled with the stench of burning flesh. The
Vampire Lord rose howling and Jazhara pulled her
staff free. James scrambled backward the instant
he felt the weight lift from his body. Kendaric
hurried over and with careful aim threw his weight
behind his blade, and in a single circular motion
sheared the creature's head from its body.
   The Vampire Lord's body fell like a stone.
Kendaric looked as if he was going to be sick.
James said, "Thank you; all of you." Looking at
Kendaric, he added, "Cut off the hand."
    Kendaric shook his head and reversed the
blade, holding it out to James. "If you don't mind,
you do it. I don't think I have it in me anymore."
Then his eyes rolled up into his skull and he fell to
the floor in a faint.
    Later that afternoon, they took their ease at
the inn. James savored a bitter, refreshing draught
of ale, while trying to ignore the pain in his
wrenched neck.
    "What now?" asked Kendaric, still embarrassed
at having fainted.
     "We wait until morning," said James. "We are
all tired and in need of rest. Then at first light we'll
try to raise the ship. If it fails, we'll know Hilda was
right and it's not just the Vampire Lord but
whatever's down there in that temple."
    "What about help?" asked Kendaric.
     "I'll send for the garrison down in Miller's Rest
in the morning. They'll be here in two days."
    "Do we wait?" asked Solon.
     "No, we'll explore the old temple. I've done
that sort of thing a few times before. It's unlikely
there's anyone down there. If there were, someone
from the village would have seen something before
this recent outbreak of trouble."
    Jazhara sipped her ale, then said, "I am still
disturbed by two things."
    James nodded. "Who's behind all this?"
    "Yes," said the magician. "It's clear that
someone wants to keep this area isolated and allow
his minions to seize the prize." She glanced around
to see if any of the locals in the inn could overhear
her. "The Tear," she said softly.
    "What's the other thing that troubles you,
lady?" asked Solon. "Where are William and the
Krondorian Guard?" Jazhara said. James
understood the double reference at once, for while
Solon and Kendaric would assume she was
concerned only about Bear's whereabouts, he knew
she also was worried about William's safety. James
sipped his ale. He thought about those two issues
and realized he was just as troubled as Jazhara by
them.
                       FIFTEEN
                    Two Fangs
    William watched.
     Just above the top of distant trees, he could
see Two Fangs Pass, silhouetted in black relief by
the rising sun. Two large rocks, one to each side of
the trail, rose up like a viper's fangs, giving the
place its name. On either side of the fangs two
clearings could be seen. As he faced north, William
could see that a stand of thick forest bordered the
right-hand clearing and rose up the hillside. On the
left, a clearing topped a cliff overlooking a deep
river gorge. "Are they here already, do you think?"
asked Sergeant Hartag. "I can feel it in my bones,"
replied William. "Tonight's the new Small Moon and
this is the morning the Grey Talons were supposed
to lead us to the slaughter."
     "We did the best we could getting here, Will,"
said Hartag. "If we'd pushed any more the horses
would be dead and the men couldn't fight." "Well,
at least we know we're in for a fight and they're
out there somewhere."
    "How do we play it?" asked the sergeant.
    "You're an old campaigner, Sergeant. What's
your thought?"
      The sergeant was quiet as he considered, then
he said, "They're certain to be in those trees. But
I'll wager Bear's got a dozen or so lying low in that
meadow on the left, by the cliff. It rises then falls
off behind, and I think he's got some archers
crouched down over there, where we can't see
them. I think his plan is to bait us to charge the
pass, so the lads flee over the summit. Then we
come hard right after them, and as we get to the
Fangs, he hits us from the right, and as we wheel
to charge, his archers take us from behind." "That's
my thinking, too," said William. "So if we see him
put riders up there on the crest, watching for the
mercenaries' arrival, we know you're right."
    Less than an hour later, a pair of riders
appeared from out of the line of the woods and
took up position at the bottom of the rise. "Well,"
said William. "Looks like we've found the Bear."
    "Shall I send the Pathfinders?"
    "Send them up through the trees and have
them get as far as they can, and report back on
numbers. I want them back here by midday at the
latest."
   Time passed slowly while they waited, and Will
gave orders for the men to ready themselves for a
fight. He suspected Bear had a larger body of men
hidden in the woods. William was counting on the
absence of the Grey Talon mercenaries to tip the
balance in his favor. A little before midday the two
Pathfinders, Maric and Jackson, returned. "There's
about fifty of them scattered through the woods,
sir."
    "Horse or foot?"
    "Both. Looks like they plan on tempting us by
showing us foot, then riding horse over us once we
take the bait."
    William considered and said, "We can't play his
game." He knew he was outnumbered: his thirty-
six men against Bear's fifty or more. "Take a half-
dozen men into the trees," he ordered the
Pathfinders. "No matter what you hear, wait, then
when you hear Bear's men given the order to leave
the woods, strike from behind. Don't linger, but
draw off as many of the horsemen as you can." He
pointed to the left side of the pass. "That's where
we hit first."
    "How do we proceed?" asked Hartag.
    "Thirty of us ride calmly to there"—he pointed
to a large boulder near the bottom of the rise—
"and then we charge the archers. We take them
out as fast as we can, and force Bear to charge us.
Either he's on foot or he's forced to retreat and
mount. If Jackson, Maric, and the others can draw
off some of his riders, he'll be forced to reorganize
on the fly. Either he retreats and we keep
following, or he charges us piecemeal and gives us
the chance we need to finish him."
    "If he retreats?"
    "We follow and don't press until it's to our
advantage. As much as I want that murderous dog,
our mission is successful if we keep him from his
goal."
    "And that is?" asked the sergeant.
    "Widow's Peak above Haldon Head."
    The sergeant glanced around. "By my
reckoning, sir, that's where he's leading us."
    William said, "What?"
    Sergeant Hartag said, "Over that rise, to the
west, you'll find a trail that cuts over those peaks
and leads down into a woodland just east of Haldon
Head. It's less than two days' hard ride from here.
If we left now, we'd be there at sundown
tomorrow."
    "Damn," said William. "It's not on any maps
I've seen."
    The sergeant smiled. "Lots of things don't get
put on the royal maps, Will. Best to always ask
travelers when you can, or the lads who grew up in
the area."
   Thanks. I'll remember that."
   "So, what then?"
    "Then we don't let him get away." Will looked
around. "Surprise is all we have going for us. They
outnumber us, so if the fight goes badly, make for
the river below."
     Hartag said, "The river? Are you daft, Will?
Even if we could survive the fall, those rapids
below will drown a man quicker than—" "No. If we
start taking a beating, rally the men and head
south. If he's bound for Haldon Head, he will not
follow. We'll retreat to the portage we passed
yesterday, and build rafts. We can get to Haldon
Head before Bear if we use the river while he's
forced to rest his horses."
   "Ah," said the sergeant. "So you weren't
suggesting we jump from that cliff over there?"
   "Well, if it's that or be killed . . ."
   "Last resort, it is," said Hartag.
    William shaded his eyes as he surveyed their
surroundings once again. "How soon?"
    "Maric and the others should be in place now."
    "Pass orders. We form up and ride at a trot
until I give the command, then charge the left."
    "Understood."
    William waited while the men formed up, and
when everyone was in position, he took his place at
the head of the column. Glancing at Sergeant
Hartag, he half-whispered, "First time in my life I'm
wishing Captain Treggar was here."
    Hartag laughed. While Treggar was an above-
average officer, he had been a thorn in the side of
every other bachelor officer at the garrison since
before William's arrival, and while he and William
had come to a sort of understanding based on
mutual respect, he was still a tough man to be
around socially. The sergeant said, "Yes, despite
his crust, he's a man for a tight spot."
    "Well, as he's not here, it's my neck on the
chopping block. Ride!" The column moved forward
at a trot. William felt his stomach tighten and
forced himself to breathe slowly. As soon as he
heard the twang of a bowstring or sharp clatter of
metal upon metal, he knew he would lose his
edginess and achieve a state of mental clarity that
never failed to surprise him despite the many
battles in which he had fought. In the course of a
fight, chaos was the rule, and whatever plans he
had made always evaporated during the first
moment of contact with the enemy. Early on,
William had discovered that in battle he could
somehow sense how things were going and what
needed to be done. Despite his falling-out with his
father over his choice to leave the community of
magicians at Stardock and join the army, William
knew this was his true calling, the craft for which
he was particularly gifted. His horse snorted in
excitement, and William sent the animal calming,
reassuring thoughts. There were times when his
singular ability to speak mentally to animals had its
uses, he thought. When William's column reached
the lowest portion of the road, the two decoy riders
appeared above the crest. They made a show of
riding a few yards over the crest, being
"surprised," and turning to flee.
     William raised his arm and shouted, "Charge!"
But rather than follow the decoy riders up the
hillside, the men turned and charged across the
meadow. The meadow rose to a small flat area
before quickly dropping off. As William had
anticipated, about a dozen archers crouched on the
grass, ready to rise up and fire at William's men
from behind.
    Suddenly they had cavalry upon them and
while a few got shots off, most were ridden down
and killed before they could rally. William ordered
his men to form a line, then reined in his horse.
The orders were simple. Stand until the enemy
showed himself. As expected, Bear's reaction didn't
deviate much from what William had predicted. A
band of footmen raced from the trees and stood as
if ready to charge. William did a quick head-count
and saw that eighteen had been placed as bait.
That meant over thirty men on horses were waiting
just inside the woods. "Steady!" he commanded.
Bear's men stood in line and when it was apparent
they weren't going to be charged, they started
pounding their shields and taunting the
Krondorians.
   "Steady!" repeated William.
    The two sides stood facing one another for
long, tense minutes, and Hartag asked, "Should we
raise the stakes, Will?"
   "Do so," instructed the young officer.
     "Archers!" shouted Hartag, and a half-dozen
Krondorians switched weapons. "Draw and fire at
will; fire!" he commanded and the Krondorian
archers let loose their arrows. Six of Bear's men
fell. By the time the bowmen had nocked and
drawn their second set of arrows, the remaining
twelve mercenaries had turned and were in full
flight. They reached the trees and vanished into
the gloom. The bowmen let loose, but there were
no targets on the other side by the time the arrows
struck.
    "Shoulder those bows!" commanded Hartag.
The bowmen did as ordered, then drew swords and
hefted their shields.
    Silence fell. Bear and his men waited for the
Krondorians to charge; but William was determined
they would fight in the open.
    "What now?" asked one soldier nearby as they
waited. Hartag said, "We see who scratches their
ass first, my boy." William sat and wondered how
long they'd have to wait.
     Kendaric stood on the reef at Widow's Point,
looking at the mast of the ship Solon had
previously identified. He said, "Keep an eye out for
any more of those creatures who tried to stop us
last time." James pulled his sword and said, "Get
on with it." Kendaric tried his spell again, and again
it failed. He turned and said in frustration,
"Nothing. Something still blocks it."
    Jazhara shrugged. "As we suspected it would.
Hilda told us that the Vampire Lord was not the
ultimate evil."
   "Time is short. We need to find that cave,"
suggested Solon. They returned to the beach
behind the reef and found the cave with surprising
ease. It was shallow, only a dozen yards deep, and
the morning light from outside cut through the
gloom. At the rear of the cave they found a pattern
of stones. James pressed on one, experimentally,
and it moved. He listened. There was no sound,
"It's not mechanical," said James. "Which means
it's magic," said Jazhara. "And that means I don't
know how to pick this lock."
     "What next?" asked Kendaric. "We have the
hand and the artifact," said Solon. James
unshouldered his backpack and took out the
talisman and the vampire hand. He wrapped the
fingers of the dead hand around the charm and
raised it to the portal. He tried a half-dozen
combinations of pressure and patterns, and finally
put it down. "Hilda didn't tell us everything," James
observed as he replaced the items in his backpack.
    "But she did tell us to return," Jazhara
reminded him. "Let's go ask her," said James. He
reshouldered his pack and stood up.
    The walk up to the top of the point took less
than a half-hour. Hilda was waiting for them when
they reached the hut. "Got the vampire, did you?"
she asked.
    "Yes," said James. "How did you know?"
     "It didn't take magic, boy. If you hadn't gotten
him, he'd have gotten you and you wouldn't be
standing here." She turned and said, "Come in and
listen."
    They followed, and once inside the old woman
said, "Give me the hand." James opened his
backpack and gave her the creature's hand. She
took a large iron skillet from a hook above the fire
and placed the vampire's hand in it. Thrusting it
into the flames, she said, "This is the unpleasant
part."
    The flesh of the creature's hand shriveled and
blackened, then a putrid blue flame sprang up
around it. In a few moments, only blackened bones
remained.
   She pulled the pan out and set it on the stone
hearth. "Let it cool for a moment."
