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             			BETRAYAL AT KRONDOR
		    	        Complete Story text
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			Email: nicholasrodusek@hotmail.com


Legal Stuff:

All Text contained herein has been originally collected and compiled by
Eysteinn Bjornsson and is located at the web address
www.hi.is/~eybjorn/krondor/textweb.html, and has been used with permission.

This FAQ is the reproduction of the said compilation, it has been reformatted
for GAMEFAQS.

Copyright 2004 Orpheus.
This FAQ may be not be reproduced under any circumstances except for personal,
private use. It may not be placed on any web site or otherwise distributed
publicly without advance written permission. Use of this guide on any other web
site or as a part of any public display is strictly prohibited, and a violation
of copyright.

All trademarks and copyrights contained in this document are owned by their
respective trademark and copyright holders.

NOTE:
Michael Dorn should portray Gorath in a Betrayal At Krondor movie.


================================
       TABLE OF CONTENTS
================================

1)	Into a dark night
2)	Shadow of the Nighthawks
3)	The Spyglass and the Spider
4)	Marked for death
5)	When rivers run blood
6)	Betrayal
7)	The long ride	
8)	Of Lands afar
9)	Mad God’s Rage



++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
			
			      CHAPTER 1
			  Into a dark night

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

One by one he tended the wincing soldier's purple wounds, stitched, salved,
bandaged, did what little he could in the leaping golden halo of firelight.
Fortunately for his roadside patient, he could do more than most.
Fingers slick with alum ointment, he worked fervently to tie off a catgut cord,
then brushed the injury with a light touch that to the untrained eye would seem
only a friendly pat - others would recognize the telltale hand gesture as a
magical ward against infection.
	"Done," Owyn sighed, wiping his hand in a rust colored cloth.
"No guarantees, though. The stitches may hold all the way to LaMut and then
again, push too hard and you could be bleeding like a stuck pig on Midsummers".
	"You did - fine," Seigneur Locklear replied, smiling approval before
rolling down his sleeve. "It'll scar but it's good for a noble's reputation.
Lets the kingdom folk know he isn't resting on his laurels and it impresses the
ladies. I'll be sure to look you up in Tiburn if ever I need stitching up
again."
	The boy accepted the compliment with a humble nod while he packaged away
the rest of his medical supplies, his thoughts focused instead on a third man
who slumped in the shadows across from them. Despite the manacles that bound
the stranger's hands and the distance that separated them, the boy felt
dreadfully exposed, his avenues of escape limited should Locklear's
elven-looking prisoner decide to liberate himself.
	"What did he do?" Owyn whispered, jerking his head towards the man.
	"Gorath? Let's just say that he had the disadvantage of being at the
wrong place at the wrong time," Locklear said cautiously. He snatched a greenish
apple out of his knapsack, offering one to Owyn. "I have to take him to
Krondor."
	"Did he kill someone?" Owyn asked.
	"No."
	"He attacked you."
	The Seigneur wiped apple juice from his mouth, shook his head. "No, no,
not exactly."
	"Well, who cut you up then?"
Before Locklear could reply...

... Gorath leapt forward, his chains writhing between his wrists like metallic
vipers.

GORATH:
Get out from underfoot, Owyn! Assassin in the camp!

GORATH:
Do not struggle so, Haseth. I wish to keep you alive.

GORATH:
But be glad I do not. The goddess of death will show you greater mercy.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				LEAVING HASETH'S BODY

Gorath seemed distant.

Though the Moredhel warrior didn't appear grieved about killing the assassin
that had followed them from the Northlands, his eyes had a baleful look in them
that seemed something between hatred and rage. Several times he glanced back at
the corpse that lay behind them in the dust, his thoughts unguessable from his
expression.

LOCKLEAR:
Do you wish to bury him? We could do that.

GORATH:
It is not our way. I simply am somewhat disturbed that he should come
after me. He was... a kinsman. There are other things that trouble me as well.
Delekhan's assistants are slow but not altogether stupid. Another like Haseth
and you'll only have my corpse to drag before your Prince Arutha.

