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Authors: Raymond E. Feist
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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 Gorath’s 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 49
Raymond E. Feist
asked rhetorically. ‘‘I have never known the moredhel to travel for pleasure.’’
Gorath grunted, foregoing comment.
Malcolm was quickly done, and said, ‘‘You should have come second; this wound was more severe than your friend’s.
But you’ll 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 anytime 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 Prince’s men. I am Squire Locklear.’’
‘‘Then I shall call upon you next I’m in Krondor, Young Squire, and you can settle accounts with me then.’’ Glancing at Locklear’s freshly bound wounds, he said, ‘‘Go easy on those cuts for another day. By tomorrow you’ll feel better. If you avoid being stabbed again anytime soon, you’ll feel like your old self by week’s 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. ‘‘I’ve 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 50
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
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, it’s not much of a story. Man named Struble owned this place. Called it the Merry Dwarf. Don’t 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 Quester’s View, or the back way through Eggly and Tannerus and lose a few days.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘I’m 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
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 Gorath’s 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 49
Raymond E. Feist
asked rhetorically. ‘‘I have never known the moredhel to travel for pleasure.’’
Gorath grunted, foregoing comment.
Malcolm was quickly done, and said, ‘‘You should have come second; this wound was more severe than your friend’s.
But you’ll 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 anytime 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 Prince’s men. I am Squire Locklear.’’
‘‘Then I shall call upon you next I’m in Krondor, Young Squire, and you can settle accounts with me then.’’ Glancing at Locklear’s freshly bound wounds, he said, ‘‘Go easy on those cuts for another day. By tomorrow you’ll feel better. If you avoid being stabbed again anytime soon, you’ll feel like your old self by week’s 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. ‘‘I’ve 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 50
KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
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, it’s not much of a story. Man named Struble owned this place. Called it the Merry Dwarf. Don’t 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 Quester’s View, or the back way through Eggly and Tannerus and lose a few days.’’
Owyn said, ‘‘I’m 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
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