    "Can you tell us something of what we face?"
asked Jazhara. Hilda looked grim. "That is why I
didn't tell you about the need to reduce the
creature's hand to ash. That is why I didn't give
you the pattern of the lock." She looked from face
to face. "You are about to face a great evil and I
had to know you are worthy. Your defeat of the
Vampire Lord shows that you have the necessary
determination and bravery. But you face a far
worse foe."
      "For many years I've known the Black Pearl
Temple was under the cliffs. I have never been
able to see inside, except by my arts. And what
little of that I can see is evil beyond imagining."
    "What 'great evil' do you speak of?" asked
Solon. "Where to start?" asked Hilda rhetorically.
"The sailors who've died offshore, and there have
been many, have never known true rest. Instead,
their souls are enslaved to whatever dark power
rules in the temple. I can feel its presence, like a
great eye. It was closed for years, but now it is
open and it is watching this area." James thought
about the battle at Sethanon, when the false
prophet of the moredhel, Murmandamus, captured
the dying energy of his servants to fuel his attempt
to seize the Lifestone under Sethanon. "So we can
assume that this plan—whatever it is," he added
quickly, so as not to inadvertently mention the
recovery of the Tear to Hilda, "has been under way
for a great deal of time."
     "Assuredly," said Hilda. She stood and moved
over to her chest, opened it and retrieved an
artifact. "But the eye didn't know that it was being
watched." She held out a long, slender object, a
wand or stick seemingly fashioned from frosty
crystal. "I dared use this but once, and I have put
it away since in anticipation of this moment. I
caution you, what you see may be disturbing."
     She waved the object in the air and intoned a
spell, and suddenly a rift appeared in the air before
them, black, but somehow with the suggestion of
color within. Then an image sprang to life, and they
could see the interior of a cavern. An ornate mirror
hung on a stone wall. They could see a figure
approaching, reflected in the mirror before them,
and Jazhara and Solon both muttered quiet oaths.
The figure was one James had seen before, or
rather its like, a long-dead priest or magician,
animated by the black arts. He had faced such a
one as this under the ancient abandoned Keshian
fortress in the south of the Kingdom months
before, and knew that there was a link between
what had been discovered there and what was
occurring now. The figure waved a bony hand and
the image of a man appeared in the mirror. The
man was hawk-beaked, with eyes that seemed to
possess a burning black fire. His pate was bald,
and he let his long gray hair flow down around his
shoulders. He wore clothing of nondescript fashion,
looking as much like a merchant as anything else.
Then they heard the voice of the undead magician.
    "They come," he said.
    The man in the mirror asked, "Is the guildsman
with them?" "As planned. They will be sacrificed at
dawn. Do you have the amulet?" "No," answered
the man. "My pawn still has it."
    The undead creature said, "You held it, but it
was the voice of our god that filled it with power. It
has chosen another, just as it chose you over me."
    The man in the mirror evidenced irritation at
that comment. "But he is not worthy of the power."
    "Nevertheless, without the amulet, we cannot
proceed."
    "I will find him. And when I do . . ."
    Suddenly the image shifted and there upon the
rocks of Widow's Point a gathering of creatures
from the lowest depths of hell stood arrayed.
James could barely resist the urge to speak, for he
recognized some of these creatures, but others
were even more fearsome and powerful. Finally, he
whispered, "Who is that?"
    Hilda said, "A mage of most puissant and dark
powers, boy. I know not his name, but I know his
handiwork, and he is allied with forces even darker
than those you see in the image. Watch and learn."
The man turned to face the assembled creatures,
and James's eyes widened as he saw his own body
lying on the rocks, his chest torn open as if by a
great hand. Nearby lay Solon and Jazhara. Still
alive but bound like a calf to the slaughter,
Kendaric struggled against his ropes. A massive
amulet with a blood-red ruby hung from a chain
around the man's neck. And in one hand he held a
long blade of black. In the other he held a huge
stone of ice blue. Solon whispered, "The Tear!"
With a single motion, the magician knelt and cut
into Kendaric's chest, then plunged his hand into
the cavity and ripped out Kendaric's heart. Holding
the still-beating organ, he dripped blood over the
Tear as the magician turned to show it to the
demons. The Tear's color changed from ice blue to
blood red and the throng shouted in triumph.
Suddenly, the picture vanished.
   Hilda said, "Don't let these visions overwhelm
you."
    Kendaric sounded on the edge of hysteria. "But
they're going to kill me! Us!"
     Hilda said, "They're going to try, boy. But the
future is not set in stone. And evil is most adept at
seeing what it wants to see. That's its weakness. It
doesn't anticipate the possibility of failure. And now
you do; and more, you know the price of your
failure." "Then these visions . . . ?" asked Jazhara.
"Serve as a warning. You now know more about
your enemy, and what he plans, than he does
about you. He knows you seek to recover the Tear
of the Gods—"
    Solon's hand dropped to his warhammer. "How
do you know this, woman?" Hilda waved her hand
dismissively. "You are not the only ones who know
how the universe plays, Ishapian. I was old before
your grandmother was born and if the gods are
kind, I'll live until your grandchildren die. But if I
do not, I will have been a servant of good in my
own way, and that contents me. Perhaps it is my
fate only to be here to teach you, and after you
succeed or fail, I will end my days. I do not know.
But I do know that should you fail, I will not be
alone in meeting a terrible ending."
     "Always remember, visions are potent magic,
but even the best of visions is only an illusion, a
reflection of possibilities. You still can change your
future. And you must!" She rose. "Now go, for time
is short and there is much you must do. That
creature you saw is called a liche in the old tongue.
He is alive by the most powerful and blackest arts.
He will lead you to whatever it is that prevents you
from raising the ship. You must find him, destroy
him, and end the plague that causes sailors to be
entombed in their drowned vessels, servants of
darkness to walk the night, and old women to have
bad dreams. And you must do so before the other
appears, for he is even more dangerous, I judge,
and for him to have that amulet . . . well, you saw
what he plans." Hilda stood and walked over to the
now-cool skillet.
    "Brother Solon, the talisman, if you please."
    Solon took the pouch from inside his tunic. At
Hilda's instruction, he held open the sack as the old
woman positioned a small silver funnel over the
pouch's mouth and poured the ashen remains of
the vampire hand into the bag. Taking the pouch
from Solon, Hilda retied the strings, murmured a
brief incantation, and shook the bag before
handing it back to the monk.
    "Now," she said, "you have the key to the
temple. To use it, you must make the following
pattern at the rock-face door." She traced a
pattern in the air, a simple weaving of four
movements. "Then the door should open."
    Jazhara said, "Please show us again."
    Hilda repeated the pattern and James and
Jazhara both nodded. Jazhara took the old
woman's hand. "You are truly amazing. You are a
storehouse of wisdom." She glanced around.
"When I first entered this place, I was astonished
by your knowledge of medicinal and magical herbs
and plants. Now I see you have much more to
offer. I will return when we are done and tell you of
Stardock. It would profit the world for you to join
the community there and share your wisdom."
    The old woman smiled, but there was a shadow
of doubt in her eyes. "First return, girl. Then we'll
talk."
    Jazhara nodded and then followed the others
outside.
    The old woman watched them retreat. When
they had at last vanished into the trees, she moved
back to the fire, for she felt a chill, in spite of the
warmth of the sun.
     "Now!" William shouted, pointing to the tree-
line. As one, his men spurred on their horses and
charged the riders who were thundering out of the
woods. It had taken nearly an hour for Bear to run
out of patience and now William felt he had a
chance, since they were fighting on open ground.
He might be outnumbered, but he knew his men
were better armed and trained. As the Krondorians
charged across the road, William prayed silently
that his eight raiders at the rear of Bear's men
were distracting them enough to divide their
forces. "Keep the line! Watch your flanks!" shouted
Sergeant Hartag, and the Krondorians pointed their
swords, keeping their bucklers ready to block, their
reins lashing the necks of their mounts, as they
urged their horses on.
     William's world turned to a blur of images. As it
always did in combat, he found his attention
focused on one thing and one thing only: the man
before him. A rider came in, rising up in his
stirrups, his sword high to come down hard at
William's head or shoulders. In a fluid motion,
William leaned to the right, raised his left arm
above his head, and let his buckler deflect the
blow, while his own short-sword slashed at the
rider's right leg. The man cried out and then
William was past him.
     William didn't know if the man had kept his
seat or fallen, and he didn't look to see. For in front
of him another rider was charging toward him, and
in an instant the first rider was forgotten. This man
came in from William's left side, giving the young
officer an easy block, but making a counter-strike
with the short-sword difficult. For an instant,
William appreciated the Keshian's use of the
scimitar, with its long curved blade, or even the
Eastern Kingdoms' saber for fighting on horseback.
A longer, lighter blade would serve better now.
     William let the thought slip away as he timed
his response. At the last instant, he ducked under
the blow, instead of blocking it, and wheeled his
horse about, then spurred it on after the rider who
had just passed. The man was bearing down on a
dismounted Krondorian soldier when William
overtook him. A single blow from behind and the
man was unseated, tumbling hard to the ground
and rolling to his death at the hands of the soldier
he had been attempting to ride down just seconds
before.
    Suddenly William's luck took a turn for the
worse. His horse screamed and he felt it going out
from under him. Without thinking, he kicked loose
of his stirrups and let the horse's momentum throw
him from the saddle. He let go of his short-sword,
but gripped his buckler tightly. He tucked in his
chin and tried to roll on his left shoulder, using the
buckler as a point of leverage, unable to use his
shoulders because of the long-sword in the sheath
across his back. The roll brought him to his feet
behind a mercenary who was fighting one of
William's men. William bashed the man with his
buckler, letting the other soldier kill him. In a flash
he secured his buckler to his belt, then reached
over his shoulder and drew his long-sword,
ignoring the sting from his protesting, bruised
muscles. William laid about him with two-handed
efficiency. As always, the world contracted around
him as he concentrated on staying alive. But
through it all he still had a sense of the flow of
battle and he knew things were not going well.
    A squad of Bear's horsemen emerged from the
woods, bloodied and looking over their shoulders.
The eight raiders at the rear of the struggle had
obviously done some damage, but now the battle
was about to swing Bear's way.
    William cut down a mercenary before him, and
then stood still for a second. He sent one image
with all his strength at the charging horses: Lion!
    He attempted to mimic the loud roar of the
great lions of the northern forest and suggested
the scent of the hunter on the wind. The horses
went crazy, bucking and snorting, several throwing
their riders.
     William turned and started hacking at another
opponent. Moments later, he realized that the
mercenaries were fleeing. William spun full circle
and saw his men either chasing those who were
running or converging on the single knot of Bear's
men who held fast and continued to fight. William
felt a rush of exultation. The battle was on the
verge of being won. And he now knew where his
enemy stood. He ran forward, eager to engage
Talia's murderer, to dispense vengeance.
    As he closed on him, something caused his hair
to stand on end, and he recognized that magic was
in play. He recalled his experience as a boy at
Stardock and instantly knew that his anticipation of
victory had been premature.
    A Krondorian staggered toward William, blood
running down his face. "William!" the man cried as
he fell to his knees. "He's immune to our
weapons!" Then he collapsed.
    William saw other men falling away. Bear's
companions had no such immunity, and by the
time William reached the conflict, Bear stood alone.
Like his namesake creature brought to bay, Bear
stood defiantly, surrounded by a circle of six
Krondorian soldiers. "You call that an attack!" he
shouted in defiance.
    Chills ran down William's spine when he saw
one of his men strike Bear from behind, only to see
the blade of the sword glance off his back as if he
wore invisible armor. Bear deftly reversed his
sword, and stabbed backward, gutting the soldier.
His one good eye was wide with madness. He
laughed as if it were all a child's game. "Who's the
next to die?" he shouted.
    While Bear's sword was reversed, one
Krondorian took the opportunity to lunge at him,
but the blade glanced off his arm without leaving a
mark. Bear didn't even bother to pull his sword
from the dying man behind him; he simply kicked
the man in front of him in the face, sending him
sprawling. "You puny excuse for a soldier! You
wouldn't last a day in my company!"
    William spied the amulet around Bear's neck.
He saw the red stone in the center aglow with a
bloody light and knew that was where Bear's power
came from. William grabbed the shoulder of one of
his men. "Get to his right side and distract him!" he
ordered. William's plan was desperate, but he could
see it was his only choice; somehow he had to get
that amulet off Bear's neck. William looked as if he
was hesitating, and at that moment the other
soldier struck at Bear. Despite being invulnerable,
Bear had human reflexes and he turned toward the
blow. At once, William thrust with his long-sword
rather than cutting, but instead of trying to skewer
the man he attempted to get the point of his sword
under the heavy chain around Bear's neck. The
links of the chain were large enough that William
hoped he could flip the amulet like this, and then
take great pleasure in killing him.