LOCKLEAR:
Sorry, you don't get off that easy. As long as you are under my
command you are forbidden to die, Moredhel. I've gone to far too much trouble
keeping you alive to bury you now. Its time that we took the chains off of you.
It'll be far easier for you to defend yourself if your hands are free to swing a
sword again.

OWYN:
You're not just going to set him free are you? I thought you said he was
your prisoner.

LOCKLEAR:
He is my prisoner, Owyn, but the circumstances are terribly
complicated. Even if he chose to sneak off, he'd be lucky to make it to the
next town alive. This is the third such assassin we've run into since we left
the Northlands and I have a feeling that more will be waiting for us. He will be
much safer with me and I with him.

GORATH:
As the boy would be. If he were to whisper the wrong word in the wrong
ear, he could easily be the death of us.

OWYN:
Me? Who am I going to talk to? I'm not even heading in the same direction.

LOCKLEAR:
It wouldn't be a matter of who you talked to, Owyn. There will be ears
listening for word of a Moredhel travelling with a noble. Damnation. I should
have thought about this when you entered camp. For the time being, you're my
squire. Once we arrive safely at the palace, you’ll be free to go your own way.

OWYN:
But I have pressing business in Tiburn.

GORATH:
This is not a subject of debate! We must get to Krondor. My mission is of
critical importance and I don't have time to improvise an easy solution.
The only other possible option would be to slit your throat and leave you dying.
I have absolutely no desire to do that. Now let's get moving before Delekhan's
assassins catch our scent again. They'll likely come looking when Haseth doesn't
return from his mission.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			    MEETING JAMES IN THE SEWERS

Someone whistled.

Turning round, Locklear felt a stone sink in his gullet, fearing that they had
left themselves open to attack by yet another band of Nighthawks. To his great
surprise, however, a familiar friend stepped from the shadows.

JAMES:
By the twelve gods Locklear, your hair!

LOCKLEAR:
It's just like you Jimmy. I haven't seen you in seven months, then I rescue you
from a band of Nighthawks and the first thing you want to talk about is my
bloody change of hair color! What is going on around here? The front gate is
smashed and there are Nighthawks loose in the sewers.

JAMES:
Not Nighthawks. Impostors. Someone has been trying to convince Prince
Arutha that the Guild of Death has reestablished operations here in Krondor and
is using the sewers as their hideout, hoping that the Lancers will come down and
clean out the place. In doing so, I think whoever is running this game hopes
that the Lancers will root out the Mockers while they are at it.

LOCKLEAR:
What, take out the Guild of Thieves? Doesn't seem likely from all the things
you've told me from your days as a Mocker.

JAMES:
More to the point, we know now a few of the Nighthawks escaped to Romney when we
smashed them up after that affair with Princess Anita. They certainly won't dare
tread Krondor's streets for a while yet. I'd been tracking around down here
trying to find out more when I ran into those fellows... So... why have you come
back so soon to Krondor, Locky? I thought you were going to be gone another four
months or so.

LOCKLEAR:
I've got bad news from the Northlands. Looks like the Dark Brothers
are stirring again. They raised Murmandamus' battle standards over Sar-Sargoth
and there's a Moredhel army gathering to attack the Kingdom. This Moredhel used
to be one of their clan chieftains, something of a hero during the Riftwar
against the Tsurani too. I thought Prince Arutha would be interested in talking
to him.

JAMES:
I don't like this, Locky. The Moredhel stirring again in the north and
someone mimicking the Guild of Death... My bump of trouble says that things are
going to get far worse before they get better... I assume since you're down here
that you're trying to get into the palace the way I showed you a few years ago?

LOCKLEAR:
Yes... I was thinking I would have to pry off the grate somehow, but if you have
the key, it would save me a great deal of trouble.

JAMES:
Still on me. It's all yours. I can find my own way into the palace. I'm going to
creep around a while longer down here and see if I can unravel this particular
mystery.

LOCKLEAR:
Suit yourself. I, for one, am anxious to get out of this hole. Come and get me
for breakfast tomorrow after I've spoken to Prince Arutha!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				Entering Krondor Palace

The gate swung open.

