Krondor.
‘‘Impressive,’’ said Gorath in a neutral tone.
‘‘I’ve seen Armengar,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘I am surprised to hear you call this impressive.’’
‘‘It’s not the size of the place,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘It’s the hive of humans within.’’ For a moment he looked off into the distance.
‘‘You short-lived creatures have no sense of history or your place in this world,’’ he said. ‘‘You breed like—’’ He glanced over to see Locklear’s dark expression, and said, ‘‘No matter.
There are just a great deal of you at any one time in any one place, it seems, and this is more of you in such a small place.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘For my people, such gatherings are alien.’’
‘‘Yet you rallied at Sar-Sargoth,’’ observed Locklear.
‘‘Yes we did,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘To the sorrow of many of us.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘Do we just walk across this field to the road?’’
Locklear said, ‘‘No. Look over there.’’ He pointed to a place where a small farm road intersected the King’s Highway. A half dozen men stood idly by as if waiting for something. ‘‘Not exactly a place to hoist a few and talk of the day’s labors, is it?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Where do we go then?’’
‘‘Follow me,’’ said Locklear as he moved along the tree line, farther east. They reached a long gully, a naturally occurring watercourse that would be flooded when the thaw came to the mountains to the north and east, but which currently hosted 68
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
only a small stream. ‘‘This runs to a place by the eastern gate, in the foulbourgh.’’
‘‘Foulbourgh?’’ asked Gorath.
‘‘The part of the city built outside the wall. There are ways to get in and out of the city if you know them. The sewers under the foulbourgh and city proper are not supposed to connect, so an enemy can’t use them to gain entrance.’’
‘‘But they do,’’ supplied Gorath.
‘‘Yes, in two places, and one of them is as dangerous as walking up to those men gathered back there and asking for directions to the Prince’s palace. That entrance is controlled by the Thieves’ Guild. But the other entrance—well, let’s say that besides a friend of mine, only a few others know of it.’’
‘‘How is it you know of it?’’ asked Gorath.
‘‘My friend and I used it once, a long time ago, to follow Arutha to Lorien.’’
Gorath nodded. ‘‘We have heard of that encounter. Murmandamus’s trap to kill the Lord of the West.’’
‘‘That’s the one,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Now, it would be a good time to move silently.’’
They did as Locklear bid and moved through the gully, until they encountered a culvert, made of stones polished by the water over the years. They bent over and walked below the road, as the late-afternoon shadows lengthened. Finally, the culvert ducked under a small stone bridge that afforded them a hiding place. It was well shielded from prying eyes by stores stacked in crates on each side of the road waiting for transport. Bored workers slowly moved to load them.
‘‘We linger a bit, until it gets darker,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘At the right time, we need to get up and blend in with some traffic heading along the road that runs beside this culvert.’’ He went to the other side of the bridge and glanced upward, pulling his head back.
Pointing where he had looked, he said, ‘‘Someone’s hanging around up there.’’
‘‘What do we do?’’ asked Gorath, obviously as out of his element as Locklear had been on the mountain trail.
‘‘We wait,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘A patrol from the city watch passes along here about sundown, and they’ll order any armed 69
Raymond E. Feist
men to move along. After dark it gets dangerous outside the wall, and the watch doesn’t like too many swords gathered in one place.’’
They sat under the bridge, in the puddles on either side of
‘‘Impressive,’’ said Gorath in a neutral tone.
‘‘I’ve seen Armengar,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘I am surprised to hear you call this impressive.’’
‘‘It’s not the size of the place,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘It’s the hive of humans within.’’ For a moment he looked off into the distance.
‘‘You short-lived creatures have no sense of history or your place in this world,’’ he said. ‘‘You breed like—’’ He glanced over to see Locklear’s dark expression, and said, ‘‘No matter.
There are just a great deal of you at any one time in any one place, it seems, and this is more of you in such a small place.’’ He shook his head. ‘‘For my people, such gatherings are alien.’’
‘‘Yet you rallied at Sar-Sargoth,’’ observed Locklear.
‘‘Yes we did,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘To the sorrow of many of us.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘Do we just walk across this field to the road?’’
Locklear said, ‘‘No. Look over there.’’ He pointed to a place where a small farm road intersected the King’s Highway. A half dozen men stood idly by as if waiting for something. ‘‘Not exactly a place to hoist a few and talk of the day’s labors, is it?’’
‘‘No,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘Where do we go then?’’
‘‘Follow me,’’ said Locklear as he moved along the tree line, farther east. They reached a long gully, a naturally occurring watercourse that would be flooded when the thaw came to the mountains to the north and east, but which currently hosted 68
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
only a small stream. ‘‘This runs to a place by the eastern gate, in the foulbourgh.’’
‘‘Foulbourgh?’’ asked Gorath.
‘‘The part of the city built outside the wall. There are ways to get in and out of the city if you know them. The sewers under the foulbourgh and city proper are not supposed to connect, so an enemy can’t use them to gain entrance.’’
‘‘But they do,’’ supplied Gorath.
‘‘Yes, in two places, and one of them is as dangerous as walking up to those men gathered back there and asking for directions to the Prince’s palace. That entrance is controlled by the Thieves’ Guild. But the other entrance—well, let’s say that besides a friend of mine, only a few others know of it.’’
‘‘How is it you know of it?’’ asked Gorath.
‘‘My friend and I used it once, a long time ago, to follow Arutha to Lorien.’’
Gorath nodded. ‘‘We have heard of that encounter. Murmandamus’s trap to kill the Lord of the West.’’
‘‘That’s the one,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Now, it would be a good time to move silently.’’
They did as Locklear bid and moved through the gully, until they encountered a culvert, made of stones polished by the water over the years. They bent over and walked below the road, as the late-afternoon shadows lengthened. Finally, the culvert ducked under a small stone bridge that afforded them a hiding place. It was well shielded from prying eyes by stores stacked in crates on each side of the road waiting for transport. Bored workers slowly moved to load them.
‘‘We linger a bit, until it gets darker,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘At the right time, we need to get up and blend in with some traffic heading along the road that runs beside this culvert.’’ He went to the other side of the bridge and glanced upward, pulling his head back.
Pointing where he had looked, he said, ‘‘Someone’s hanging around up there.’’
‘‘What do we do?’’ asked Gorath, obviously as out of his element as Locklear had been on the mountain trail.
‘‘We wait,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘A patrol from the city watch passes along here about sundown, and they’ll order any armed 69
Raymond E. Feist
men to move along. After dark it gets dangerous outside the wall, and the watch doesn’t like too many swords gathered in one place.’’
They sat under the bridge, in the puddles on either side of
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