    Instead, Bear reacted with unnatural speed,
reaching out and grabbing the heavy blade. Shock
ran up William's arms as the blade froze as if stuck
in a vise. With an evil smile and a mocking laugh,
Bear looked at William. "Smart one, are you?"
    Ignoring the frantic attacks by William's men
on his back and side, Bear moved toward William,
forcing him to retreat or let go of his sword.
     William released the hilt of his sword and dove
for Bear's legs. He tackled the man at mid-thigh,
and lifted. Bear's own momentum added to
William's lift and sent the huge pirate flying over
William's shoulders. "Pile on him!" William
commanded. Instantly a half-dozen soldiers
obeyed, leaping atop Bear and attempting to pin
him to the ground.
    "Get that amulet off his neck!" William
shouted. Men clawed frantically at the chain as
William ran around to try and seize the amulet. The
pile of men heaved, but with unbelievable power
Bear rose up, shaking the men from his back as a
father might his playful children. He slapped
William's hand away and shouted, "Enough!"
    With evil glee, Bear reached out with his right
hand and crushed the throat of one man near him,
while smashing the skull of another with a
backhanded blow from his left. William stepped
back, his eyes wide with shock as Bear
systematically killed every man within reach. The
remaining two men backed away from behind Bear,
and William shouted, "Run!"
     They needed no second command and turned
to flee. Now Bear faced William. He took one step
toward the young officer. William feigned a move
to his left, but then leapt to his right; Bear
countered the move, staying between William and
the road.
    Suddenly William knew he had no other choice.
Bear had been playing with his men the entire
time. They had routed his mercenaries, but he
himself was invulnerable, and he had lured them
close enough to kill as many as possible with his
bare hands.
   William turned and ran straight for the cliffs.
Bear hesitated, then gave chase. William didn't
look behind him, for he knew even a half-step
could be the difference between escape and death.
A leap off the cliffs would give him a chance, albeit
a very slim one. Reaching the edge of the cliffs
William resisted the urge to slow and look down.
Trusting to blind chance, he ran off the cliffs,
kicking out as far out as possible, hoping he could
hit the deepest part of the river below, a fall of
nearly one hundred feet, for otherwise the rocks
would surely kill him.
    The fall seemed to last forever, with Bear's
curses ringing in his ears. Then William struck the
water and crashed into darkness.


                       SIXTEEN
                       Temple
    James hesitated.
     He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded
to himself. The pattern he had discovered in the
rock face matched with what he remembered Hilda
telling him. He took the ash-covered artifact and
touched each plate in sequence, then waited. They
felt a low rumbling through the soles of their feet,
then a section of the wall moved back, and slid to
the left. James took out a torch and lit it.
    They moved slowly into a dark entrance hall. It
appeared to be carved out of the stones of the cliff,
a rough tunnel somewhat resembling an
abandoned mineshaft.
    "Wait," James said as they went through. He
watched the door, silently counting. After a little
more than one minute, it slid shut. He examined
the wall around the door and found the release
mechanism. He tripped it and the door slid open.
Then he motioned for them to continue to wait and
counted again. At approximately the same interval
as before, it shut. James knelt and put the artifact
back into his pack. "Just in case there's another
lock down the passage."
    Kendaric said, "Well, it's good to know we can
get through there in a hurry without it, if need be."
    "Agreed," said Solon.
    They started to walk slowly down the corridor,
two abreast. James and Jazhara were in the lead,
Solon and Kendaric close behind them. After
traveling a hundred yards, Solon said, "Hold a
moment." He pointed to a spot on the wall and said
to James, "Hold your torch there."
    James did so and Solon inspected the wall.
"This tunnel is ancient," he said. "Centuries old. It
was carved out of the rock long before the
Kingdom came to these shores."
    "How do you know?" asked Kendaric.
   "You spend your boyhood with dwarven lads,
you pick up a thing or two about mining."
    "But these tracks aren't old," James said as he
turned his attention to the ground beneath them.
    Kendaric looked down. "What tracks?"
    James pointed to odd bits of sand and mud at
various intervals. "There's no dust, but these bits
are fresh, no doubt from boots that have been past
here recently." He peered into the darkness ahead.
"Keep alert."
   Kendaric said, "As if you need to tell us,
Squire."
    They proceeded slowly, and moved deeper into
the cliffs below Widow's Point.
     They walked in tense silence for ten minutes
until they reached a portal that opened into a large
chamber that they entered with caution. The
firelight from James's torch cast eerie shadows on
the rough-hewn rock walls. Solon's hand flew
reflexively to the hilt of his warhammer when he
spied the first skeleton. Nine niches had been
carved into the walls at intervals around the
chamber. In each stood a skeleton wearing an
ornate suit of armor; all had weapons and shields
at their sides. A complex set of symbols had been
carved into the stone floor, just deep enough to be
seen in the flickering torchlight, without fully
revealing their pattern. As best as James could
judge, the chamber was nearly thirty feet in height,
a vast half-circle dominated by the far wall. As they
approached the wall, its bas-relief design was
revealed.
    "Gods!" Kendaric whispered.
    Creatures of nightmare were depicted in
myriad ways, many of them involved with humans,
frequently being sacrificed. The depravity of the
scenes was abundantly clear.
    Solon said, "Hike yer torch up, laddie!" in the
thickest brogue they'd heard so far.
     James lifted his torch to throw more
illumination as they neared the wall.
    "Abide!" instructed Solon, as he reached out
toward Jazhara. "Lass, another brand! Hurry!"
Jazhara unwrapped a torch and handed it to the
monk, who lit it from the one James held. He
handed it to Kendaric and said, "Stand ye over
there!" pointing to the left.
    "What?"
    "Ah said, stand over there, y stone-crowned
loon."
    Solon took another pair of torches from
Jazhara and lit them. He gave a torch to Jazhara,
and instructed her to stand over to the right. He
raised a torch himself and walked forward. As he
did so, the entire panorama of the carvings was
revealed.
    "By the Holy Saints and Heroes of Ishap," he
whispered.
    "What is it?" asked James.
    "Ya see the center, lad?" Solon pointed to a
blank area that looked like a round window, around
which the most horrible of the creatures knelt in
worship.
    "Yes," James said, "it's empty."
   "Nay, 'tis not empty, m'friend. It's occupied by
somethin' ye canna see."
    Solon paced back and forth along the wall,
stopping occasionally to study closely one detail or
another. Finally, he wedged his torch into a pile of
rocks, and motioned to the others that they could
lower their arms.
    "What is this all about?" asked Kendaric. Solon
fixed each of his companions in turn with an
unsmiling stare. "You must all remember what I
say now. Engrave it upon your memories as you
have nothing else in your lives." He turned and
pointed to the wall. "This wall tells the history of a
very cruel time." He stopped, and took a deep
breath. "It is taught in the Temple that after the
Chaos Wars, a period of great darkness descended
upon parts of the world, as the forces of good and
evil fought for a balance. Places like this have been
found before, homes to demons and other ill-
natured creatures, beings not of this world which
must be banished whenever they are
encountered."
    "This wall tells a story. The details are not
important. What is important, and what must be
conveyed to my temple, is the news of this place,
the very fact of its existence. No matter what else
occurs, there are two things that we absolutely
must do. "First, we must return to tell my order so
that they can cleanse it and seal it for all time.
And, whatever else you may forget, you must
remember to describe what you call the 'empty
window,' and to tell the High Priest that I was
certain it was the work of those who follow the
Nameless."
    "The Nameless?" asked Kendaric. "Who is
that?"
    "If fate is kind to you, lad," said Solon, "you
will never know."
    He glanced around. "Though I fear that fate is
being anything but kind to us now."
     "You said there were two things," observed
James. "What's the other?" "That we must not fail
in fetching home the Tear of the Gods. For not only
would its loss prove crippling to us, I now know
why it is being sought and by whom."
    "Why?" asked Jazhara.
     Pointing to the blank space on the wall, Solon
said, "To open a portal much like that one, and
should that portal ever be opened, woe beyond
imagining will fall upon us. No human, elf, or
dwarf—not even the Dark Brothers, goblins, or
trolls nothing mortal will be able to withstand it.
The mightiest of priests and magicians will be
swept away like chaff before the wind. Even the
lesser gods will tremble." He pointed to the
carvings showing inhuman creatures eating or
raping humans and added, "And such would be the
fate of the survivors. We would be as cattle, raised
for their appetites."
    Kendaric's face drained of color.
    James said, "You faint again and I'll leave you
here."
     Kendaric took a deep breath and said, "I'll be
all right. Let's just get on with this and find
whatever is blocking my magic." They moved to a
large pair of closed doors to their left. "They're
locked," James said as he inspected them, and
pointed to a pattern of jewels set in the door.
    "Can you open it?" asked Kendaric.
    "I can try," said James. He inspected the
device then said, "It's a . . . magical lock, I think."
He swore. "Those are always the worst."
    "Why?" asked Kendaric.
     "Because," said James, "mechanical locks only
stick poison needles in your thumb or blow up with
a fireball if you make a mistake. I once had to open
one that shot a nasty blade out that would cut your
hand off if you didn't move it in time, but magic
locks can do . . . anything."
    Kendaric stepped back. "Are you sure you want
to be . . . fiddling with this?"
    "I'm open to other suggestions," said James
impatiently. He studied the lock closely. "There are
six gems. And six holes with a faint color around
them. Something that looks like a ruby, and a red
hole. A green gem and a green hole." He leaned in
toward the doors, almost putting his nose to the
lock. "There are tiny mirrors around the edge." He
sat back on his heels. He touched a small white
gem in the middle. Suddenly light shot out in six
spokes. "Oh, damn!" he said.
    He began frantically to move the tiny mirrors
around the edge of the circular lock.
    "What is it?" asked Kendaric.
    Jazhara said, "I think James has to move each
gem and mirror so that the light moves through
the gem, changes color, and is reflected into the
right hole."
    James said nothing, as he desperately tried to
do just that.
    "What's the problem?"
    Jazhara said, "Given James's concentration on
the problem, I suspect there may be a limit on how
much time one can spend on it." James was about
to move the sixth mirror-gem combination when
suddenly the light went out.
    Nothing happened.
    Then from behind them came a sound.
   Solon had his warhammer raised and James his
sword out by the time they turned.
   Within all nine niches, the skeletal warriors
were picking up their weapons and shields and
stepping down to the floor.
   "This is bad," Kendaric whispered.
   William lay in darkness.
     His last memory had been of striking the water
and being swept along by the raging currents, then
hitting his head against a rock. He stood up and
found himself dry. He looked at his hands and
down at his body and saw no wound. He tentatively
touched his face and head and felt no injury. No
soreness or ache, not even a cut or bruise. For a
moment he wondered if he was dead and was
somewhere inside Lims-Kragma's Hall.
   "William!"
    He spun and found that he was standing inside
the Rainbow Parrot. Before him, Bear held Talia by
the throat, shaking her as a terrier shakes a rat.
The huge man tossed her aside and she slammed
hard against the wall. Her attacker hurried off
through the door leading to the rear of the inn.
    William attempted to move toward the girl, but
something held his feet in place. I'm dreaming, he
thought.
    A pillar of flame erupted around Talia and she
rose up from the floor screaming in agony.
Creatures of flame, demons with animal heads,
appeared and surrounded Talia's flame-prison.
"William!" she screamed. Suddenly he found he
could move. He was wearing armor and carrying a
sword of blinding light. He struck the first demon
from behind and it shrieked in pain.
     All the creatures turned as one and began to
move in concert against William, who stood
resolute, refusing to concede a foot to them, and
laid about with his sword. But for each one he cut,
another took its place. Hot talons struck at his
shield and armor. He felt pain and heat, yet the
armor remained intact. He found that his arm was
tiring and his legs were growing shaky, but he
continued to stand fast and deal out injury with
every thrust.
     After a seemingly endless time, his lungs were
fit to burst and he had to will each blow as if
commanding an unwilling servant; his arms and
legs were so reluctant to obey him. Yet the demons
continued to press him, and an increasing number
of their blows were getting through. Still he could
see no damage to his armor and no wounds were
visible on his body, though he could still feel each
talon and fang, feel the searing heat of their touch
on his flesh. They bore him back and he felt
despair engulf him, but each time he thought it
impossible to continue, Talia's pleading voice would
reach him: "William! Save me! William, help me!"
    He raised his arm again, the pain threatening
to overwhelm him, and unleashed another blow.
    Slowly the tide turned. A demon fell, and no
other appeared. He turned his pain-racked body to
attack the next creature about its head and
shoulders till it was gone.