Revolted by the thick scent of excrement in the chamber, Locklear hastened to
the ladder affixed on the far wall and ascended its filth slick rungs. Behind
him, Gorath and Owyn reluctantly did likewise, gaffing on the noxious vapors in
the shaft.
	"This is nothing," Locklear grunted, shoving upwards against a grating.
"All the windows in the palace are open right now. You ought to smell it in the
winter."
	Darkness surrounded them as they slithered out of the privy, their only
impressions of the chamber provided by the faint flicker of distant firelight.
Ten yards before them the hall joined with an elaborate colonnade stretching in
either direction.
	"Somehow I hadn't pictured my first visit to Krondor like this," Owyn
sighed, falling blindly into step behind Gorath and the Seigneur.
	"What, you didn't like the romantic tour?" Locklear chuckled. "Not many
people get to see that way into the palace."
	Drawing up short, Locklear's features brightened as he observed a pair
of approaching figures lost in conversation. Self-conscious of his bedraggled
condition he straightened his uniform and cleared his throat with a stentorian
air: "Greetings Prince Arutha and Master Magician Pug!"

ARUTHA:
As glad as I am at the sight of you safely home again, Locklear, I can't
say that my nose is as well pleased. I thought we had broken you and Seigneur
James of clambering round in the sewers.

LOCKLEAR:
You know the way of old habits, highness. We encountered a bit of trouble with
the gates and so I chose a more expedient though somewhat more disagreeable
path. It came to a happy end, however. James told us to send word that he is
well and would see you in the morning.

ARUTHA:
Incurable sewer rats, the both of you. I shall have to order that each of you be
accompanied by a score of washing maidens to keep you presentable enough for
court. Welcome home, Locky.

LOCKLEAR:
Thank you. As happy as I am to be here, I'm afraid I come with bad news from the
Northlands.

ARUTHA:
I expected as much. With the false Nighthawks prowling my streets above and
below it can only mean the Moredhel are up to their old mischief. What do you
know?

Motioning to Gorath, Locklear introduced the former Moredhel chieftain with a
wave. Slowly, Gorath lowered his hood. The gasps and startled reactions of those
crowding the hall helped mask the stealthy entrance of a second Moredhel in the
chamber; this one armed with a longbow!

PUG:
Assassin! Get Down!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				CHAPTER 2
			  Shadow of the Nighthawks

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A whisper led him through madness.

He stumbled forward with unfamiliar feet ten times too small to belong to a
warrior. There were lights on the hills around him, fires, voices shouting
through a downpour of sloshing hoof beats. He reached for his sword then
remembered that he hadn't a sword that night. He had only been a boy of twelve
Midsummers. Only a boy and yet he led the ragged remains of his father's tribe.
	'Who leads the Moredhel?' The whispering voice insisted in his head. I
must see more.
	Years. A river of men coursed together in a bleeding tide and he was
amidst them. Screams rang. A howling figure silhouetted himself against the moon
and brandished a bloody sword aloft. The wolfish figure screamed words of wrath
and damnation as he cleaved his way through his Moredhel brothers. He was
Delekhan, former general of Murmandamus, leader of the unified tribes of the
Northlands, and he was the enemy...
	'Gorath!'
	The memory detonated into a million fading thoughts, each fleeing after
the faint echoes of a weak whisper. Before him now there was a new image, the
face of a fair young girl whose pale blue eyes watched him with weary interest.
There were others too, all seated like himself around a polished council table,
all studying, all dissecting. And Gorath was the object of their scrutiny.
	"I cannot find the truth, my Prince," the tired girl whispered finally,
quietly. "His mind is chaotic. I find images but I cannot hold them long enough
to understand."
	Narrowing his dark eyes, Prince Arutha glared at Gorath. "He hides his
thoughts?"
	"Gorath is Moredhel." Pug quickly interceded for his exhausted daughter.
"Even with Gamina's exceptional talent for sensing thoughts, his mind may have
many innate psychic defenses. I may need to send for one of my advanced
students... "
	"No need to disturb studies, master magician Pug. The Moredhel speaks
truly."
	Council members exchanged surprised glances then turned their attention
to the aged magician seated next to Pug. Lowering his eyes, the man made a
dismissive gesture.
	"Forgive me, I do not mean to presume, but I have looked into his mind
as well," Makala continued. "War in the Kingdom would have many wide ranging
effects, not the least of which could lead to a disruption of trade between our
two worlds. My Emperor of Tsuranuanni would be most displeased if our rift-
making secrets were seized by barbarians in warfare."
	Gorath glowered at the Tsurani magician. "Trading agreements not
withstanding, the Moredhel watch your borders, Nighthawks spy on your imperial
cousins and before the snows there shall be an army come to the Kingdom! Heed my
words Prince of Krondor! You must prepare your troops!"
	Anger flashed in the thunderheads of Arutha's eyes as he rose to his
feet...

