Just what I wanted to hear, said Locklear as he tried to move his left arm and found Owyns observation correct. He could move it scant inches before pain made him stop the attempt. Horses?
Theyve run off, said Owyn.
Wonderful, said Locklear. I was knocked out of the saddle, whats your excuse? he demanded of the other two.
Gorath said, Fighting on the back of the beast was too awkward.
Owyn said, I cant cast a spell from the saddle. Sorry.
Locklear stood. So we walk.
How far is it to Hawks Hollow? asked Owyn.
Too far, said Locklear. If theyre waiting for us, much too far.
CHAPTER THREE
Revelation
THE SENTRY BLINKED IN SURPRISE.
One moment the approach to the town was empty, the next three figures were standing before him. What? he exclaimed, bringing his old spear to something resembling a stance of readiness.
Easy, friend, said Locklear. He leaned upon Owyns shoulder and looked as if he was close to death. They had encountered three more ambushes between the one where their horses had fled and Hawks Hollow. They had managed to avoid the first two, sneaking around human bandits. The last had been a squad of six moredhel who had been too alert. The fight had been bloody and costly. Gorath was wounded, a nasty cut to his left shoulder that Owyn had barely been able to staunch. Locklear had been injured again, nearly dying if not for Owyns intervention, and the young magician himself was sporting a half-dozen minor wounds.
Who are you? asked the confused sentry. He was obviously a farmer or worker from town, part of the citys militia Locklear guessed.
Locklear, squire of the Princes court in Krondor, and these two are my companions.
You look like brigands, to me, replied the guardsman.
We have proof, said Locklear, but first Id like to find someone who can help us before we bleed to death.
Brother Malcolm of the Temple of Silban is in town, down at Logans Tavern. He comes through here every six months or so. Hell help you out.
Where is Logans? asked Owyn as Locklear seemed about to lapse into unconsciousness.
Just down the street. Cant miss it. Sign out front of a dwarf.
They made their way to the indicated establishment, which showed a faded sign of a comically drawn dwarf, obviously once painted with vivid colours.
They went inside and found several townspeople sitting by, waiting for a priest in the robes of the Order of Silban who was in the corner ministering to a sick child. A couple of local workers were waiting, one with a bandaged hand, the other looking pale and weak.
The priest looked up as he finished with the boy, who leaped down from his mothers lap without prompting and raced for the door. The priest looked at Locklear and said, Are you dying?
Not quite, answered the squire.
Good, because these fellows were here first and Ill only make them wait if youre near death.
Mustering as much dry wit as he could under the circumstances, Locklear replied, Ill try to let you know when Im about to die.
Goraths patience vanished. He moved to confront the priest and said, You will see my companion now. These others can wait.
The glowering dark elf towered over the small priest and his expression and voice left no room for argument this side of violence. The priest looked once more at Locklear and said, Very well, if you think it urgent. Bring him over to this table.
They half-carried Locklear to the table and laid him out on it. The priest said, Who bandaged this?
I did, said Owyn.
You did well enough, said the priest. Hes alive, so that counts for much.
After Locklears tunic and the bandages were removed, the priest said, Silban preserve us! Youve got three wounds fit to fell a bigger man. He sprinkled a powder on the wounds, which brought a gasp of pain from Locklear, then the priest began a chant and closed his eyes.
Owyn felt power manifest in the room and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He had only been exposed to a little clerical magic in his life and it always seemed odd and exotic to him.
A faint glow from the priests hands threw illumination over Locklears wounds and as Brother Malcolm droned his chant, Owyn could see the wounds begin to heal. They were still visible, but no longer fresh and angry. When the priest stopped, they looked old, past the danger stage. The priest was pale from the exertion when he stopped. He said, Thats all I can do now. Sleep and food will do the rest. Looking at Owyn and Gorath, he asked, Do you have wounds, as well?
We do, said Gorath. But we can wait until you tend to those two. He pointed to the two locals waiting for treatment.
Malcolm nodded. Good. As he moved past Gorath, he said, Your manners may be in question, moredhel, but your instincts serve you well. He might have bled to death had we waited another hour.