    As each creature fell, renewed hope rose up
within William and he drove himself onward.
Depths of strength he did not realize existed within
him were plumbed, and he struck, again and again.
Then suddenly the last demon was gone. He
stumbled, barely able to put one foot before the
other. Somehow, he reached the tower of flame
trapping Talia. She stood there calmly, smiling at
him.
   His parched lips parted and in a voice as dry as
sand he said "Talia?"
     When he reached out to touch the flames, they
vanished. The girl he loved hung suspended in the
air and her smile was radiant. Softly, William said,
"We did it, Talia. It's over."
     A rumble arose around them and the Rainbow
Parrot's taproom shattered like a mirror, the shards
falling away into nothing. They stood facing one
another in a featureless black void.
    William reached out to touch Talia, but before
his hand could reach her cheek, a voice boomed
out: "No, son of conDoin. Though you have freed
Talia's soul from being consumed, your part in this
has only begun."
     Talia looked at William and her lips were
motionless, but he could still hear her dying
declaration in his mind. "I swear by Kahooli I will
have my vengeance!" The deep voice came again:
"I am Kahooli, God of Vengeance, and your
dedication calls to me. Because of your dedication I
will answer this woman's dying prayer. You will not
be alone in what lies ahead of you."
    Talia began to fade before his eyes. William
reached for her, but his fingers passed through her
image, as if through smoke. Weeping, he cried,
"Talia, please stay!"
    Talia's eyes also shed tears as she spoke in a
voice like a whispering breeze. "Say goodbye to
me, please . . ."
    At the last instant before she became
insubstantial, William whispered, "Goodbye, my
love."
     Suddenly, his body was racked with agony and
his lungs burned as if on fire. He rolled over,
retching as water spilled from his lungs. Coughing,
he felt strong hands help him to sit upright. He
blinked and cleared his vision. He was drenched in
water, wearing the armor he had worn when facing
Bear, not the mystical plate he had worn when
facing the demons.
    A face swam before him, slowly coming into
focus. A hawk-beaked man with intense eyes
regarded him.
    After a moment, William said, "I know you!"
"Yes, my young friend," said the man, sitting back
on his heels upon the riverbank, watching William.
"You are that young officer I met some weeks ago,
escorting some dignitary from a foreign land on a
hunt, if I recall. My name is Sidi."
   "I saw you floating in the river, and since it is
unusual to see a lad swimming in armor, I deduced
you were in some need of aid. It appears that I
was correct."
     Glancing around, William asked, "Where am I?"
"On the banks of the river, obviously." Pointing
downstream, Sidi added, "That way lies a town
called Haldon Head and beyond it, the sea."
    William looked around again. They were in a
stretch of woodlands, and there was little to be
seen nearby save trees. "What were you doing
here?"
    "I was looking for someone."
    "Who?"
    "A murderous butcher, one who goes by the
name of Bear." William felt the fuzziness in his
head start to clear. "It's good you didn't find him,
then. I came upon him with thirty Krondorian
regulars and he routed us all by himself."
    "The amulet," said Sidi. He nodded to himself.
At last, he said, "Come, we'll talk as we walk."
    "You know of the amulet?" asked William.
    "As I told you when last we met, I am a trader,
a trafficker in rare and valuable objects as well as
more mundane goods. That amulet is a particularly
ancient and valuable artifact. Unfortunately,
besides offering the wearer significant power, it
also has a tendency to drive him mad. It was
intended to be kept in the possession of a magician
of great art and intelligence, not a brute like Bear."
    "How did he come by it?"
     Sidi glanced sidelong at William. "How he got it
is immaterial. How we're going to get it back is the
question."
    "We?"
    "As you observed, if thirty-one young soldiers
could not best Bear, how could I, a lone old man,
hope to do so?" Then he smiled. "But you and I
together . . ." He let the sentence trail off. "'You
will not be alone in what lies ahead of you,' he
said," William muttered.
    "What?"
    William looked at him. "I think I was told that
you would help me." William glanced down at
himself, then over at his companion. "Given I'm
without weapons—"
     "That amulet is just as impervious to weapons
as it is to magic, so any attack upon Bear must be
by misdirection and stealth. But I have resources,
my young friend. Just get me close to Bear and I'll
help you retrieve the amulet. You take him away to
justice and I'll return the bauble to its rightful
owner."
     "I don't know if I can promise that, sir,"
William said.
     "Everything we recover will have to be sent to
Krondor for the Prince's examination. If you have a
claim on the item, and the Prince judges it not to
be a threat to his domain, then you may petition
for its return."
    Sidi smiled. "That's a matter for later
consideration. Our first objective is to get it from
Bear. Once we have removed him from the picture,
then we can discuss the final disposition of the
amulet. Come, we must hurry. Time grows short
and Bear will almost certainly reach Haldon Head
before we do."
    William shook his head to clear it. There was
something he felt he must ask this man, but he
couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. But
whatever else, he was right about one thing: Bear
must be stopped and to do so would require
removing the amulet from him.
     Jazhara lowered her staff and held up her
hand. A ball of crimson light sprang from her palm
and played on the closest skeleton-warrior as if
from a lantern. The creature hesitated, then began
to tremble. Solon held up his warhammer high with
one hand, and with the other inscribed a pattern in
the air while he cast an incantation. Two of the
warriors hesitated, then turned as if to put as much
distance as possible between them and the monk.
    There were still six figures approaching. Solon
charged, lashing out with his warhammer. The first
warrior he attacked deftly blocked with his shield.
His blow rang out and the cavern echoed with the
sound. The battle was joined. The skeleton Jazhara
had cast a spell upon lay on the floor twitching and
shivering. She turned her attention to the rest
coming closer. Shifting her staff, she lashed out,
but with unexpected speed the skeletal warrior
blocked the blow with his shield and slashed at her
with a long curved sword. She barely had time to
dodge backward. Suddenly she realized that the
wall was only a few feet behind her. Getting pinned
there would be a trap. So she began to slip to her
right, attempting to gain herself as much room in
which to maneuver as possible.
     Kendaric tried to be resolute, but as soon as
the skeleton-warrior facing him struck out, he fell
to the floor and rolled. His foot caught the warrior's
ankle and the creature lost its balance, toppling
over. Kendaric lashed out with his boot and it felt
as if he had struck iron, but he was rewarded with
a cracking sound. He rolled to his feet as another
warrior slashed down and he barely avoided being
decapitated. Trying to run, he slammed into
another warrior, knocking it backward. He
rebounded off it and again fell to the floor. This
time he fell across the back of the legs of the
creature facing Solon.
    The skeleton-warrior fell forward and Solon
smashed down with his hammer, shattering its
skull. The skeleton twitched and was still; then its
bones fell apart.
    Kendaric turned and scrambled forward on his
knees, over the now-loose bones. Solon looked on
in amusement. He said, "You're an ambulatory
disaster disguised as a man, but at least this time
you're causin' them more annoyance than us." He
bashed another skeleton-warrior with his
warhammer, sending it backward, then reached
down and hauled Kendaric to his feet by the collar.
"Now, go see if you can trip up another one without
getting yourself killed. That's a good lad." He gave
Kendaric a push and smashed at the shield of the
nearest warrior.
     James dueled with another spectral creature
and found it no match for his swordsmanship. But
the problem was inflicting damage. His rapier
would slide off the bones and occasionally nick
them, but there was nothing to hit. He was bound
to tire eventually, and then the creature would
surely injure him.
    James glanced over and saw that Jazhara had
successfully gotten herself some distance from the
foe she faced, while another creature crept up on
her from behind.
    "Look out behind you!" he called to her.
    She turned and ducked as a sword slashed
through the air, and, with a deft blow, got her staff
between the warrior's feet. The thing went to the
floor literally with a bone- rattling crash. James had
an idea. "Get them on the floor!" he shouted. "Trip
them!" Jazhara reversed her staff one more time
and tangled the feet of the creature that had first
been stalking her, sending it clattering to the floor.
James feigned high, then went low. He dove
between the creature's legs, grabbing them one in
each hand, then stood up, toppling the creature
behind him. Instantly, he turned and leapt into the
air, landing on the creature's skull with all his
weight. A shock ran up his legs as if he had jumped
upon hard rock, but he heard a satisfying crunch
and felt the bones break beneath his boots.
Kendaric scrambled like a crab, ducking under
blows and rolling from side to side. Jazhara
followed James's example and crushed the skull of
one warrior with her staff while the second sought
to regain its feet.
    James hurried to where Jazhara stood and
kicked at the rear of the creature's legs, and she
brought her staff down with a savage blow. James
looked around the chamber. "Three down."
   "Four," she said, as Solon crushed the skull of
another warrior. "Let's work together!" James
shouted.
    "How?" Kendaric cried as he ducked under
another savage sword-blow, blindly waving his own
weapon above his head as if it would somehow
dissuade the creature's attack. He scrambled away
from the warrior that was pressing him, right into
the path of another. With a terrified squeak of
alarm he jumped to his feet, and fell backward into
a third, knocking it down before Solon. Jazhara
tripped another, enabling James to smash its skull,
while Solon finished the one that Kendaric had
tripped. Soon it was quiet, and the only skeletal
warriors left were the two still trying to escape
from Solon's magic. Jazhara dispatched them with
her crimson flames, and at last they had a chance
to catch their breath.
   "My gods!" Kendaric said. "That was too much.
What more is there to expect?"
    "Worse," said James, turning his attention back
to the lock. "Almost certainly, there will be worse."
He studied the arrangement of gems, mirrors, and
holes, and said, "A moment of quiet, please." He
pressed the center of the lock and the light
erupted. With deft precision, he moved the gems
and mirrors swiftly into place. When the last, a
topaz-like gem, threw a yellow light into a yellow
hole, they heard a click followed by deep rumbling,
and the doors swung wide. The area before them
was vast, and they could smell sea salt as the
scent of water reached them. Moving forward, they
saw two immense pools, providing narrow
walkways on either side or between the two.
    "We have to go there?" asked Kendaric.
    "You see another route, laddie?" asked Solon.
    James hesitated, then said, "Wait."
    He took off his pack and unbuckled it,
removing the artifact that had got them through
the outside door.
    "I think it might be wise to have this handy."
    They set off down the center walkway and
when they reached a point halfway between the
doors and a distant wall, two pairs of enormous
tentacles rose up from the water on either side of
them. Kendaric let out a yelp of terror, but James
merely held the artifact high above his head.
     The tentacles stood poised, as if ready to
strike. They quivered in anticipation, but they
didn't attack.
    Jazhara whispered, "How did you know?"
    "I didn't," James replied. "I guessed."
    Solon looked over his shoulder as they moved
out of striking range of the tentacles, which then
slipped back down into the brine. "Good thing, lad.
Those would crush us like bugs."
    James said nothing, leading them deeper into
the darkness.


                   SEVENTEEN
                    Black Pearl
    Kendaric pointed.
    "What is that?"
    Solon whispered, "It looks like a temple, albeit
more of a pit of black madness, and unless I'm
mistaken these are archives."
     They were entering another vast chamber, full
of floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with rolled
parchments and ancient leather-bound tomes.
Above them, a series of suspended walkways
vanished into the gloom. Light from an occasional
torch broke the darkness of the room, while
sconces in the wall and torch-brackets on the
shelves themselves remained empty. James
observed, "If they used it, it would be better lit.
Those torches are placed only to help people
navigate through this vault."
    They were warned of someone's approach by
the sound of boots upon stone, and James led
them away from the lights, behind some shelves.
Peeking between scrolls piled upon the shelves,
they saw a small company of goblins hurry by.
   After the goblins had vanished, James said,
"Well, now we know those raiders were not just
coming down from the mountains."
    "What are goblins doing here?" asked Kendaric.
"Establishing a base, I'll wager," said Solon. "This
temple is huge and must have barracks. The
goblins must be there."
    James waited for a moment, and said, "What I
don't understand is how all the recent troubles in
Krondor fit in with this, now?"
     "Maybe they don't," observed Jazhara. "From
what you told me, there is a connection between
this Crawler and his plans to take over the
underground in Krondor, and whoever is behind
this attempt to steal the Tear of the Gods, but it
may be they are partial allies, nothing more."
    James said, "I wonder if I'll ever plumb the
depths of this mystery." He looked ahead into the
gloom. "Come along," he whispered. They moved
cautiously and at one point paused for James to
get his bearings. Two lights showed in opposition
to one another, at right angles to the path of their
march, and James tried to establish his bearings,
knowing that what they sought was almost certain
to be in the deepest part of the temple, far below
the surface of the earth and sea.
   Jazhara read the spine of a text and whispered,
"Merciful gods above!"
    "What?" asked Solon.