ARUTHA:
What I must or must not do will not be dictated by a dissident Moredhel! If not
for Locklear's good faith in you, I would have had your head staked on a pole
and paraded up and down the low quarters of Krondor once I saw you!

ARUTHA:
I have been tolerant while I listened to your vague speculations based on
incidental half- heard conversations, but how am I to believe what you say?
What evidence have you laid before this council to prove what Delekhan intends
to do?

GORATH:
What evidence? I bear the humiliation of betraying my vow as a Moredhel and the
indignity of surrendering to a sworn enemy...

MAKALA:
Why betray Delekhan to the Kingdom of the Isles? Of what benefit to you is it to
snare him?

GORATH:
He is leader in name only. However bitter a draught Delekhan may be for your
kith and kin to drink, magician, his rule is black poison in the gullets of me
and mine. Already he enslaves my cousins and rapes the land.

GORATH:
Bloody his nose Prince of Krondor. Blunt his swords and the unified tribes will
cast him down in wrath. Let him cross your Northern border, however, and ten
other clans will join their strength to his and the legacy of Murmandamus will
be but a spark next to his glory.

ARUTHA:
Where would you have me send my troops? If indeed he intends a strike against
one of our northernmost possessions, which castle shall I garrison for the
attack? Highcastle? Ironpass? Northwarden? If I am to fight a war, by my teeth
tell me where would you have me fight it!

GORATH:
Would that I could tell you! Delekhan holds in good confidence only a handful of
cowering dogs and, among them, only a few are privy to his war plans. His
private counsels are restricted to choice individuals, his advisors Narab and
Nago, his mistress Liallan, his son Moraeulf and - Nighthawks!

ARUTHA:
He keeps foul company that leader of yours...

GORATH:
Your highness, if you give me leave, I believe I can find the evidence of
Delekhan's intent. I will need someone to accompany me to Romney and supplies
for my journey and a small parcel of gold.

ARUTHA:
Romney? What do you think you can find in a provincial river town in the heart
of the Kingdom?

GORATH:
I aim to catch a bird in flight. Of late Delekhan has emptied a good deal of his
treasury to revive the service of the Nighthawks. In exchange he has demanded
tactical information about kingdom holdings...

ARUTHA:
He's turned the Guild of Assassins into a guild of spies?

GORATH:
Only for a time. Although the payments have been left in various hidden locales,
the messengers were always to rendezvous in Romney. If I go there, I may be able
to intercept information concerning a forthcoming attack. Would such evidence
suffice?

ARUTHA:
Perhaps. Damn me but I don't trust you Gorath. How do I know that this isn't a
plot of yours? We can weigh the evidence to our heart's content and your cousins
could be slitting the throats of my serfs as we sit dawdling...

ARUTHA:
Go to Romney, but you'll provide for yourself. If this is part of some secret
Moredhel scheme, I'll not look the fool before the world. Pug, unroll the map
for me...

The scroll smelled of dust.

