the stream, waiting in silence as the hours dragged by. Flies annoyed them, and only Gorath ignored their presence as Locklear and Owyn spent most of the time swatting them away.
As sundown approached, Locklear heard the tread of boots upon the cobbles above. A few voices were raised, and Locklear said, ‘‘Now!’’
He moved quickly up the side of the bank just beyond the bridge, ducking behind some crates as a party of men dis-persed under the watchful eye of the city guard. ‘‘They’ll come this way, back toward the palace,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We just duck in beside them, and even if we’re seen, it’s unlikely we’re going to be attacked with a dozen soldiers ready to start busting heads at the first sign of trouble.’’ He pointed to Gorath.
‘‘But you’d better fix that hood. Most people here wouldn’t know an elf from a moredhel if you hung signs around your neck, but you never know. If Ruthia’s fickle, the first person we meet will be an old vet from the wars to the north.’’ Ruthia was the Goddess of Luck.
Gorath did as he was told and pulled his hood forward, hiding his features, and when the soldiers walked down the road beside the stream, he followed Locklear and Owyn as they hurried to match pace with the soldiers.
They walked from the northeasternmost corner of the city along its entire length to the southern gate, and when the city watch moved toward the palace entrance, Locklear pulled them aside.
Owyn said, ‘‘Why don’t we just follow them in?’’
‘‘Look,’’ said Locklear. They looked where he pointed and saw a work crew gathered before the gate, with two teams of horses tied to a pulley. ‘‘It seems someone has sabotaged the gate,’’ said Locklear.
The watch commander shouted something down from the wall to the patrol leader, who saluted and turned his men 70
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
around. ‘‘Come on, lads,’’ he said, ‘‘we’re for the northern gate.’’
Locklear motioned for his companions to follow him, and he led them through a back alley. ‘‘This way,’’ he urged.
He took them to what appeared to be the back entrance to a small inn and opened the gate. Once through, he closed the gate, and they stood in a tiny stabling yard, with a small shed off to one side. Looking to see if they were observed, Locklear pointed to the rear door of the inn. ‘‘If anyone finds us, we’re lost, looking for a meal, and once we get inside the inn, head toward the front door; if anyone objects, we run like hell.’’
Gorath said, ‘‘Where are we?’’
‘‘The back of an inn owned by people who would be less than pleased to discover we knew about this place, or what I’m about to do.’’ He moved toward the shed, but rather than going inside, he moved to where it joined with the wall. Feeling around behind the shed, Locklear tripped a lever, and a latch clicked. A big stone rolled away, and Owyn and Gorath could see it was a cleverly fashioned sham, made of canvas and painted to look like the rock of the wall. Locklear was forced to lie down and wiggle feetfirst through the small aper-ture, but he successfully negotiated the entrance. Owyn went next, and Gorath last, barely clearing the opening.
‘‘Who uses that thing?’’ asked Owyn in a whisper.
‘‘Children?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘The Mockers number many urchins in their ranks, and there are dozens of bolt-holes like that all over the city.’’
‘‘Where are we?’’ asked Owyn.
‘‘Use your senses, human,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘Or can’t your breed smell its own stink?’’
‘‘Oh,’’ Owyn exclaimed, as the stench of the sewer struck him.
Locklear reached up and pulled shut the trap, leaving them in total darkness.
‘‘My kind see in darkness better than yours do, Locklear,’’
said Gorath, ‘‘but even we must have some light.’’
‘‘There should be a lantern close by,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘If I can remember
As sundown approached, Locklear heard the tread of boots upon the cobbles above. A few voices were raised, and Locklear said, ‘‘Now!’’
He moved quickly up the side of the bank just beyond the bridge, ducking behind some crates as a party of men dis-persed under the watchful eye of the city guard. ‘‘They’ll come this way, back toward the palace,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We just duck in beside them, and even if we’re seen, it’s unlikely we’re going to be attacked with a dozen soldiers ready to start busting heads at the first sign of trouble.’’ He pointed to Gorath.
‘‘But you’d better fix that hood. Most people here wouldn’t know an elf from a moredhel if you hung signs around your neck, but you never know. If Ruthia’s fickle, the first person we meet will be an old vet from the wars to the north.’’ Ruthia was the Goddess of Luck.
Gorath did as he was told and pulled his hood forward, hiding his features, and when the soldiers walked down the road beside the stream, he followed Locklear and Owyn as they hurried to match pace with the soldiers.
They walked from the northeasternmost corner of the city along its entire length to the southern gate, and when the city watch moved toward the palace entrance, Locklear pulled them aside.
Owyn said, ‘‘Why don’t we just follow them in?’’
‘‘Look,’’ said Locklear. They looked where he pointed and saw a work crew gathered before the gate, with two teams of horses tied to a pulley. ‘‘It seems someone has sabotaged the gate,’’ said Locklear.
The watch commander shouted something down from the wall to the patrol leader, who saluted and turned his men 70
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
around. ‘‘Come on, lads,’’ he said, ‘‘we’re for the northern gate.’’
Locklear motioned for his companions to follow him, and he led them through a back alley. ‘‘This way,’’ he urged.
He took them to what appeared to be the back entrance to a small inn and opened the gate. Once through, he closed the gate, and they stood in a tiny stabling yard, with a small shed off to one side. Looking to see if they were observed, Locklear pointed to the rear door of the inn. ‘‘If anyone finds us, we’re lost, looking for a meal, and once we get inside the inn, head toward the front door; if anyone objects, we run like hell.’’
Gorath said, ‘‘Where are we?’’
‘‘The back of an inn owned by people who would be less than pleased to discover we knew about this place, or what I’m about to do.’’ He moved toward the shed, but rather than going inside, he moved to where it joined with the wall. Feeling around behind the shed, Locklear tripped a lever, and a latch clicked. A big stone rolled away, and Owyn and Gorath could see it was a cleverly fashioned sham, made of canvas and painted to look like the rock of the wall. Locklear was forced to lie down and wiggle feetfirst through the small aper-ture, but he successfully negotiated the entrance. Owyn went next, and Gorath last, barely clearing the opening.
‘‘Who uses that thing?’’ asked Owyn in a whisper.
‘‘Children?’’
‘‘Yes,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘The Mockers number many urchins in their ranks, and there are dozens of bolt-holes like that all over the city.’’
‘‘Where are we?’’ asked Owyn.
‘‘Use your senses, human,’’ said Gorath. ‘‘Or can’t your breed smell its own stink?’’
‘‘Oh,’’ Owyn exclaimed, as the stench of the sewer struck him.
Locklear reached up and pulled shut the trap, leaving them in total darkness.
‘‘My kind see in darkness better than yours do, Locklear,’’
said Gorath, ‘‘but even we must have some light.’’
‘‘There should be a lantern close by,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘If I can remember
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