   Pointing to a tome, she said, "That text is
Keshian, but ancient. If I read it correctly, this is a
most powerful, black volume on necromancy."
    James said, "That fits with everything else
we've seen so far." Kendaric said, "I'm just a poor
wrecker. What is it about necromancy that so
disturbs the rest of you priests and magi?"
     It was Solon who answered. "There is a basic
order to the universe, and there are limits to
power, or at least there should be. Those who deal
in the essences of life and who flout death violate
the most fundamental tenets of that order. Or are
you too thick ta' understand that?"
    "I was just asking," said Kendaric, his voice
approaching a whine. He touched the binding and
said, "Nice cover."
    Jazhara said, "It's human skin."
    Kendaric pulled his hand away as if he had
touched a hot iron. "Come on," said James. They
moved deeper into the temple.
    Time passed and they continued to wend their
way through the stone halls. Several times they
paused while James scouted ahead. They heard
others in the vast temple, and at times were forced
to hide, but they managed to avoid contact and
kept moving. An hour after entering the temple,
they reached a vast, long hall with a gigantic
statue at the far end, a heroic figure seated upon a
throne. When they reached the base of the statue,
they stared up. It rose two stories into the air
above them. The figure was apparently human,
with broad shoulders and powerful arms as it sat
there in a position of repose. Sandaled feet of
carved stone poked out from under the hem of a
floor-length robe. "Look," said Kendaric. "Look at
the face." The entire face of the statue had been
chipped away.
    "Why has it been defaced like that?"
     Jazhara spoke softly. "As a ward against the
evil that it represents."
    "Who is it?" asked Kendaric. "Which god?"
Solon put a hand gently upon Kendaric's shoulder.
"You will never know, and for that give thanks."
James motioned for them to continue.
    James stopped and smelled the air. He held up
his hand.
    "What?" whispered Kendaric.
   Solon moved forward and whispered, "Can't
you smell it?"
     "I can smell something," said Kendaric. "What
is it?"
    "Goblins," said James.
    He held up his hand to indicate that they
should stay put, then he knelt and duckwalked
toward an open door. He moved smoothly onto his
stomach for the final four feet and wriggled forward
to peer into the room.
    Then he turned, crawling backward, and leapt
to his feet in a single fluid motion. As he came
toward them, he drew his sword. "That patrol we
saw had most of them; there are two sleeping on
the beds and two eating something out of a pot at
the far end," he said softly. "I can take care of the
ones who are eating without a sound," said
Jazhara.
   "Good," replied James. "I'll silence the other
two."
    Jazhara closed her eyes and James felt the hair
on his arms rising again, in response to her magic.
She remained motionless for a good two minutes,
then opened her eyes. "I'm ready."
    Kendaric said, "What was that?"
    "A slow cast. The spell is almost done. I need
only to make a final incantation and it goes off.
Very useful for accuracy. Not very useful if you're
in a hurry."
    "Ah," he said as if he understood. But it was
clear that he didn't.
    James motioned her forward. They reached the
door and she stepped through. She spoke her
phrase aloud.
     One goblin heard the first words and his head
came up. He started to rise, but Jazhara's spell
discharged and he was paralyzed, trapped like an
insect in amber. His companion sat back on his
haunches, his bowl in his lap and his hand halfway
to his mouth. They both remained motionless,
caught in a sheer energy field of scintillating white,
a field like gauze flecked with diamond dust. James
moved purposefully to the bunks where the two
sleeping goblins lay, and quickly cut their throats.
He then did the same to the two frozen goblins. To
his companions he said, "We must hurry. That
patrol will almost certainly be back before the end
of the day."
    They hurried to the far end of the barracks
room and James opened a door. Beyond it, a
kitchen stood empty, with a bubbling cauldron
before a fire.
    Kendaric went pale and had to clutch the
doorjamb while Jazhara's face also drained of color.
On the butcher's block rested the remains of what
had once been a human torso. A head lay cast
aside in the corner, along with a hand and foot.
    "Mother of gods!" whispered Solon.
   James was speechless. He merely motioned for
them to follow him. Leaving the kitchen, they
moved down a short, dark passage, and again
James halted.
   "Smell that?"
   "Goblins?" asked Kendaric.
   "Sweat and filth," answered Jazhara.
     They turned into a long hallway, carved into
the rock. They could see light at the other end.
They crept down the passage until they could
clearly identify what lay ahead of them, then James
held up his hand and moved forward alone. He
reached an open doorway, and glanced around the
room beyond it, then motioned the others forward.
The room was square, with two passages crossing
in the middle between four huge cages. A few
dozen humans were packed in each cage. Most
appeared to be sailors, though a few looked to be
farmers or townspeople.
    One of the prisoners looked up and elbowed
the man next to him as James's party moved into
sight. They both leapt forward and gripped the
bars.
    One man whispered, "Thank Dala that you've
come!" James looked around the cages. Other
prisoners started to spread the word and soon the
bars were packed with eager people. James held
up his hands for silence. He knelt and inspected the
locks, then asked, "Who has the key?"
    "We don't know his name," said the man
closest to the cage door. "He's the leader of the
goblins. We call him Jailer."
    "Probably out leading that patrol we saw
earlier," said Solon. James took off his backpack.
He rummaged around and pulled out a small pouch
in which he had several picks. He selected one and
tested the lock with it.
    "Interesting," observed Jazhara.
    James didn't take his eyes off the lock as he
said, "Old habits." There was a click and the door
opened. "Wait," commanded James, "until I get the
others."
   After a few more minutes, all four cages were
open.
    "Do you know the way out?" asked Jazhara.
     "Yes, ma'am," said a sailor. "We're laborers
here and when they don't slaughter one of us for
food, they have us cleaning up this place. It looks
like they're getting it ready for the arrival of more
goblins."
    "Can you find weapons?"
   "There's a barracks nearby, with a weapons
room, but there are goblins in there," said a thin
man.
   "Only four," answered James, "and they're
dead."
    The men muttered excitedly.
     James was silent for a minute, then said,
"Would you do us a service?" The thin man said,
"They were going to eat us if you didn't come. They
killed one of us each day. Of course we will. What
would you have us do?"
    "Wait here—I'll leave the doors unlocked, but
keep them closed—in case someone comes by
before we've finished our mission. If you hear any
sounds of fighting, run to the barracks room and
get weapons, then fight your way out. If you don't
hear anything in, say, an hour's time, you're free
to go. Is that agreeable?" The man looked around
and saw several others nod. "It is," he said.
      "Good," said James. The men returned to their
cages. The doors were shut and one man sat down
and began a slow rhythmic count, to track the time
till the hour was up.
    As they left the slave pens, James said, "See
you in Haldon Head. There should be a Kingdom
garrison there by now. If there is and we're not
back, tell them what you've seen here."
   "I will." The thin man looked at James and
asked, "Where do you go now?"
    "To the heart of this black place," answered
Solon.
    "Then be wary of the leader," replied the
prisoner.
    "You've seen him?"
    "Yes," the thin man whispered.
    "What did he look like?"
    "I suppose he was a man, once, but now . . .
he is an undead . . . thing! He's all rotten and
decayed, wearing tattered robes that stink to
heaven, and he's guarded by creatures I can't even
name. We didn't see him often; he stays in the
lower levels and few of us are taken there, and
only infrequently."
    "May the gods be with you," said James.
    The man nodded.
    James led his companions off down another
dark hallway. They went down a stairway they had
passed a few minutes earlier that led to a series of
tunnels. Several times James had paused and
decided that the best course of action was to
continue along the main passageway that ran from
the base of the stairs, on the assumption that the
shortest course would take them to the heart of
the temple, and all other passages led off to other
areas. At least he hoped that would prove to be
true.
    Before long they came to an opening in a stone
wall and they passed through it. On the other side
they discovered what could only be called a
gallery—a huge room, all four walls of which
contained niches every few feet. Instead of
containing skeletal warriors, these niches held
statues. Some depicted humans, but many did not,
and James didn't recognize all the races
memorialized in stone. Heroic statues—of figures
garbed in warrior dress or robes—stood atop
pedestals placed at regular intervals around the
floor. There was a consistent look of evil to all of
them.
    At the far side of the hall was a pair of doors.
James tested the latch and it clicked open. He
pushed slightly and peeked through the crack.
"This is it," he whispered.
    He pushed aside the door to reveal yet another
square room. Three walls were lined with human
skulls and the fourth was tiled with a huge mosaic
depicting the same tableaux as the bas-reliefs they
had seen at the entrance to the temple. The
"empty window" dominated the center of the
images as it had before.
    Four huge columns supported the ceiling,
carved stone showing human skulls entangled by
tentacles. The floor was inscribed with arcane
runes.
    In the middle of the floor rested a giant altar,
caked with blood so ancient it was black, and
inches thick. Above this sacrificial surface rested a
giant clawed hand, apparently made of silver or
platinum. Clutched in its fingers was a giant black
pearl, twice the size of a man's head. Its surface
shimmered with mystical energy. Faint colors
radiated across the surface, like the dark rainbow
of oil on water.
    Jazhara said, "Yes, this is indeed 'it.'" She
hurried to the object. "This is the source of the
mystic energy that blocks your spell, Kendaric. I
am certain of it."
    "Let's destroy it and be on our way," said
Solon, unlimbering his warhammer.
   "That would be imprudent," said a dry voice
emanating from the shadows.
    A figure emerged from a dark alcove. It was
clothed in tattered robes, and James instantly
recognized the figure from the vision. Jazhara
reacted instantly, lowering her staff and unleashing
a bolt of crimson energy.
     The creature waved his hand and the energy
deflected away from him, so that it struck the wall,
where it crackled and spread before diffusing. It
left smoking char where it had hit. "Foolish
woman," he whispered, his voice an ancient wind
that sang with evil. "Leave me the guildsman and
you may leave with your pitiful lives. I have need
of his talents. Resist and you die."
    Kendaric stepped behind Solon without a
thought. "Me?"
        James said, "No."
    The creature then pointed at them and
ordered, "Kill them!"
     From doors at each end of the room two giant
figures appeared. Each was a skeleton-warrior
similar in appearance to the others they had fought
earlier, but these were taller again by half. Nearly
nine feet tall from foot to helm, each of the giant
creatures also possessed four arms and held long,
curved blades. Their heads were covered with wide
flaring helms of crimson trimmed with gold.
        "This isn't good," said Kendaric. "No, not at
all."
     Solon reached behind him and grabbed
Kendaric by the sleeve, pulling him aside. "Try not
to get in the way, that's a good lad." With an
unexpected burst of speed, the monk charged, his
warhammer held high above his head and cried,
"Ishap give me strength!" The skeletal warrior
closest to Solon hesitated for only an instant before
its swords became a blur of motion. With surprising
deftness, Solon's hammer took blow after blow as
he blocked the warrior's attack. Then he knelt and
delivered a crushing blow to the skeleton-warrior's
left foot. An audible crack filled the room as the
bones of the creature's big toe shattered.
    Blades flashed as the silent creature registered
no pain or reaction to the damage, and Solon
barely escaped with his head. His arms and
shoulders bore several cuts and he was forced to
retreat and concentrate on defending himself.
    James said to Jazhara, "Help him out. I'll see if
I can distract the other one."
     James hurried to face the creature approaching
from the far door while Jazhara lowered her staff
and unleashed a spell against the warrior attacking
Solon. The spell that had proved effective in the
first chamber simply bathed the creature in
scintillating pale blue light for a moment before
winking out. Solon used the creature's momentary
pause as an opportunity to dart in, smash at the
same foot as before, then retreat quickly.
     The creature teetered slightly when it
advanced. James charged the second creature and
tried to gauge the pattern of its blade strokes. If
there was one, it wasn't apparent, so he was
reluctant to get too close. Still, he had to keep the
thing distracted if they were to have any chance of
survival. Together, the creatures would overwhelm
them in a matter of minutes. James started
counting silently, and as the first blow from the
creature's sword descended upon his head, he
recognized the pattern. Up went James's blade,
deflecting the first blow, then he blocked to the
right, then down to the right, then across to the
left side of his body, turning slightly. The hall rang
with the sound of steel on steel, and James knew
that he could only block this creature's attacks for
a minute or two at the most. He tried not to think
about what would happen if the creature changed
the pattern of its blows.
     Jazhara attempted another spell and it also
failed. So she leapt forward with her staff above
her head, as if trying to block the multiple sword-
blows. At the last second, she let her right hand
slide across to her left, leaving her holding the staff
like a long club. She smashed down with all her
strength on the same foot Solon had damaged, and
was rewarded by the sound of cracking bone. She
barely escaped with her head, and took a long
nasty cut to her left shoulder. Blood flowed as she
dodged to the side and then Solon was back,
attacking the same foot.
