keep things chilly between them, and Means had absolutely no use for James.
That attitude went back to James’s boyhood, when Jimmy the Hand was a thorn in the side of the city’s constables. No matter what rank James achieved, he was certain the sheriff would always consider him a thief at heart, and as such, suspect.
James quickly discarded several different approaches to reconciling the conflict. Arutha had told him what to do, but left how to do it up to James. One thing about both the captain and sheriff, James conceded to himself: both were honorable men, so he decided it was best to approach them directly.
‘‘We have a problem, gentlemen,’’ said James.
The captain and sheriff exchanged glances and each made it clear to the other neither knew what was coming next. ‘‘Prob-lem?’’ asked the captain.
‘‘Because you both have overlapping, but different areas of authority in the city, each of you may lack certain information the other possesses. But I’m sure you know that lately there has been an unusually high number of murders in the city.’’
The sheriff snorted. ‘‘The very reason I came to meet the Prince when he returned, squire,’’ he said with a note of derision.
89
R A Y M O N D E . F E I S T
James let the tone go by. ‘‘His Highness,’’ he said, ‘‘is concerned that there is more to this spate of murders than may at first be apparent.’’
Captain Guruth said, ‘‘That hardly seems likely. The body count is high, but there seems no apparent connection.’’
The sheriff again let his feelings show. ‘‘You’re a soldier, Guruth. Your lads are fine in a donnybrook, but none of them has the knack for sniffing around and finding out things. That’s what the City Watch does best.’’
James barely contained an explosive laugh. There were snitches in the employ of the City Watch, but they were often paid by the Mockers to give false information, and anyone who was truly in their pay was likely to turn up floating in the bay.
James said, ‘‘I do not know what His Highness has said to each of you regarding his most recent activities in confronting the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the Nighthawks.’’
‘‘Nighthawks!’’ Guruth shouted. He swore an oath, then said,
‘‘They’re like weeds in a garden. I thought we had destroyed them ten years ago when we burned down the House of Willows!’’
James realized then something he had forgotten. Guruth had been a young soldier, probably a sergeant or lieutenant when Arutha and James had led a squad of soldiers that had destroyed the Nighthawks’ headquarters in Krondor, the basement below one of the finest brothels in the city. There they had found a moredhel, and there they had witnessed the power of the dark elves’ wizard-king, Murmandamus, for every Nighthawk who had been slain had risen from the dead to fight anew.
Those who had struggled in the cellar below the House of Willows that night and survived would never forget that fight.
90
K R O N D O R : T H E A S S A S S I N S
Many of those who had entered the sewers below the city to seek out that nest had died in the flames of that battle.
Guruth looked at James and said, ‘‘You know what I mean, squire.’’
James nodded. ‘‘Yes, I remember.’’ Sighing, James said, ‘‘But as we learned on the road to Armengar, and again at Kenting Rush, the Nighthawks are numerous and as soon as you destroy one nest, another springs up somewhere else.’’
The sheriff said, ‘‘So we’ve assassins loose in the city, then?’’
He had not been in that struggle ten years before, but he had heard enough details to regard James and Guruth with a modi-cum of respect.
James said, ‘‘It appears likely, though no one who’s reported a murder has specifically stated seeing a Nighthawk.’’
‘‘No surprise there,’’ admitted the sheriff. ‘‘They don’t usually want to be seen. Lots of folks think they use
That attitude went back to James’s boyhood, when Jimmy the Hand was a thorn in the side of the city’s constables. No matter what rank James achieved, he was certain the sheriff would always consider him a thief at heart, and as such, suspect.
James quickly discarded several different approaches to reconciling the conflict. Arutha had told him what to do, but left how to do it up to James. One thing about both the captain and sheriff, James conceded to himself: both were honorable men, so he decided it was best to approach them directly.
‘‘We have a problem, gentlemen,’’ said James.
The captain and sheriff exchanged glances and each made it clear to the other neither knew what was coming next. ‘‘Prob-lem?’’ asked the captain.
‘‘Because you both have overlapping, but different areas of authority in the city, each of you may lack certain information the other possesses. But I’m sure you know that lately there has been an unusually high number of murders in the city.’’
The sheriff snorted. ‘‘The very reason I came to meet the Prince when he returned, squire,’’ he said with a note of derision.
89
R A Y M O N D E . F E I S T
James let the tone go by. ‘‘His Highness,’’ he said, ‘‘is concerned that there is more to this spate of murders than may at first be apparent.’’
Captain Guruth said, ‘‘That hardly seems likely. The body count is high, but there seems no apparent connection.’’
The sheriff again let his feelings show. ‘‘You’re a soldier, Guruth. Your lads are fine in a donnybrook, but none of them has the knack for sniffing around and finding out things. That’s what the City Watch does best.’’
James barely contained an explosive laugh. There were snitches in the employ of the City Watch, but they were often paid by the Mockers to give false information, and anyone who was truly in their pay was likely to turn up floating in the bay.
James said, ‘‘I do not know what His Highness has said to each of you regarding his most recent activities in confronting the Brotherhood of the Dark Path and the Nighthawks.’’
‘‘Nighthawks!’’ Guruth shouted. He swore an oath, then said,
‘‘They’re like weeds in a garden. I thought we had destroyed them ten years ago when we burned down the House of Willows!’’
James realized then something he had forgotten. Guruth had been a young soldier, probably a sergeant or lieutenant when Arutha and James had led a squad of soldiers that had destroyed the Nighthawks’ headquarters in Krondor, the basement below one of the finest brothels in the city. There they had found a moredhel, and there they had witnessed the power of the dark elves’ wizard-king, Murmandamus, for every Nighthawk who had been slain had risen from the dead to fight anew.
Those who had struggled in the cellar below the House of Willows that night and survived would never forget that fight.
90
K R O N D O R : T H E A S S A S S I N S
Many of those who had entered the sewers below the city to seek out that nest had died in the flames of that battle.
Guruth looked at James and said, ‘‘You know what I mean, squire.’’
James nodded. ‘‘Yes, I remember.’’ Sighing, James said, ‘‘But as we learned on the road to Armengar, and again at Kenting Rush, the Nighthawks are numerous and as soon as you destroy one nest, another springs up somewhere else.’’
The sheriff said, ‘‘So we’ve assassins loose in the city, then?’’
He had not been in that struggle ten years before, but he had heard enough details to regard James and Guruth with a modi-cum of respect.
James said, ‘‘It appears likely, though no one who’s reported a murder has specifically stated seeing a Nighthawk.’’
‘‘No surprise there,’’ admitted the sheriff. ‘‘They don’t usually want to be seen. Lots of folks think they use
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