Raymond Feist - Krondor - The Assassins

Harper Voyager

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 1999

Copyright © Raymond E. Feist

Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008311261

Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780007352456

Version: 2018-11-13

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

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Map

Prologue: Departures

Chapter One: Escape

Chapter Two: Krondor

Chapter Three: Reception

Chapter Four: Surprises

Chapter Five: Secrets

Chapter Six: Confusion

Chapter Seven: Ambush

Chapter Eight: Attack

Chapter Nine: Decisions

Chapter Ten: Revelation

Chapter Eleven: Stealth

Chapter Twelve: Improvisation

Chapter Thirteen: Concealment

Chapter Fourteen: Murders

Chapter Fifteen: Desperation

Chapter Sixteen: Discovery

Chapter Seventeen: Misdirection

Chapter Eighteen: Unmasking

Epilogue: Encounters

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

LINES 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 honours back in Krondor. Clouds of dust rose from the trail as wheels rolled and boots tramped towards 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 colour in an otherwise grey 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 solider 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 the throne of Krondor ten years before, though lines around his eyes and a small scattering of grey 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 honourable 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 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.