    The creature slashed and Solon took the point
of a blade on his breastplate. The armor held, but
the force of the blow sent him sprawling. The
creature advanced and it was clear the monk would
not regain his feet in time to survive.
    Kendaric watched in mute horror as the
creature advanced on the fallen monk. Jazhara
tried to flank the skeleton and was rebuffed with a
sidelong thrust of a blade, then the creature bore
down on Solon. Kendaric threw himself away from
the wall where he was crouching. He leapt in front
of Solon, frantically slashing in all directions with
his blade.
    "No!" shouted the liche. "Don't kill him!" The
creature hesitated, and Solon rolled over, got to his
knees, and rose up, warhammer held with both
hands above his head. He smashed down with as
much might as he could muster and shattered the
creature's left foot.
    As Kendaric and Solon backed away, the
creature attempted to advance. It teetered and
then fell forward, crashing into the floor at Solon's
feet. Kendaric hesitated only for a second, then he
reached down and grabbed the base of the
creature's ornate helm. He ripped the helm away
just as Solon's hammer again smashed down with
a force driven by desperation.
    A dry crack filled the hall, and the creature's
skull shattered. The skeleton went limp and rattled
against the stone floor. Jazhara was already
approaching the creature with which James was
engaged. The former thief declared, "I could use
some help over here." He was drenched in
perspiration and his arms were heavy with fatigue,
but he was successfully blocking the warrior's
blows. Solon turned to the liche. "We don't have
time to try to take down the other warrior," he said
to Kendaric.
    Kendaric nodded, gripping his sword.
    They advanced upon the dead magician, who
held up his hand. A blast of white energy shot
toward Solon, who barely had time to dodge aside.
Kendaric ran forward and impaled the creature on
his sword point. The liche looked down
contemptuously. "You can't destroy me, boy," it
said as its bony hand shot out and grabbed
Kendaric's arm. "And now I have you!"
    "Solon!" shouted the wrecker despairingly. "He
won't die!" Jazhara was trying to distract the
second skeletal warrior in order to give James a
reprieve. She turned and shouted, "He must have
placed his soul in a vessel!"
    Solon hesitated, then shouted, "Where?"
    Jazhara looked wildly around the room. "It
could be anywhere. It could be in another room or
even . . . the pearl!"
    Solon moved with purpose toward the pearl on
the altar.
    "No!" shouted the liche.
    Solon raised his hammer and struck down,
landing a powerful blow on the pearl. The black
surface swam with angry energies, tiny lines of hot
white fire spreading out in a latticework pattern
across its skin. He struck again, and the pearl
emitted a dark fog. A third blow shattered the
pearl, and it exploded with enough force to throw
the monk of Ishap back across the room. The liche
looked upon the scene with wide-eyed horror.
"What have you done?" it asked softly.
    Kendaric felt the grip on his arm release, and
the liche turned and said, "You still have not
succeeded, guildsman."
    The second skeleton-warrior began to tremble
and his attack slowed. James staggered backward,
barely able to lift his arms, and Jazhara offered him
a supporting hand. The creature took two drunken
steps, then went crashing to the stones.
    The liche groped toward Kendaric. "I am not
done with you, my friend." Kendaric's hand
reached out and he grabbed the hilt of his sword,
which was still protruding from the liche's stomach.
He gave the blade a twist and the liche contorted in
pain.
     "But still I am done with you!" Kendaric
declared. "Now, it's time for you to die." He yanked
the blade free and the undead magician shuddered
in pain and fell to his knees. Kendaric turned with
unhesitating precision and cut through the dead
man's neck. The skin parted like dry paper and the
bones snapped like brittle wood. The liche's head
rolled free and bounced across the floor. James
stood with his arm draped across Jazhara's
shoulder and said, "Well, that was interesting."
    Solon pulled himself to his feet, his face
covered in tiny cuts from the shattering pearl.
"That's not the word I'd choose, laddie, but your
point is taken."
    "What now?" asked Kendaric.
    "We need to look around," said James. "There
may be others down here who will cause us
trouble."
    Jazhara said, "I think as we go, we should
scourge this place with fire."
     "Yes," said Solon. "Evil is so entrenched here
that this place must be purified. And if we wait for
my temple to send others to purge it, much of the
evil here may flee to another location."
     They went to where the liche's body lay.
Behind the alcove where he had appeared stood a
door. Passing through it, they came into a large
room, obviously the liche's private quarters. Large
and small jars were amassed on tables, and in the
far corner a cage had been fastened to the stone
walls.
     Inside the cage a creature rested, somewhat
resembling the thing they had encountered in the
sewers of Krondor. It looked at them with pain-
filled eyes and beckoned with a clawed hand. They
approached slowly and when they were close, the
creature's mouth opened. A child's voice said,
"Please . . ."
    Jazhara's eyes grew bright with tears and she
whispered, "Is there no end to this evil?"
    "Apparently not," said Solon.
    James moved behind the creature as it spoke.
"Pain . . . please." With a quick thrust of his sword,
James cut the back of the child-turned-monster's
neck and it slumped to the floor without a sound.
His face was set in a mask of fury.
    Jazhara looked at James and said nothing.
    Finally, Solon said, "It was a mercy."
    "What now?" asked Kendaric.
    Softly, James said, "Burn it. Burn everything."
He hurried to a wall where tomes and scrolls were
arrayed. He grabbed the shelf and toppled it. A
small brazier rested on the worktable nearest the
shelf and he grabbed it. Hurling it, he sent flames
and coals into the paper on the floor and the fire
spread rapidly. "Look over here!" Kendaric said.
    They turned and saw that the wrecker had
found another pearl. Unlike the other orb, this one
appeared to be translucent, and within it they
could see an image of Haldon Head.
    Jazhara said, "This is a powerful scrying
device."
    The image shifted and they could see Widow's
Point and the hut of the old woman, Hilda.
    "Could this have been what was countering my
spell?" asked Kendaric. "Yes, I think so," said
Jazhara. "This creates a wide field of magic in the
area under observation. Not all magic is blunted,
but this could have been used specifically to
prevent your spell from working until they had you
in their control."
   The flames behind them were spreading. James
asked, "What do we do with it?"
    Jazhara picked up the large pearl and threw it
into the fire. "That should take care of it."
    "Good," said James. "We should leave now. Get
torches and set fire to anything that burns as we
leave."
    "What if the goblins object?" asked Kendaric.
Solon, looking resolute despite his wounds, said,
"Well, if the escaping prisoners haven't sorted
them out, we'll just have to do it ourselves, won't
we?"
    James nodded. "Come on. Let's go raise a
ship."
    They started their return to the surface.


                    EIGHTEEN
                 Tear of the Gods
    The sun was low in the west as they left the
cavern. James asked Kendaric, "Can you raise the
ship?" "Now?" He shook his head. "I can try, but I
thought that after all we've been through, we'd
wait until morning."
     "Actually, after all we've been through, I'm not
inclined to wait. Bear is out there somewhere and
the faster we can find the Tear and get it back to
Krondor, the happier I'll be."
    Solon nodded. He was bleeding from several
small wounds all over his body. They had
encountered a few servants of the dead liche
during their escape—a pair of goblins who had put
up a struggle, and two more of the skeleton-
warriors. They had also come upon the mayhem
that had been visited upon other servants of the
Black Pearl Temple as they worked their way back
to the surface. The escaping prisoners had clearly
found weapons in the barracks armory and had
been unkind to any who attempted to stop them.
    Jazhara nursed a rough compress she had
fashioned to staunch the bleeding in her shoulder.
She said, "I fear that if we encounter trouble from
here on, we may be outmatched."
    James motioned to the others to walk out to
the end of the rock spire. "We've been outmatched
every step of the way," he said. "But we've been
lucky."
    "Luck is the result of hard work," Solon said,
"or at least my father told me so."
    "I'll still make a large votive offering to Ruthia
when I get back to Krondor," James observed,
mentioning the name of the Goddess of Luck, the
patron goddess of thieves. He added in a mutter,
"Even if she is a fickle bitch at times."
     Solon overheard this remark and chuckled.
They reached the end of the rocks, and Kendaric
said, "If this works, the ship will rise and a fog will
form from here to the hull and it will become solid.
It should last long enough for us to get to the ship,
offload the Tear and return."
    "Should?" asked James. "How long is 'should?'"
Kendaric smiled and shrugged. "Well, I never had a
chance to test it. I am still working on duration.
Eventually, the spell will hold a ship on the surface
until all the cargo can be offloaded. Now, well,
maybe an hour."
    "Maybe an hour?" James shook his head in
disgust. "Well, we can't start any sooner."
    Kendaric closed his eyes, and held out his hand
to Jazhara, who had carried the spell-scroll in her
backpack. She handed it to him and he began
reading.
    First the sea around the ship calmed, the
combers and breakers seeming to flow around the
ship in an ever-widening ring of calm water. Then a
fog appeared on the surface and suddenly the mast
of the ship began to twitch. Then it shook, and the
ship began to rise. First broken spars and tattered
sails could be seen, then dripping ropes that
dangled from yardarms and limp banners that
hung from the flagstaffs. In minutes it was floating
upon the surface, bobbing as water flowed from its
decks. Seaweed clung to the railings and crabs
scuttled off the deck to fall back into the sea. The
fog around the base of the ship thickened and
solidified and after a few moments the ship
stopped moving. Kendaric turned to Jazhara and
James, amazement lighting his face. "It worked!"
   Solon said, "You had doubts?"
   "Well, not really, but you never know . . ."
    James regarded Kendaric with barely-concealed
rage. "Try not to think what I would have done to
you had we discovered the artifact in the temple
had nothing to do with you failing last time. If it
had just been 'the spell doesn't work' . . ." He
forced himself to calmness. "Let's get to the ship."
     Kendaric touched the toe of his boot to the
solid fog experimentally, then put his whole weight
on it. "A little soft," he observed. Solon stepped
past him. "We are wasting time!" The others
followed the monk as he hurried across the mystic
fog toward the ship.
    They reached the side of the ship and found
several dangling ropes to climb. James and
Kendaric climbed up easily, but the wounded
Jazhara and Solon took some time and needed
help. When they all had reached the deck they
looked around.
    Slime covered the decks and decaying bodies
trapped by falling timbers or ropes were already
beginning to fill the air with a malodorous reek.
The scent of rotting flesh, brackish water, and salt
was enough to make Kendaric gag.
    "Where do we go?" asked James.
    "This way," said Solon, indicating a rear door
into the stern castle, leading down to the lower
decks. They held tight to soaking rope handrails as
they climbed down slippery wooden steps in the
narrow companionway.
    At the bottom of the steps, Jazhara lit a torch,
since the interior of the ship was as dark as night.
The flickering light threw the scene into stark relief,
and shadows danced upon the walls as they
walked. The water was slow in draining from the
lower decks and the hold, so they found
themselves wading through knee-deep brine.
    "That way," said Solon, pointing to a rear door.
    Halfway across the deck, Kendaric let out a
yelp.
    "What?" asked James, drawing his sword.
    "Something brushed against my leg!"
    James let out a long, exasperated breath.
"Fish. Fish swim in the ocean."
   Kendaric looked unconvinced. "There could be
a monster lurking down here."
    James shook his head and said nothing.
    They reached the door and found it jammed
shut. James examined it. "Someone broke this
lock, but the flow of water must have closed it
again, and now it's totally jammed into place.
Better break it off its hinges."
    Solon used his hammer on the hinges,
knocking them loose, and the door exploded
outward with a sheet of water. Dead bodies were
swept along as the water in the two compartments
equalized. Solon looked down at one corpse that
floated at his feet. Flesh was rotting off the bones,
and signs of fish having feasted on the face were
obvious. The eye sockets were empty.
    "Good and faithful servant of Ishap," Solon said
with respect. Then he saw something and reached
down. He pulled a large warhammer from the
corpse's belt and declared, "The Warhammer of Luc
d'Orbain! It once belonged to an Ishapian saint
from Bas-Tyra. It's a relic treasured by the Temple
and awarded as a mark of service to my order's
leader. It's a magic talisman of great power. Not a
bad weapon, either." He looked down at the corpse
again. "That was Brother Michael of Salador." He
shook his head regretfully. "It would be logical that
he would personally lead the group protecting the
Tear." "Well, bring it along," said James, "but let's
find the Tear and get off this ship before it goes
down again."
   "That way," said Solon. He indicated a
passageway to a rear cargo hold.
    When they reached the next door, Solon said,
"Wait." He reached into his tunic and pulled out a
tiny chain from which hung a small blue gem. The
gem glowed faintly. "The Tear of the Gods is near."
    "What is that?" asked James.
