Krondor the Betrayal by Raymond E. Feist Read Free Book Online

Gorath kept his hood up, but rode without apparent discomfort.
    ‘‘How much longer?’’ asked Owyn, his teeth chattering.
    ‘‘A half hour less than the last time you asked,’’ said Locklear.
    ‘‘Squire,’’ said Owyn. ‘‘I’m freezing.’’
    Locklear said, ‘‘Really. How unusual.’’
    Gorath held up his hand. ‘‘Quiet,’’ he said softly, with just enough authority and volume to carry to his companions, but no farther. He pointed up ahead. ‘‘In the rocks,’’ he whispered.
    ‘‘What?’’ asked Locklear in hushed tones.
    Gorath only pointed. He held up four fingers.
    ‘‘Maybe they’re bandits,’’ whispered Owyn.
    ‘‘They’re speaking my tongue,’’ said Gorath.
    Locklear sighed. ‘‘They’re covering all the roads, then.’’
    ‘‘How do we proceed?’’ asked Owyn.
    Pulling his sword, Gorath said, ‘‘We kill them.’’ He spurred his horse forward, with Locklear hesitating only an instant before following.
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    Raymond E. Feist
    Owyn reached up and quickly pulled out his staff, tucking it under his arm like a lance, then urging his horse forward.
    He heard a shout as he rounded a turn in the trail and entered a widening in the road where one dark elf lay dying in the road as Gorath sped past him.
    The other three were not so quickly taken, but rather hurried up into higher rocks where the horses couldn’t follow. Locklear didn’t hesitate, and in a move that startled Owyn, the squire jumped up on his saddle and leaped off the running horse’s back, knocking a moredhel from the rock he was climbing.
    On his right Owyn saw another one turn, rapidly stringing his bow, then reaching in a hip quiver for an arrow. Owyn urged his horse forward and swept his staff, striking the bowman below the knee. The bowman went down, his feet shooting out from under him, and struck the rocks with the back of his head.
    Owyn’s mount shied from the sudden motion near his head, and suddenly Owyn found himself falling backwards. ‘‘Ahhhh!’’
    he cried, then he struck something softer than the rocks. A stunned ‘‘oof’’ accompanied the impact, and a groan told him he had landed atop the already-injured dark elf.
    As if scorched by the touch of a flame, Owyn turned over and sat up, scrambling backward. Suddenly he was struck from behind by his horse as the animal turned and sped down the trail. ‘‘Hey!’’ Owyn shouted, as if he could order the animal to stop.
    He then realized there was a struggle going on, and the twice-struck moredhel was attempting to rise. Owyn looked around for a weapon and saw the fallen archer’s bow. Owyn grabbed it and, using it like a club, struck the moredhel in the head with as much strength as he could muster. The bow shattered and the warrior’s head snapped back. Owyn was certain he wouldn’t rise again.
    The young magician turned to see Locklear standing away from a now-dead dark elf, while Gorath likewise stood over a fallen foe. The moredhel turned and looked in all directions, as if seeking another foe. After a moment, he put up his sword, and said, ‘‘They are alone.’’
    ‘‘How can you tell?’’ asked Locklear.
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    KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
    ‘‘These are my people,’’ said Gorath without apparent bitterness. ‘‘It is unusual for even this many to travel together this far south of our lands.’’ He motioned toward a small fire.
    ‘‘They didn’t expect to encounter us.’’
    ‘‘Then what were they doing here?’’ asked Locklear.
    ‘‘Waiting for someone?’’
    ‘‘Who?’’ asked Owyn.
    Gorath looked around in the late-afternoon light as if seeing something in the distant peaks, or through the rocks on either side of the trail. ‘‘I don’t know. But they were waiting here.’’
    Locklear said, ‘‘Where is your horse, Owyn?’’
    Owyn looked over his shoulder, and said, ‘‘Back down there somewhere. I fell off.’’
    Gorath smiled. ‘‘I saw you land on that one over there.’’