Krondor the Betrayal Read Free Page A

‘‘Hurry it up, would you, lad?’’
    ‘‘Who are the Ancient Ones?’’ asked Owyn in a whisper.
    ‘‘The Dragon Lords,’’ said Locklear.
    ‘‘Lords of power, the Valheru,’’ supplied Gorath. ‘‘When they departed this world, they placed our fate in our own hands, naming us a free people.’’
    Locklear said, ‘‘I’ve heard the story.’’
    ‘‘It is more than a story, human, for to my people it gave over this world to our keeping. Then came you humans, and the dwarves, and others. This is our world, and you seized it from us.’’
    Locklear said, ‘‘Well, I’m not a student of theology, and my knowledge of history is sadly lacking, but it seems to me that whatever the cause of our arrival on this world according to your lore, we’re here, and we don’t have anywhere else to go. So if your kin, the elves, can make the best of it, why can’t you?"
    Gorath studied the young man, but said nothing. Then he stood, moving with deadly purpose toward Locklear.
    Owyn had just tied off the bandage and fell hard as Locklear pushed him aside while he attempted to rise and draw his sword as Gorath closed on him.
    But rather than attack Locklear, he lunged past the pair of humans, lashing out above Locklear’s head with the chain that held his manacles. A ringing of steel caused Locklear to flinch aside, as Gorath shouted, ‘‘Assassin in the camp!’’ Then Gorath kicked hard at Owyn, shouting, ‘‘Get out from underfoot!’’
    Owyn didn’t know where the assassin came from; one mo-12

    KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
    ment there had been three of them in the small clearing, then the next Gorath was locked in a life-and-death struggle with another of his kind.
    Two figures grappled by the light of the campfire, their features set in stark relief by the firelight and darkness of the woods. Gorath had knocked the other moredhel’s sword from his hand, and when the second dark elf attempted to pull a dagger, Gorath slipped behind him, wrapping his wrist chains around the attacker’s throat. He yanked hard, and the attacker’s eyes bulged in shock, as Gorath said, ‘‘Do not struggle so, Haseth. For old times’ sake I will make this quick.’’ With a snap of his wrists, he crushed the other dark elf’s windpipe, and the creature went limp.
    Gorath let him fall to the ground, saying, ‘‘May the Goddess of Darkness show you mercy.’’
    Locklear stood up. ‘‘I thought we had lost them.’’
    ‘‘I knew we had not,’’ said Gorath.
    ‘‘Why didn’t you say something?’’ demanded Locklear as he retrieved his tunic and put it on over the new bandages.
    ‘‘We had to turn and face him sometime,’’ said Gorath, resuming his place. ‘‘We could do it now, or in a day or two when you were even weaker from loss of blood and no food.’’
    Gorath looked into the darkness from which the assassin had come. ‘‘Had he not been alone, you’d have had only my body to drag before your prince.’’
    ‘‘You don’t get off that easily, moredhel. You don’t have my permission to die yet, after the trouble I’ve gone through to keep you alive so far,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘Is he the last?’’
    ‘‘Almost certainly not,’’ said the dark elf. ‘‘But he is the last of this company. Others will come.’’ He glanced in the opposite direction. ‘‘And others may already be ahead of us.’’
    Locklear reached into a small pouch at his side and produced a key. ‘‘Then I think you’d better get those chains off,’’
    he said. He unlocked the wrist irons, and Gorath watched them fall to the ground with an impassive expression. ‘‘Take the assassin’s sword.’’
    ‘‘Maybe we should bury him?’’ suggested Owyn.
    Gorath shook his head. ‘‘That is not our way. His body is but a shell. Let it feed the scavengers, return to the soil, nourish 13

    Raymond E. Feist
    the plants, and renew the world. His spirit has begun its journey through darkness, and with the