      "A shard from the old Tear. It was given me by
the High Priest to help us locate the Tear if it had
been removed from the ship." James reached for
the door-latch and again Solon said, "Wait!" "What
is it now?" asked James.
    "There is a ward around the Tear. If Bear or
one of his men got too close to the Tear before the
ship sank, it may have been triggered." "And this
ward does what?" asked James, obviously irritated
at hearing this at the last possible minute.
    "The soul of a . . . dragon was captured and
confined. It manifests itself and will attack whoever
comes close to the Tear if certain rituals are not
observed."
    "You were going to tell us this sooner or later,
right?" asked James, his voice dripping with
sarcasm.
      "Until we found the Tear there was no reason,
Squire. Look, the beast is mindless and will attack
any of us if it's been released." "How can a dragon
fit in that cargo hold?" asked Kendaric wonderingly.
"They're really big, right?"
     "It's not a dragon, but the spirit of one. A
ghost, if you will." "Nothing you're saying is making
me any happier, Solon," James observed. "Why
don't you tell us something good?" "I have the
ritual to banish the creature and return it to the
spirit realm."
    "That's good," said James.
    "But it'll take time."
    "And that's not good," said James. "Let me
guess: the dragon will attack us while you're trying
to banish it."
    "Yes."
    "And the ship might sink while we're fighting
the dragon while you're trying to banish it."
    Kendaric said, "Yes."
     James said, "This has not been a good day, and
it just keeps getting worse." Grabbing the door-
latch, he said, "So, let's get this over with."
    He flung open the door to reveal a room bare
of any furnishings save a single table.
    "This is the captain's cabin," said James. "He
must have turned it over to the temple and slept
elsewhere."
    "And that's the Tear," said Solon.
    A single large box, carved with the image of a
dragon, sat atop the table. It glowed with a mystic
blue light and even James could feel the magic
emanating from it.
    A flickering of light around the box was the
only warning they had. Suddenly a gust of wind
swept through the cabin. An invisible blow struck
Kendaric, knocking him off his feet into the ankle-
deep water. An image formed in the air, a floating
dragon made up of faint golden mist. Solon
shouted, "Keep it away from me, else I won't be
able to banish it!"
    James waved his sword, attempting to distract
the creature, while Jazhara kept her eye on
Kendaric to make sure he didn't drown. Then she
raised her staff, holding it high above her head
with both hands, and started a spell.
      The dragon turned its attention to James. Its
spectral head darted forward. James felt the air
pressure build before the creature's snout, and he
rolled his head back with the blow. The punch was
still significant. He let out an "oof" of pain while
trying to draw the creature away from Solon.
    Glancing at the monk, he saw that he
brandished the Hammer of Luc d'Orbain before
him, his eyes closed and lips moving furiously in
ritual incantations.
    Jazhara finished her casting and a sheet of
crimson energy erupted into the air. It flowed
across the ceiling of the cabin and then fell upon
the dragon, encasing it in a ruby net. The creature
thrashed and attempted to attack Jazhara, but it
was bound in the netting.
    "How long will that hold?" James asked.
     "I don't know," said Jazhara. "I've never done
this before."
    "How's Kendaric?"
    "Unconscious, but he'll live, I think."
    The wrecker sat slumped against the bulkhead,
chin on chest, as if asleep.
   James said, "Glad to hear it. That thing hits like
a mule kicks."
     They turned toward Solon as his voice rose,
obviously nearing the end of his incantation. They
watched in amazement as the golden dragon
expanded, seeming to stretch the ruby netting to
its breaking point. As the final words of Solon's
prayer rang through the cabin, the dragon began
to shrink till it was a mere golden pinpoint of light
that winked out before their eyes.
   Suddenly the netting was empty and floated
down to the water where it vanished.
    "It's done," Solon pronounced.
   "Good," said James. "Now let's rescue that
damn box and get off this ship before things get
any worse!"
    Solon nodded, hung the second warhammer on
his belt, and gently picked up the box containing
the Tear of the Gods. James and Jazhara grabbed
Kendaric by the arms and lifted him. He started to
rouse as they moved him. "What?" he mumbled.
    "Come on," said James. "Time to go home."
    Kendaric said, "Best thing I've heard in days."
He took his arms off their shoulders and said, "I
can walk."
    They scrambled up the slippery companionway,
Solon having to hand up the box with the Tear in it
to James, then reclaiming it when they were on
deck. James, Jazhara, and Kendaric went down
ropes into the mystic fog and then Solon tossed the
box down to James, and followed. They hurried
along the fog as night fell. Just as they were
nearing the rocky point, James said, "Damn."
    "What?" asked Kendaric.
    "Armed men, on the beach."
    "The escaped prisoners?" asked Jazhara.
    "I don't think so," James answered. "Look!"
    Coming down a path from the hills above they
could see a massive figure, a dark silhouette. But
from his chest a red glow emanated. "Bear!" said
James.
     "This fog is starting to weaken," said Solon,
and even as he spoke, James felt his feet sinking a
bit.
    They hurried the last dozen yards to the rocks
and walked toward the beach. "Do we have any
choices?" asked James.
    Solon said, "None. We must fight."
    From the gloom of the rocks, Bear's voice
boomed: "Your choices are few and my patience
grows short. You will give me the Tear, or we will
slaughter you."
   "Why do you seek the Tear?" asked Jazhara.
"What use can it be to you?"
   They stopped where the rocks met the sand,
and Bear's men approached, their weapons drawn.
    "Ha!" said the huge man. "Hasn't the monk told
you? The Tear allows us to talk to gods, doesn't it,
Ishapian? And there are other gods besides Ishap!"
    Solon shouted, "You are a fool not to fear the
power of Ishap!" "I've got all I need to take care of
you . . . Ishapians!" said Bear, fingering the amulet
around his neck. "You can never touch me." He
drew a large sword. "But I can touch you. Now,
give me the Tear!" Suddenly from the rocks above
him a figure emerged, crouched and leapt. William
hurled himself into Bear, knocking the giant man
over. The surprise of the ambush shocked
everyone. The mercenary closest to James turned
away toward the commotion, and James took
advantage of the opening to pull his sword and
plunge it into the man's back. The man died before
he could even turn to face James.
    Solon set the box containing the Tear on the
sand and pulled out the Warhammer of Luc
d'Orbain, silently mouthing a prayer to Ishap.
Jazhara lowered her staff, pointed the end of it at a
cluster of Bear's men and let loose a bolt of
energy.
    Kendaric drew his sword. "I'll guard the Tear!"
he cried. William grappled for a moment with the
huge pirate, trying to pull the amulet from his
neck. Then Bear reached back with a thundering
blow, and clubbed William aside.
    William landed hard on the ground, his armor
transmitting the shock through his body, but still
he rolled and came to his feet. Bear leapt up
quickly, and with an evil smile said, "Bravely done,
boy. For that alone I'll kill you quickly."
    William looked up to the ledge above where
Sidi stood watching. "Help me!"
     Sidi shrugged. "I said get the amulet, lad, and
I'd help you. Without it, you're on your own." He
looked contrite. Frustration overwhelmed William
and he shouted, "Kahooli! You said I'd not be
alone!"
    Bear laughed. "Kahooli? You call upon a lesser
god!" He held up his amulet, and pointed to where
the Tear rested in the sand. "With this amulet I'm
invincible. With the Tear in my possession, I'll have
the power of the gods. I will be a god!"
     William again threw back his head. "Kahooli,
give me vengeance!" A loud keening sound
commenced, causing James, Jazhara, and several
of the pirates to cover their ears in pain. Even Bear
was forced to step away from the source. Only
William seemed unaffected by the shrill whine.
Then a form appeared between Bear and William,
translucent and pale, but recognizable. "Talia!"
William breathed.
     The girl smiled and said, "You are not alone,
William."
   She moved toward William and stepped into his
body. He glowed with the light of the apparition
and his armor seemed to flow and shift over him.
     Before everyone's astonished eyes, William was
transformed. He grew in stature so that his
already-broad shoulders became even more
massive. The armor darkened from the silver chain
of a Krondorian officer to a blood-red plate so dark
it bordered on black. A helm appeared over his
head, hiding all his features, and the eye-slits
glowed with a crimson light. A voice that was
neither William's nor Talia's, spoke: "I am Kahooli.
I am the God of Vengeance."
    The figure raised its hand and a sword of
flames appeared. With a blindingly quick blow, the
blade cut across Bear's arm. Bear flinched and
retreated, his good eye wide with astonishment.
"I'm bleeding! I can feel pain!"
     He pulled out his sword and struck at the figure
in red, and shock ran up his arm as the incarnation
of the god took the blow. Then Kahooli's avatar
slashed out and Bear looked down to see a wide
bleeding cut on his chest. Staggering backward,
Bear cried, "No, this cannot be!" Bear swung again,
but one more time the spirit of the God of
Vengeance, manifested in William's body, took the
blow and turned it. Then with a straight thrust, it
ran its sword up to the hilt in Bear's stomach.
    Bear sank to his knees, clutching the flaming
blade. "No," he said in disbelief. "You said this
couldn't happen. I can't die. You promised me! You
said I'd never die!" He fell over on the sand, his
one eye staring at the night sky. "You said . . . I
couldn't . . . die . . ."
     The figure stood above him for a moment,
looking down, then it shimmered and transformed
itself back into the shape of William. The young
warrior staggered, as if suddenly weak. He dropped
to his knees and looked around. The shade of Talia
appeared once more. Softly he said to her, "We did
it, Talia. It's over."
   The spirit of the young girl smiled at him. "And
now I may rest. Thank you, William."
      William's cheeks were wet with his tears.
"Talia, no! Please stay." As she faded from sight,
Talia's spirit whispered, "No, William. Life is for the
living. You have a long life ahead of you and I must
take my new place upon the wheel. Say goodbye to
me, please." Just before she vanished, for the
briefest instant, she seemed to shine with a bright
light. She reached out and her hand touched
William's cheek. Then she faded from view. Tears
running down his face, William said softly,
"Goodbye, Talia." James looked around and saw
that Bear's remaining men had fled. He put up his
sword and saw that Solon had safely gathered up
the Tear. James and Jazhara moved to where the
still-kneeling warrior rested. James said, "Well
done, Will. She is avenged."
   Jazhara placed her hand gently on William's
shoulder. "And the Tear is safe."
     William said, "So it is true what he said about
the Tear?" "And more," said Solon. "The Tear
commands great power, and you've seen to it that
its power will not be used for evil."
    He held tightly to the case containing the Tear.
"However, this was only a minor skirmish. The war
is not yet won."
    Jazhara said, "What of Bear's amulet?"
    "It's too powerful an artifact to leave here,"
said Kendaric. James used his sword to pick it up.
"I wouldn't touch this for any price," he said. "It
seems to bring out the vicious side of a man's
nature."
    He walked back to the point of the rocks
overlooking the sea and reached back. Using the
sword for leverage, he hurled the amulet as far out
into the water as he could. In the gloom they didn't
see it strike the waves.
    He walked back to where his companions
waited. "If the fates are kind, there's a column of
soldiers up in Haldon Head and we'll have an escort
back to Krondor."
   Battered and bruised, they limped up the path
toward Haldon Head.
    Dawn arrived with rose- and golden-tinged
clouds in the eastern sky as Jazhara walked
through the woods to Hilda's hut. She reached the
clearing and as she caught sight of the building,
she felt a stab of concern.
    The hut was deserted. She could tell even at
that distance, for not only did no sign of a fire or
light come from within, but the door hung open.
And the plants and herbs hanging from the porch
roof were missing.
    Slowly she climbed the step to the porch and
entered the hut. Inside, the single table and stool
were all that remained. The chest and other
personal belongings were gone.
    On the table rested a single piece of
parchment.
    Jazhara picked it up.
    'Girl, ' it read, 'My time is done. I was placed
here to keep watch over evil until such a time as
someone came to rid this place of it. You are brave
and resourceful young people. The future is yours.
Serve the forces of good.'
    Hilda
   "She's gone," Jazhara said to the person who
had quietly mounted the porch after her.
    William stepped into the hut. "Who was she?"
    "A witch, they say," replied Jazhara.
    "You don't believe that," said William. Raised
on Stardock, he knew as well as she the prejudices
toward women who practiced magic in the
Kingdom. "Who was she really?"
    "A wise woman," answered Jazhara, folding the
note and putting it in her belt. "A servant of good.
She's gone now."
    "Did she say where?"
     "No," said the young magician. She glanced
around, then looked at William. "Why did you
follow me?"
    "I wanted to talk before we were surrounded
by others, on the long trip back to Krondor."
    Jazhara said, "We can talk while we return."
