Read Krondor the Assassins Online
Authors: Raymond E. Feist
Krondor the Assassins
Book two of the Riftwar Legacy
Also by Raymond E. Feist
Magician
Silverthorn
A Darkness at Sethanon
Faerie Tale
Prince of the Blood
The King’s Buccaneer
Shadow of a Dark Queen
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Rage of a Demon King
Shards of a Broken Crown
Krondor: The Betrayal
With Janny Wurts
Daughter of the Empire
Servant of the Empire
Mistress of the Empire
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
KRONDOR THE ASSASSINS.
Copyright © 1999 by Raymond E. Feist.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Adobe E-Reader edition v 1. March 2001
ISBN 0-06-621315-0
1 0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This book is dedicated to all the editors who have put up with, inspired, corrected, and aided me, to the ends of improving the work and making me look good: Adrian Zackheim, Nick Austin, Pat LoBrutto, Janna Silverstein, Malcolm Edwards, and my current guides, Jennifer Brehl and Jane Johnson.
Also, to Peter Schneider, who has done far more on my behalf than he realizes.
My deepest thanks to them all.
Raymond E. Feist
Rancho Santa Fe, CA
May 1999
This book is the outgrowth of a lot of imaginations besides my own.
I am indebted to the following people: John Cutter, Neal Halford, Bill Maxwell, Andy Ashcraft, Josh Kulp, Craig Bollan, and Erik Wycheck at Dynamix, 7th Level, and Pyro-technix, for creating interesting characters and situations for the games, Betrayal at Krondor and Return to Krondor, which provided characters, situations, and ideas that coalesced into this novel.
Also, and as usual, I stand in debt to the imagination and creative support given me by the usual suspects, also known as the Friday Nighters. Without them, Midkemia wouldn’t exist and I would have had to find another job.
CONTENTS
MAP PAGE X
K r o n d o r : T e a r o f th e G o d s I
M
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P
P
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XI
I
DEPARTURES
m
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INES of soldiers marched along the ridge.
The baggage train had been broken into two segments, the first of which was now departing with the wounded and the dead who would be cremated with honors back in Krondor. Clouds of dust rose from the trail as wheels rolled and boots tramped toward home, the fine powder mixing with the acrid smoke from campfires as they were extinguished. The rising sun streamed through the haze, orange and pale gold, lances of color in an otherwise gray morning. In the distance birds sang, ignoring the aftermath of battle.
Arutha, Prince of Krondor and ruler of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles, sat on his horse, taking a moment to enjoy the majesty of the sunrise and the serenade of the birds as he watched his men heading home. The fighting had been blessedly short but bloody, and while casualties were lighter than anticipated, he still hated to lose even one soldier under his command. He let the beauty of the vista before him soothe his frustration and regret for a few moments.
Arutha still resembled the youthful man who had come to 2
K R O N D O R : T H E A S S A S S I N S
the throne of Krondor ten years before, though lines around his eyes and a small scattering of gray through his otherwise black hair revealed the toll rulership had taken on him. For those who knew him well, he was still much the same man, a competent administrator, military genius, and fiercely duty-bound man who would surrender his own life without question to save the lowest soldier under his command.
His gaze went from wagon to wagon, as if somehow willing himself to see the wounded men inside, as if he could communicate to them his sense of gratitude for a job well done. Those closest to Arutha knew he paid a silent price, pain kept within, for each injury done a man who served Krondor and the Kingdom.
Arutha pushed aside his regrets and considered the victory.
The enemy had been in full retreat for two days, a relatively small force of dark elves. A much larger force had been prevented from reaching the Dimwood when a rift machine had been destroyed by Arutha’s two squires, James and Locklear. It had cost the life of a magician named Patrus, but his sacrifice had allowed the invaders to fall prey to their own internal conflicts. Delekhan, the would-be conqueror, had died beside Gorath, a moredhel chieftain who had proven as honorable and worthy a being as Arutha had ever met, while they struggled to seize control of the Lifestone. Arutha cursed the existence of that mysterious and ancient artifact under the abandoned city of Sethanon, and wondered if its mystery would ever be understood, its danger removed, in his lifetime.
Delekhan’s son Moraeulf had died from a dagger thrust home by Narab, once an ally of Delekhan. As agreed to by Narab, the retreating moredhel weren’t being harassed by Kingdom forces as long as they were heading straight north. Orders 3
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had been dispatched to allow the moredhel safe passage home as long as they kept moving.
The Kingdom forces in the Dimwood were now dispersing to their various garrisons, the majority returning to the west, and some heading back north to the border baronies. They would start moving later in the morning. The previously secret garrison north of Sethanon would be moved to another location and reprovisioned.
Sunlight began to bathe Arutha as the morning mist burned off, leaving only the smoke and dust to cloud the air. The day was already growing hot, and the cold of the previous winter was fading from memory. Arutha kept his distress deep inside as he considered the latest assault upon the tranquillity of his Kingdom.
Arutha had taken the Tsurani magicians at face value after the end of the Riftwar. For nearly ten years they had been free to come and go between worlds, via several magic rifts. And now he felt a profound sense of betrayal. He fully understood the rationale that had driven Makala, a Tsurani Great One, to attempt to seize the Lifestone at Sethanon, the belief that the Kingdom possessed a great weapon of destruction, some engine of power that would give predominance in war to whoever held it. Had he been in Makala’s place, with the same suspicions, he might have acted in the same way. But even so, he could not trust the Tsurani to be loose in the Kingdom, and that meant an end to almost a decade of trade and exchange. Arutha pushed aside worry as to how he would effect the changes he must make, but he knew that eventually he would have to sit down with his advisors and fashion a plan that would ensure future security for the Kingdom. And he knew almost no one would be pleased at the changes he would make.
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Arutha glanced to his right and saw two very fatigued young men sitting astride their horses. He permitted himself one of his infrequent smiles, a bare upturning of the sides of his mouth, which served to soften the often somber expression on his still-youthful face. ‘‘Tired, gentlemen?’’ he asked.
James, senior squire to the Prince, returned his ruler’s gaze from eyes surrounded by dark circles. James, and his companion Squire Locklear, had ridden a punishing ride, abetted by magic herbs which had kept them awake and alert for days in the saddle. The after-effects of the prolonged use of the draught was to unleash all the pent-up fatigue and body-ache on the young men at once. Both had slept through the night, upon cushions in Arutha’s tent, but had awakened tired and bone-weary. Summoning up his usual brazen wit, James said, ‘‘No, sire, we always look like this when we wake. Usually you don’t see us until after our morning coffee.’’