Scrawled in chicken scratches and spider tracks, tiny lines staggered across the
moth-eaten paper, indicating the paths that were the major roads within the
Kingdom.
	Pointer in hand, Arutha bent over the map and pointed to a large black
dot. "We are here in Krondor. At dawn tomorrow you will leave through the main
gate and rendezvous with your escort, Seigneur James. I know you might have
preferred Locklear's company, but he has business elsewhere.
	"You will head to Romney. Providing one of Delekhan's assassins doesn't
slit your throat first, you should reach the Ursine Ford within the month. In
Romney you will join a special detachment of King Lyam's soldiers staying at the
Black Sheep Tavern. They may be of service to you."
	Nodding, Gorath took in Arutha's advice, listening studiously as the
Prince reviewed the details. "If you find the evidence, I will act only when
James has conveyed the information to me. Is that clear? Only when I receive
James' word.Until then, I wait."
	"Understood," Gorath replied.
	"Good," Arutha replied, slapping the surface of the table with his palm.
Looking around the council chamber, he noted the wearied expressions of all who
sat around the map. "Why don't you let Gamina and Makala show you around
Krondor?
I have a few things I need to consider alone."
	Reading the offer as a polite dismissal, the worn council members began
to file out the door, most glad to be on their feet again following the grueling
session. As Pug passed by, however, Arutha snagged his sleeve and drew him back
to the table. "If you don't mind, I would have your council, cousin Pug."
	"Certainly," Pug replied, resuming his seat. "I am all attention."

ARUTHA:
As I see it, Delekhan could have only two potential targets for attack into the
Kingdom: Highcastle...

ARUTHA:
... and Northwarden.

ARUTHA:
His fortress at Sar- Sargoth is three hundred miles to the North and I doubt he
has the resources to defend a line that long.

ARUTHA:
So an attack at Northwarden seems unlikely.

PUG:
Leaving Highcastle...

ARUTHA:
Which is a viable alternative, but neither target seems to have an obvious goal.
I know you are no field strategist and you hate to become involved in state
matters but I should like you to delay your return to your home at Stardock for
a while. I feel... ill at ease.

PUG:
You are not alone in that. I too have sensed something unusual in the air, but I
won't ascribe it to anything as dire as magic. More likely we suffer from bad
soup.

ARUTHA:
Feelings aside I will call up the militia reserves from Malac's Cross, Darkmoor,
and Lyton and join them to a detachment of the Krondorian Lancers just outside
of the Dimwood.

ARUTHA:
James will send word to me there.

PUG:
What of the garrison?

ARUTHA:
It will remain in place. I have considered the option of a full push south and
it seems unlikely, but I will give Delekhan nothing. Our agreement remains.

ARUTHA:
Now we wait. Gods help Gorath if he betrays us to the Moredhel.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			Entering the Black Sheep Tavern

Even as they threw the door open, James bit back the impulse to vomit. Kingdom
soldiers lay scattered about the room, each lying in his own coagulating pool of
blood. Nowhere did there appear to be anyone untouched by murderous hands...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			        Chapter 3
			The Spyglass and the Spider

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Coppery smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Embers leapt from the funeral pyre into the growing dusk, joined the winking
points of light that would later become a blaze of crystalline stars. Around the
flames villagers gathered in dark clots, their faces overwritten with blank,
unreadable expressions. Like moths to a candle they drifted near and mourned and
thought and sniffed. They had come to watch the flames feed.
	Gorath's fathomless green eyes nictitated in the firelight as he turned
and gazed at Owyn who flinched uncomfortably at his side.
	"There can be no uneasier sleep than a warrior murdered in his cups,"
Gorath said, his voice only slightly louder than the spitting hiss of scorched
bone. "They nipped at the heels of the Nighthawks, be certain of that."
	"So you think we're getting close?" Owyn asked.
	Gorath began to speak, but his words congealed on his lips as his eyes
locked with the burning gaze of Seigneur James.

JAMES:
I've had it with your mysterious half-answers, Moredhel! Now for the sake of
your continued good health, I want to hear some explanations fast why you were
here in Romney a six-month before you made your appearance at the Inclindel
Pass.

GORATH:
The only explanation, Seigneur, is that you are mistaken. I have never been
south of the Inclindel...