    William stepped aside as she moved through
the door, then fell into step beside her on the path
back to Haldon Head. After a few steps, Jazhara
said, "Talk. I'm listening."
   William let out a deep breath. "This is
awkward."
    "It doesn't have to be."
    "I said some things—"
     She stopped and touched his arm. "We both
said some things. You were young . . . we both
were young. But that . . . misunderstanding, that's
in the past."
    "Then we are all right with each other?"
    Jazhara nodded. "We are all right."
    William started walking again. "Good. I've lost .
. . someone I cared about, and . . . I didn't want to
lose another friend."
    Jazhara said, "You'll never lose me, William."
She was silent for a while. "I'm sorry about your
loss. I know Talia was special to you."
   William glanced at Jazhara. "She was. As are
you."
    Jazhara smiled. "And as you are to me."
     "We're going to be seeing a lot of each other in
the years to come. I just didn't want it to remain
difficult."
    "Me neither."
   They continued on in silence the rest of the
way, content to have begun healing the rift
between them.
     The return journey to Krondor went without
incident. The relief column from Miller's Rest was in
Haldon Head waiting for them when they reached
the summit. It escorted the four of them back to
Krondor. Without ceremony they rode through the
city four days later and into the marshaling yard of
the palace. Grooms and lackeys took charge of
mounts and James, Jazhara, Solon, Kendaric, and
William were directed straight to the Prince's
private reception quarters. A horseman had been
dispatched as they had approached the city, and
the Prince had alerted the High Priest of the
Temple of Ishap, who now waited with the Prince
for the weary party.
    James led the way, with Solon at his side,
holding tightly the case containing the Tear.
Kendaric, William, and Jazhara entered behind
them.
    James bowed. "Sire, with great pleasure I
report we have achieved our goals. Brother Solon
holds the Tear of the Gods."
    Solon looked at the High Priest, who stepped
forward and opened the box the monk held. Within
the box rested a large pale blue crystal, the size of
a large man's forearm. It seemed to glow with an
inner light and as they beheld it, a faint tone, as if
distant music filled the air, could be heard.
    "Few not of our order have ever seen the Tear
of the Gods, Highness," said the High Priest. "All
here are more than worthy of the honor." They
stood transfixed for a while, then the High Priest
closed the box. "We leave at dawn to transport the
Tear to our mother temple in Rillanon," said the
High Priest. "Brother Solon will personally oversee
the transport."
    "If you don't mind," said Prince Arutha, "I'll just
happen to have a full company of lancers riding
along behind."
    Bowing slightly, the High Priest indicated that
he had no objection. To Solon, Arutha said, "You
serve your god well."
     The High Priest added, "He is our good and
faithful servant. He shall be elevated to replace
Michael of Salador. Solon, we entrust to you the
leadership of the Brothers of Ishap's Hammer, and
entrust to you the safekeeping of the Hammer of
Luc d'Orbain."
    "I am honored, Father," said the monk.
     To the others in the room, the High Priest said,
"Your bravery, and the strength of your spirit, have
restored to us that which is the cornerstone of our
faith. The Temple of Ishap owes you all its eternal
gratitude."
    Arutha said, "As does the court of Krondor to
you, Brother Solon." Looking at William, he added,
"You've acquitted yourself admirably, Lieutenant.
You're an honor to the Household Guard."
    William bowed.
    "Guildsman Kendaric," said Arutha.
    The wrecker stepped forward and bowed.
"Highness."
     "You've done the Crown a great service. We
are in your debt. We understand that with the
death of your master, the Guild is currently in
disarray. As it is a patent guild, dependent upon
the Crown's favor, it is our desire that you assume
the rank of Guild Master and restore your
fellowship."
     "Your Highness," said Kendaric. "I am honored,
but the Guild is in ruin. Jorath's embezzlement left
us without a copper, the other journeymen who've
left . . ."
    "We shall attend to those details. The Crown is
not ungenerous to those who serve us. We shall
restore your treasury and ensure you recover."
    "Your Highness is most generous," said the
new Guild Master. Then Arutha said, "Lady Jazhara.
You have proven my choice of court magician a
wise one."
    Jazhara inclined her head and said, "Highness."
    The Prince of Krondor rarely smiled, but this
time his expression was almost expansive. With
pride in his eyes, he said, "James, as always you
are a good and faithful servant. You have my
personal thanks." He stood, and said, "You've all
done well."
    James spoke on behalf of the others. "Our duty
and our pleasure, sire."
    "I have asked that a celebration in your honor
be readied for tonight," Arutha said. "Retire to your
quarters and return this evening as my guests."
   He departed the throne room, motioning for
James to follow him.
    Jazhara turned to Solon and said, "Will you join
us?" "Nay, lass," said the large monk from Dorgin.
"As head of my order I must ensure the safety of
the Tear until we reach Rillanon. It will not leave
my sight until then. Fare you well, all of you." He
motioned for two monks who had stood silently in
the corner to approach. They turned and bowed
respectfully to the High Priest. The two monks fell
in behind the High Priest and Brother Solon and left
the room with the Tear.
    William asked Kendaric, "What now?"
    Kendaric said, "I will go to Morraine and bring
her with me tonight. As Guild Master I will earn
enough to satisfy even her family. We shall be wed
as soon as we can."
    Jazhara said, "I am happy to hear that."
     Kendaric nodded enthusiastically. "I must hurry
off. I'll see you both later."
    William said, "May I escort you back to your
quarters, lady?" "No need," said Jazhara. "I have to
learn to find my way around this place sooner or
later. If I get lost I'll just ask a page for directions."
   William knew she knew the way. He smiled.
"Until tonight."
    As he started to leave, she said, "William?"
    "Yes, Jazhara?"
   She stepped forward and lightly kissed his
cheek. "It is good to be here with you again."
    He looked into her dark brown eyes and for a
moment he was speechless. Then he returned the
kiss and said, "Yes, it is good."
    They parted and went their separate ways.
     Arutha sat behind his desk. "You can give me a
full report tomorrow," he said to James. "You look
like you could use some rest before this evening's
festivities."
   "Well, four days' riding was hardly restful, but
most of the bruises and cuts are healing."
   "The Tear is safe, which is the main thing.
What else did you discover?"
    James said, "Of the Crawler, nothing. I think
the man was one of several agents of a man called
Sidi."
     William had told James all he knew of Sidi,
both at the time of the attack on the Duke of
Olasko, and during this latest encounter. James
recounted what William had said to him, finishing
with, "He seems to be a trader of some sort, a
renegade, dealing with the goblins and those north
of the mountains as well as those in more
legitimate commerce. At least that's what he
appears to be."
    "You suspect more?"
     "Much more. He just knew too much and . . ."
James paused. "I caught but a glimpse of him on
the cliffs above the beach while William fought with
the pirate, Bear. He makes my skin itch, Highness.
I think he's much more than a mere trader."
    "A magician or a priest?"
   "Possibly. Certainly he was desperate to get
back the amulet that Bear wore, and I suspect he
gave it to Bear in the first place."
     "What dark agency do we face?" asked Arutha.
James said, "That question, Highness, plagues me
as well." Arutha was silent as he rose from his desk
and crossed to the window overlooking the
marshaling yard below. Soldiers were at drill, and
he saw young William hurrying to the bachelor
officers' barracks. "William did well," said the
prince. "He'll be Knight-Marshal of Krondor some
day," said James, "if you ever decide to let Gardan
retire."
    The prince turned and faced him with what
could only be called a grin, an expression James
had not seen from Arutha more than a few times in
the ten years and more during which he'd served
him. "He told me the next time he's just going to
walk out, and take ship to Crydee. Then let me
send soldiers to fetch him back."
    "What are you going to do?"
   "Let him serve a bit longer, then recall Locklear
and give him the position."
    "Locklear, Knight-Marshal?"
    "You yourself have told me that as long as I
run the army I should use an administrator.
Locklear certainly has the knack for that job."
"Indeed," agreed James. "Never had much use for
accounts, myself." "I'm going to let him sit for one
more winter with Baron Moyet, then I'll fetch him
back and send Gardan home."
    "For real this time?"
   Arutha laughed. "Yes, I'll let him return to
Crydee and sit on Martin's dock fishing, if that's
what he really desires." James stood. "I have a few
things I need to do before tonight, Highness. With
your leave?"
    Arutha waved James from the room. "Until
tonight."
    James said, "Highness," and showed himself
out of the room.
    Arutha, Prince of Krondor and second most
powerful man in the Kingdom of the Isles, stood at
his window in a reflective mood. A young man
when he had taken command at the Siege of
Crydee during the Riftwar, he was now middle-
aged. He had many years before him, if the gods
were kind, but he felt a calm reassurance knowing
that the fate of his kingdom rested in the
competent hands of younger men and women, men
and women like James, Jazhara, and William. He
allowed himself the luxury of one more peaceful
moment, then returned to his desk and the reports
that begged for his attention.
    James hurried through the palace. He needed
to send word to Jonathan Means, and two of his
other agents, to let them know that he was back in
Krondor. Then he needed to duck into the streets
for a quick visit to one of his informants who was
keeping an eye out for signs of activity by the
Crawler and his gang. Now that the matter of the
Tear of the Gods was settled, James was
determined to turn his attention to this would-be
crime lord and find out once and for all who he
was. Then he would rid the city of his presence.
James counted down the things he needed to do. If
he hurried, he would just have time to return for a
bath and change of clothing before the Prince's
celebration. He was tired, but there would be time
to sleep tomorrow. At this moment he was doing
what he wanted to do more than anything: serving
his Prince. And he was where he wanted to be
more than anywhere in the world: Krondor.


                    EPILOGUE
                    Challenge
    The solitary figure dripped water as it slogged
along the dark corridor of the long tunnel. The air
reeked of smoke and dead bodies. Sidi found that
the small fire he had started that morning was still
burning. He fetched a torch from a wall-sconce.
Lighting it, he continued his journey. Finally, he
reached the room in which the dead liche lay, its
body quickly turning to dust. "Idiot!" he shouted
again at the unhearing form. He moved behind the
throne and found the secret latch. He tripped it and
a section of wall moved aside. He entered a room
even the liche hadn't known of, one Sidi used
exclusively for himself.
    As he entered, a voice said, "You've lost." "No,
I haven't, old woman!" he shouted to the voice in
the air. He stripped off his dripping tunic.
    "You didn't find the amulet." There was
mockery in her voice. "I'll keep looking. It's only
been four days." "Even if you find it, what will you
do? You have no servants or allies."
    "Talking to the air is tedious. Show yourself." A
faint figure appeared, translucent and without
much color, but recognizable as a woman of middle
age. Stripping off his trousers, the magician
reached for a blanket and wrapped it around
himself. "I tire of cold and damp places . . . what
are you calling yourself these days?"
     "Hilda, most recently." "Yes, Hilda. I am tired
of this place. Servants I can get with gold. That I
have in abundance. Allies are almost as easy, once
I discover what they desire." He looked at the pale
image. "You know, I sensed you've been close by
for some years now, but didn't think I needed to
ferret you out."
     "You can't get rid of me, and we both know it."
The man sighed. "You have no worshipers, no
clerics, not one person in ten million on this world
who even knows your name, yet you persist in
lingering. That's very bad form for a goddess." The
shade who had once been the old woman in the
hut said, "It is my nature. As long as you seek to
serve your master, I must oppose him." "My
master lives!" said Sidi, pointing his finger at the
image. "You don't even have the good grace to
admit you're dead and go away!"
     The figure vanished. Instantly Sidi felt regret.
As much as he disliked the woman and all her
incarnations, she had been a part of his life for
several centuries. He had been the first to discover
the amulet in over a thousand years. He had
succumbed to its power. For years he had felt
impulses he couldn't explain and heard voices no
one else had. He had grown in his power, and for a
long time, in his madness. Then his mind had
gained clarity beyond madness. He had learned
whom he served: the Nameless One. He had used
the amulet before, to trap others in his master's
service, such as the liche Savan and his brother.
That had been a mistake. He sighed. Serving
darkness required you to use whatever came your
way. The old woman had appeared soon after he
had gained his powers. She was the opponent of
the Nameless One, and she had refused to give
Sidi any rest. He was forced to admit she was the
only person—if one could call the ghost of a dead
goddess a person—he had known for longer than a
few years. Most of the others had got themselves
killed in one grisly fashion or another. In a strange
way, he was somewhat fond of the old goddess. He
sighed. The battle had been lost, but the war would
continue, and he would seek to do his master's
bidding. Eventually his master would return to this
world. It might take centuries, but Sidi had time.
His master demanded a high price for his service,
but he rewarded as well. Sidi might look to be a
man of fifty, yet he had lived nearly five times that
number of years. He lay down on the bed. "I must
find a better place to live, soon," he sighed.