Raymond Feist - Krondor - The Betrayal

‘Foulbourgh?’ asked Gorath.

‘The part of the city built outside the wall. There are ways to get in and out of the city if you know them. The sewers under the foulbourgh and city proper are not supposed to connect, so an enemy can’t use them to gain entrance.’

‘But they do,’ supplied Gorath.

‘Yes, in two places, and one of them is as dangerous as walking up to those men gathered back there and asking for directions to the Prince’s palace. That entrance is controlled by the Thieves’ Guild. But the other entrance – well, let’s say that besides a friend of mine, only a few others know of it.’

‘How is it you know of it?’ asked Gorath.

‘My friend and I used it once, a long time ago, to follow Arutha to Lorien.’

Gorath nodded. ‘We have heard of that encounter. Murmandamus’s trap to kill the Lord of the West.’

‘That’s the one,’ said Locklear. ‘Now, it would be a good time to move silently.’

They did as Locklear bid and moved through the gully, until they encountered a culvert, made of stones polished by the water over the years. They bent over and walked below the road, as the late-afternoon shadows lengthened. Finally, the culvert ducked under a small stone bridge that afforded them a hiding place. It was well shielded from prying eyes by stores stacked in crates on each side of the road waiting for transport. Bored workers slowly moved to load them.

‘We linger a bit, until it gets darker,’ said Locklear. ‘At the right time, we need to get up and blend in with some traffic heading along the road that runs beside this culvert.’ He went to the other side of the bridge and glanced upward, pulling his head back.

Pointing where he had looked, he said, ‘Someone’s hanging around up there.’

‘What do we do?’ asked Gorath, obviously as out of his element as Locklear had been on the mountain trail.

‘We wait,’ said Locklear. ‘A patrol from the city watch passes along here about sundown, and they’ll order any armed men to move along. After dark it gets dangerous outside the wall, and the watch doesn’t like too many swords gathered in one place.’

They sat under the bridge, in the puddles on either side of the stream, waiting in silence as the hours dragged by. Flies annoyed them, and only Gorath ignored their presence as Locklear and Owyn spent most of the time swatting them away.

As sundown approached, Locklear heard the tread of boots upon the cobbles above. A few voices were raised, and Locklear said, ‘Now!’

He moved quickly up the side of the bank just beyond the bridge, ducking behind some crates as a party of men dispersed under the watchful eye of the city guard. ‘They’ll come this way, back toward the palace,’ said Locklear. ‘We just duck in beside them, and even if we’re seen, it’s unlikely we’re going to be attacked with a dozen soldiers ready to start busting heads at the first sign of trouble.’ He pointed to Gorath. ‘But you’d better fix that hood. Most people here wouldn’t know an elf from a moredhel if you hung signs around your neck, but you never know. If Ruthia’s fickle, the first person we meet will be an old vet from the wars to the north.’ Ruthia was the Goddess of Luck.

Gorath did as he was told and pulled his hood forward, hiding his features and when the soldiers walked down the road beside the stream, he followed Locklear and Owyn as they hurried to match pace with the soldiers.

They walked from the northeasternmost corner of the city along its entire length to the southern gate, and when the city watch moved toward the palace entrance, Locklear pulled them aside.

Owyn said, ‘Why don’t we just follow them in?’

‘Look,’ said Locklear. They looked where he pointed and saw a work crew gathered before the gate, with two teams of horses tied to a pulley. ‘It seems someone has sabotaged the gate,’ said Locklear.

The watch commander shouted something down from the wall to the patrol leader, who saluted and turned his men around. ‘Come on, lads,’ he said, ‘we’re for the northern gate.’

Locklear motioned for his companions to follow him and he led them through a back alley. ‘This way,’ he urged.

He took them to what appeared to be the back entrance to a small inn, and opened the gate. Once through, he closed the gate and they stood in a tiny stabling yard, with a small shed off to one side. Looking to see if they were observed, Locklear pointed to the rear door of the inn. ‘If anyone finds us, we’re lost, looking for a meal and once we get inside the inn, head toward the front door; if anyone objects, we run like hell.’

Gorath said, ‘Where are we?’

‘The back of an inn owned by people who would be less than pleased to discover we knew about this place, or what I’m about to do.’ He moved toward the shed, but rather than going inside, he moved to where it joined with the wall. Feeling around behind the shed, Locklear tripped a lever and a latch clicked. A big stone rolled away, and Owyn and Gorath could see it was a cleverly-fashioned sham, made of canvas and painted to look like the rock of the wall. Locklear was forced to lie down and wiggle feet first through the small aperture, but he successfully negotiated the entrance. Owyn went next, and Gorath last, barely clearing the opening.

‘Who uses that thing?’ asked Owyn in a whisper. ‘Children?’

‘Yes,’ said Locklear. ‘The Mockers number many urchins in their ranks and there are dozens of bolt-holes like that all over the city.’

‘Where are we?’ asked Owyn.

‘Use your senses, human,’ said Gorath. ‘Or can’t your breed smell its own stink?’

‘Oh,’ Owyn exclaimed, as the stench of the sewer struck him.

Locklear reached up and pulled shut the trap, leaving them in total darkness.

‘My kind see in darkness better than yours do, Locklear,’ said Gorath, ‘but even we must have some light.’

‘There should be a lantern close by,’ said Locklear. ‘If I can remember the distance … and direction.’

‘What?’ asked Gorath. ‘You don’t know where a light is?’

‘I can help,’ said Owyn. A moment later a faint nimbus of light started to glow around the young man’s hand, and it grew until they could see a dozen paces in all directions.

‘How did you do that?’ asked Locklear.

Owyn held out his left hand. On it was a ring. ‘I took it off Nago. It’s magic.’

‘Which way?’ asked Gorath.

‘This way,’ said Locklear, leading them into the sewers of Krondor.

‘Where are we?’ whispered Owyn.

Locklear lost his sure tone as he said, ‘I think we’re just north of the palace.’

‘You think?’ said Gorath with a snort of contempt.

‘All right,’ said Locklear with a petulant tone. ‘So I’m a little lost. I’ll find—’

‘Your death, quick and messy,’ said a voice from outside the range of Owyn’s light.

Three swords cleared their scabbards as Locklear tried to pierce the gloom beyond the light by force of will.

‘Who be you and what would you in the Thieves’ Highway?’

Locklear cocked his head at the bad attempt at a formal challenge and, judging the owner of the voice to be a youth, he answered, ‘I be Seigneur Locklear and I do whatever I will in the Prince’s sewers. If you’re half as intelligent as you’re trying to sound, you’ll know not to bar our way.’

A young boy stepped forward from the shadows, slender and wearing a tunic too large for him, wrapped around the waist with a rope belt, trousers he had almost outgrown, and sporting a pointed felt cap. He carried a short sword. ‘I’m Limm and fast with a blade. Step any further without my leave and your blood will flow.’

Gorath said, ‘The only thing you’ll do is die, boy, if you don’t stand aside.’