JAMES:
While we carried the dead from the Black Sheep Tavern, a tavern boy informed me
that a man answering to your description called on three unwholesomes dressed in
black, all of whom wore the trademark silver rings of the Nighthawks. He heard
them refer to the Moredhel as Gorath.

JAMES:
It seems that this Moredhel paid a sizeable sum of money to those Nighthawks
before departing, enough perhaps to arrange the death of a company of the King's
soldiers?

GORATH:
He may well have paid a king's death, but I know nothing of it. I realize it may
impress little upon you, but Gorath is a passing common name in the Northlands
and oft as not your Kingdom fellow folk have mistaken me for an elf! The
barkeeper was likely deceived by enemies of mine.

GORATH:
If I had cause to mislead you or your Prince, I would have found a far less
convoluted means of confusing the royal sanity. Look elsewhere for your enemies,
James. While we may not be friends, I mean you no harm.

JAMES:
I shall look where I wish until you are no longer my responsibility.

JAMES:
We may not be able to strike at the Nighthawk stronghold, but if we can locate
it, we may still be able to get inside and find the information Prince Arutha
needs.

GORATH:
The Nighthawks will shun Romney for a time. However bold they may be in their
murderous nights, they flee when daylight breaks.

JAMES:
No one walks without leaving footprints and these men are no different. However
skilled they may be at assassination, they have never been any good at covering
their tracks. Let me see those things you found in the tavern.

GORATH:
They are here.

JAMES:
Good. Those are our footprints. Of all the items we found on the dead company,
both those items seemed conspicuously out of place and may be related in some
way to our elusive murderers.

JAMES:
We begin our hunt for the Nighthawks with a spider and a spyglass.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			   The Chest in Cavall Run

Spiders scurried out of the opened chest.

Careful to avoid the miniature albino menaces, James snatched a fresh-looking
scroll out of the box and unrolled it on the floor. As his dark eyes darted
across the page, his lips moved in an incantation of places, names, figures and
dates.
	"Northwarden," James whispered. "The attack will come at Northwarden
very soon. But this is all wrong."
	"What is it?" Gorath asked, also bending to see the page.
	"These figures. If Delekhan takes a force this small to Northwarden, he
hasn't a hope of taking the castle. Far too few soldiers. Baron Gabot will maul
him unless Delekhan can bring something serious to bear. What could the Moredhel
have?"
	"Maybe the Nighthawks have infiltrated the castle." Owyn said. "Why else
would they be so helpful to the Moredhel unless their own necks were on the line
too?"
	Paling, James suddenly snatched an ink horn from his pack and began to
scribble an addendum to the Nighthawk note.
	"It is very important that this note reach Arutha. Although you were not
told this, he has stationed an army outside of the Dimwood to await my word
about the attack," James said, finishing his note. Fixing his gaze on Gorath, he
handed it firmly over. "I want you to make sure that it gets there. I'm going to
have to trust you."
	Owyn gaped. "But what about... "
	"I've got to go to Northwarden. If there are Nighthawks in Baron Gabot's
castle, we stand a good chance of losing it in an attack. I have to ensure that
doesn't happen.
	"Remember, Arutha is outside the Dimwood forest near Sethanon. When you
give him the note, tell him there's a party at Mother's."
	"What?" Owyn sputtered.
	"Just do it. I haven't got time to explain. Good luck, the both of you."
	In a moment the Seigneur was gone, his shadows chasing after him down
the long dark tunnel.
	An hour later, Owyn yawned expansively, his vision growing dim with each
step taken further down the road. Next to him, Gorath trudged without complaint,
his eyes fixed on the dusty cow track.
	"Enough, enough." Owyn murmured. I think my legs are going to crumble.
We can't reach Arutha tonight. Let's stop for a while."
	"Quiet," Gorath snapped, seizing Owyn by the arm. Beneath his hood, his
feral eyes glowed like blood tinged emeralds. "Someone's near... "
	Abruptly patches of darkness detached themselves from the woods, ambled
into the pale moonlight, huddled onto the roadbed. In the shadows, arrow points
gleamed, aligned in deadly sights, quivered...