Gorath remained silent in the face of being recognized for what he was. He moved to sit next to Owyn and wait.
When the two farmers, one with a smashed finger courtesy of a badly-aimed hammer and the other with a bad case of fever, were finished, Malcolm turned to Gorath and Owyn. Whos next?
Gorath indicated Owyn and the magician went to sit before the priest. He watched with interest as the priest quickly treated and bound his wounds. They spoke little, for Owyn was almost out on his feet.
When Gorath replaced him before the priest, the dark elf said, You recognize my race, yet you do not call for the town guard. Why?
The priest shrugged as he examined Goraths wounds. You travel with men who do not look like renegades to me. You are not here killing and burning, so I assume your mission a peaceful one.
Why do you assume I have a mission? asked Gorath.
Why else would you travel in the human world? Malcolm asked rhetorically. I have never known the moredhel to travel for pleasure.
Gorath grunted, forgoing comment.
Malcolm was quickly done and said, You should have come second; this wound was more severe than your friends. But youll live. He washed his hands and dried them with a towel. It is my mission to aid and serve, but it is custom that those served donate.
Gorath indicated Locklear, who was now sitting upright at the table upon which he had lain. Locklear said, Brother, I fear I may only give you a scant token of our debt, but should you come to Krondor any time soon, visit me and I will repay you tenfold.
Locklear dug into his purse and judged how much he would need for a room that night, and other costs, then drew out a golden sovereign and two silver royals. It is all we can spare.
It will do, said the priest. In Krondor, where might I find you?
At the palace. I am one of the Princes men. I am Squire Locklear.
Then I shall call upon you when next Im in Krondor, young squire, and you can settle accounts with me then. Glancing at Locklears freshly-bound wounds, he said, Go easy on those cuts for another day. By tomorrow youll feel better. If you avoid being stabbed again any time soon, youll feel like your old self by weeks end. Now, I must go rest. This is more healing in one afternoon than I usually experience in a week.
The priest left and Locklear slowly rose to cross to the bar and found the innkeeper cleaning up. The portly man said, Welcome to The Dusty Dwarf, my friends. What may I do for you?
Food and a room, said Locklear.
They returned to a table and the innkeeper followed soon after, putting down a large platter of cold meats, breads baked earlier that morning, cheese and fruits. Ive got some hot food cooking for later this evening, but this early in the day, cold fare is all I have.
Owyn and Gorath were already stuffing food into their mouths as Locklear was saying, That will be fine. Some ale, please.
Right away.
The man was back with the ale in a moment, and Owyn asked, Sir, what is the story behind the name of this place?
The Dusty Dwarf? said the man.
Yes.
Well, truth to tell, its not much of a story. Man named Struble owned this place. Called it The Merry Dwarf. Dont know why. But it had a bright sign. He never had the sign repainted in all the years he owned the place, so by the time I bought it from him, the sign was badly faded. All the locals called it The Dusty Dwarf by then, so I just went along. Saves me the cost of getting the sign painted, too.
Owyn smiled at the story, as the barkeep hurried off to meet the demands of another customer. Locklear looked nearly asleep as he said, All right. We have two choices. We can take the main road down to Questors View, or the back way through Eggly and Tannerus and lose a few days.
Owyn said, Im only guessing, but from what Gorath has said, this Nago or Narab is keeping in contact with their agents by mind speech. As I said before, I know only a little about this speech, but what I do know is it can be very taxing. The magician Pugs daughter is known to be among the most gifted in the world at this and can speak across vast distances, but she is rare, even unique. For lesser magicians, it requires much rest.
Gorath looked on impassively, but Locklear said, Come to the point, if you dont mind. Im having trouble staying awake.
The point is whoever this magician is, hes lying low in one place, probably guarded, and probably has one or two key agents in a given area. The rest of his orders are being run by messengers, Im thinking. So they know where weve been, and may have even guessed where we are today, but they dont know which way well be going.
Locklear said, Fine, but what does that mean about our choice of route?
