Krondor the Betrayal by Raymond E. Feist Page A

times. He’s a young man, about your height. Light brown hair he wears long to his shoulders.’’
    ‘‘Does he speak like an Easterner?’’
    ‘‘Yes, now that you mention it. He sounds court-bred at times.’’
    Locklear said, ‘‘Thank you. I will mention your aid should any official investigation come of this.’’
    ‘‘I am always eager to help the authorities. I run a lawful enterprise.’’
    ‘‘Good.’’ Locklear motioned toward Gorath’s purse, and said, ‘‘Sell him the stone.’’
    Gorath took out the snow sapphire he had taken from the dead moredhel and put it down before Alescook.
    The merchant picked it up and examined it. ‘‘Ah, a nice one.
    I have a buyer for these down South. I’ll give you a golden sovereign for it.’’
    ‘‘Five,’’ said Locklear.
    ‘‘These are not that rare,’’ said Alescook, tossing it back to Gorath, who started to put it away. ‘‘But, on the other hand . . .
    two sovereigns.’’
    ‘‘Four,’’ said Locklear.
    ‘‘Three, and that’s done with it.’’
    They took the gold, enough for a meal along the way, left, and went outside. To his companions Locklear said, ‘‘We’re passing through Hawk’s Hollow on our way to Krondor, so our next choice is easy. We find Isaac.’’
    As he mounted his horse, Gorath said, ‘‘This Isaac is known to you, then?’’
    Locklear said, ‘‘Yes. He’s the second biggest rogue I’ve known in my life. A fine companion for drinking and brawling. If he’s caught up in something dodgy, it wouldn’t surprise me.’’
    They turned their horses southward and left the large, rolling valley of Loriel, entering the narrow river valley leading 41

    Raymond E. Feist
    southward. Locklear had been able to purchase a little food at the inn, but the lack of funds was starting to worry him. He knew they could hunt, but his sense of something dark approaching was growing by the day. A renegade moredhel chieftain bringing warning of possible invasion, money moving to the North to buy weapons from weapons runners, and somehow the Tsurani were involved. Any way he looked at this, it was a bad situation.
    Unable to put aside his foreboding, he kept his thoughts to himself.
    Gorath held up his hand and pointed. Softly he said, ‘‘Something there.’’
    ‘‘I don’t see anything,’’ said Owyn.
    ‘‘If you did, I would not need to warn you,’’ suggested the dark elf.
    ‘‘What do you see?’’ asked Locklear.
    ‘‘An ambush. See those trees. Some lower branches have been hacked off, but not by a woodsman’s ax or saw.’’
    ‘‘Owyn,’’ Locklear asked, ‘‘can you still do that blinding trick?’’
    ‘‘Yes,’’ said Owyn, ‘‘if I can see the man I’m trying to blind.’’
    ‘‘Well, as we’re sitting here, pointing at them, I expect in a moment whoever’s behind that brush is going to figure out we’ve spotted their ambush—’’
    Locklear was interrupted by six figures rushing forward from the brush on foot. ‘‘Moredhel!’’ shouted Locklear as he charged.
    He felt the sizzling energy speed past him as Owyn sought to blind an advancing dark elf. The spell took effect, for the creature faltered, reaching up to his eyes in alarm.
    Locklear leaned over the neck of his horse as an arrow flew past him. ‘‘Get the bowman,’’ he shouted to Owyn.
    Gorath shouted a war cry and rode down one attacker while slashing at a second. Locklear engaged a dark elf who seemed indifferent to facing a mounted opponent, and Locklear knew from bitter experience how deadly the moredhel could be.
    While rarely mounted themselves, they had faced human cavalry for hundreds of years and were adept at pulling riders 42

    KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
    from horseback. Knowing their tactics, Locklear spurred his mount suddenly, turning it hard to the left. This knocked back the attacker he faced and revealed the one poised to leap and drag him down. Locklear slashed out with his sword, taking the