NARAB:
As much as I would enjoy delivering your carcass to Delekhan I will reserve the
pleasure of your execution for him.

NARAB:
Do not move, Gorath. You are completely surrounded.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				Chapter 4
			    Marked for death

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The war drums had begun at dawn.

Stalking quietly the corridors of the ancient fortress, Narab carried a
witchlight to illumine his way. As he approached the doors to the Great Hall,
two Moredhel guards dressed in full battle regalia stood away. They made no
sound as he whisked past nor blinked at the sight of him.
	"Greetings, Narab," a cold voice called from the throne. "It has long
been since I have seen your face in Sar- Sargoth. Have you grown bolder or more
the fool?"
	Narab knelt at the base of the throne and kissed Delekhan's foot. "That
is for you to decide. If my words are not to your liking, then my life is
yours."
	"It is already mine." Delekhan's wolfish eyes blazed in the darkness.
"Speak," he commanded.
	"I have just returned from a journey into the Kingdom. I bring a prize."
	"I have no interest in valueless baubles."
	"This is no bauble," Narab said, cutting off Delekhan, "and I think you
will find it is of great value."
	"And would it have name, this thing?"
	"Yes, my lord. Its name is Gorath!" Narab sneered pridefully as he
awaited his leader's praise, awaited the words that would restore his place in
Moredhel favor and rescind the order of death on his head. Perhaps he would even
have a place among the new lords...
	Delekhan lunged from his throne, his razor edged gauntlet tilling a
bloody seam across Narab's face as he lashed him backwards.
	"You've wrecked everything, you dog!" Delekhan bellowed.
	"But... I have brought back the enemy of the Northlands!" Narab
sputtered, blood dripping from his torn lips. "With Gorath captive we can
proceed with our... "
	"You... know... nothing!"
	Narab retreated, suddenly aware that his efforts were wasted, that his
oath of loyalty meant nothing to his hateful lord. Resolutely he stifled a flash
of pain as the Moredhel leader thundered towards the doors.
	"And what of my life?" Narab whispered.
	Halting, Delekhan turned and hissed, "It is forfeit!"

Owyn didn't want to be awake.
	Perhaps it was the drugs they had given him or the endless walking that
he'd done in the past month and a half. All he could think about was sleeping
now, that restful non-existence that interrupted the beatings and the hauling
and the exhaustion. He just wanted to sleep but that irritating jangle wouldn't
let him. Where was it coming from?
	"Gorath?" Owyn asked. "Are you there?"
	Suddenly the jangle rattled louder, this time accompanied by a loud
creak and a flood of torch light as bright as the sun. Out of that glowing
corona lumbered the largest Moredhel he had yet seen...

DELEKHAN:
I see my assistants have been overzealous in their efforts to sedate you! It is
proper to tremble when you are addressed by Delekhan, leader of the unified
tribes of the Northlands!

DELEKHAN:
We found this among your things, Kingdom dog. Tell me where you were going with
it!

OWYN:
We weren't taking it anywhere. We just picked up everything we could and ran. We
needed gold...

DELEKHAN:
A lie! The seal that the Nighthawks use for our messages was broken. The new
writing at the bottom of the page confirms your guilt. What does Gabot's Folly
mean? Who are Arthur and Jimmy the Hand?

OWYN:
I really have no idea. Someone else must have beaten us to it and opened the
scroll before we got there. We took what we found and left before we got nabbed.
Do you want us to cut you in on the booty?

DELEKHAN:
What I want is information! Your companion Gorath damns you as certainly as your
lie does. Until he betrayed his own, he was second in power only to me. He shall
die for his disloyalty.

DELEKHAN:
Since you choose to remain silent, I shall have your tongue and feed it to my
rats. Have back your message, spy. It will do you little good in your grave.

Delekhan stalked away.