Gorath said, It means he must spread his men equally between the two routes, so the best solution is to take the route where we will be best able to defend ourselves or travel with a larger band, such as a trading caravan.
Locklear motioned to the innkeeper, who came and gave him a key, indicating the room at the top of the stairs. As they mounted the stairs, Locklear observed, If we were trying to come back from Kesh, a caravan might be a good cover, but as the Kings Highway is usually well patrolled, most traders feel comfortable travelling with a few mercenary guards or none at all. Most commerce along the coast is by ship.
As they reached the room, Owyn said, Could we make for Questors View and hire a ship?
With what? asked Locklear. Captain Belfords letter of introduction isnt exactly the Kings writ. If a fleet ship is at anchor, I know I could talk our way aboard and get it bound for Krondor, but Im not anxious to sit around waiting for one to show up. Im not anxious for anything but a good nights sleep, finding Isaac and getting this riddle of a special ruby solved, and then figuring out how to get to Krondor as fast as we can.
Owyn said, I cant argue about that nights sleep.
Gorath said nothing.
An hour after dawn they left the inn and Locklear felt remarkably recovered. Where searing agony had accompanied his every movement the day before, he now only felt slightly stiff and weak.
He indicated a journey toward the north end of the town as he said, If I know Isaac, hes probably staying at the house of his cousin, a certain young gentleman named Austin Delacroix.
From Bas-Tyra? asked Owyn as they started up the busy street. Windows were opening as vendors put out their wares for display, or housewives opened up their homes to the morning air and sun.
Originally, said Locklear. A family of marginal nobility, descended from a one time hero of some forgotten war when Bas-Tyra was a city-state; their house rank is all based upon that.
Your human issues of rank and status are difficult to understand, observed Gorath.
Why? asked Owyn. Dont you have chieftains?
We do, said Gorath. But it is a rank earned by deeds, not one conferred by birth. Delekhan rose by betrayal and bloodshed, yet he was sheltered by his early service to Murmandamus and Murad. He almost spat the last two names. If his son Moraeulf gains his ambition to inherit from his father, it will be over the bodies of many such as I. In better times, he would be a valued sword against our peoples enemy, but these are not better times.
This is the house, I think, said Locklear, pointing to a once-prosperous dwelling fallen on hard times. The house, like those on either side, was a small but well-built structure of wood and stone, with a sturdy door and shuttered windows. But while the others were clean and recently painted, this was faded and dirty.
Locklear knocked loudly and after a few minutes a sleepy voice from the other side of the door said, What?
Isaac? shouted Locklear, and the door opened.
A young man with light brown hair stuck his head out the door and said, Locky? The door opened wide and the young man bid them enter. He wore only a rumpled tunic and trousers, obviously having slept in them. I was just getting up, he said.
Right, said Locklear, as if humouring him.
The room was dark, with the shutters and sashes still closed, and the air was stale. Old food odours and sweat mixed with the sour aroma of spilled ale. The furniture was simple, one wooden table with four chairs, a single shelf behind the table, and another small table upon which a lamp rested. Stairs led to a sleeping loft above. A faded tapestry, once residing in surroundings far finer than those in which they hung now, was the sole item of any note. It hung behind Isaac, framing him with a tableau of a meeting between princes who were exchanging gifts while notables of that day looked on from all sides.
Locklear, said Isaac, as if savouring the name. What a pleasure. Youre wearing your years well. I like the moustache. You always could manage the flamboyant. He turned away and moved with a visible limp. Sit down. I would offer you tea or coffee, but my cousin is temporarily visiting other relatives in Bas-Tyra, and I have just arrived last night, so we are not well provisioned.
Thats all right, said Locklear. How longs it been? Since Aruthas wedding?
Isaac sat in a small wooden chair, and crossed his legs so that he kept his weight on his good leg. The very day. You should have heard the fit old Master of Ceremonies deLacy threw when he found out I wasnt the Baron of Dorgins son.
Thats because there is no Baron of Dorgin, supplied Locklear. If youd done your research, you would have avoided that gaffe.
How was I supposed to know the lands outside the dwarven enclave are the province of the Duke of the Southern Marches?