Still rattled by his interrogation, Owyn tried to collect his fuzz coated
thoughts into a coherent whole. Thankfully, his wits had provided the lies as
needed, but only narrowly had he avoided the impulse to tell everything he knew.
It was almost as if he was being prodded, coerced, bewitched...

Magic?

Astonished he had been unaware of it at the time, the boy looked again at the
bulky warrior who now stood whispering over Gorath's limp form. At first he
believed Delekhan was incanting a spell, one perhaps intended to coerce the
truth from his victim, but after a few moments it became clear the warlord was
conversing with his barely conscious friend.
	"No!" Gorath croaked, shaking his head.
	"... plans... unfulfilled," Delekhan whispered finally. Abruptly he
struck...

	It was too much to absorb.
	Even if the events unfurling before him weren't openly damning, Owyn had
seen enough to keep him swimming in a sea of doubts, all of them centering on
the loyalty of his friend and traveling companion. Worse still, he had to
deliver the message to Prince Arutha outside the Dimwood and he would need
Gorath's help to do it. Desperately he wished he had time to sort things out,
but time was the one commodity he didn't have.
	"Enjoy your deaths. I know I shall." Delekhan's scratchy voice snatched
Owyn out of his thoughts, directed his attention to where the Moredhel stood in
the doorway gesturing to someone in the dungeon corridor. From nowhere a
monolithic door swung into place and once again the room was a land of shadows.
	Experimentally, Owyn struck the bars of his cage, knowing full well the
corroded structure was too solid to yield. But even as his fingertips came away
from the metal, the bars began a keening vibration, the iron harmonies evocative
of distant temple bells.
	Someone was working magic... and it wasn't him.
	Owyn wasted no time.

Later, he could debate to his heart's content about who it was that had set them
free and what their reasons for doing so might be, but at the moment he had no
thought in him but finding a means to get them out of the darkened cell alive.
Hurrying to Gorath, he freed him of his iron manacles and allowed the Moredhel
to lean against his shoulder as they limped together towards the heavy dungeon
door. Again, tugging at the handle, they found that the lock was undone, another
gift from their unknown benefactor.
	"What about the guard?" Owyn whispered, allowing Gorath to stand once
more on his own.
	Gorath lifted his head and spoke, his speech still slurred by the drugs
that had been administered to them. "Keep moving," he said, waving a hand at the
door. "No one is there."
	Pushing out the door, they found themselves confronting a wide hallway
with passages leading in three other directions...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

		Meeting Finn south of the Inclindel Bridge

A man approached them.
	Still breathing heavily from their fight, Owyn barely managed to wave a
greeting at the Kingdom soldier who lumbered towards them.

FINN:
Boy, you're just about the luckiest whore's son I've ever laid eyes on.
If we hadn't of heard the commotion down the pass, I think those goblins would
have been having noble stew about now. Nearly took out your friend here until I
seen that he appeared to be fighting at your side. Now I don't know what you
think you're doing in the Northlands with these Moredhel.

OWYN:
It is very important that you take us to Prince Arutha.

FINN:
What?! The cold's gotten to you, boy. What makes you think I'm going to take
time off from my duties and trot your behind down to Krondor?

OWYN:
Prince Arutha isn't in Krondor. He's likely still stationed with his Krondorian
Lancers just outside of the Dimwood near Sethanon. We need you to escort us to
his camp.

FINN:
Why would he be there? And why would he want to see a boy and a Moredhel?

OWYN:
The Prince just sent us to spy on them, all right? They'd never suspect a
scrawny nineteen year old boy and a Moredhel, so... that's why he sent us. We
have information about a planned attack on the Kingdom and it's vital we get
this information to him.

FINN:
How do I know you're telling the truth?

OWYN:
You don't, but if you don't take us and the Moredhel overrun Northwarden, do you
really think you're going to be able to sleep with yourself?

FINN:
I have to give you one thing. If you're a gambler, you sure don't bid low...
Come on, let' s get moving. The Dimwood's hell and back from here and the Prince
won't want to be kept waiting. Let's move.

OWYN:
Just get us the hell out of here, Lieutenant. The sooner the better.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

GORATH:
... evaded capture and at last we were intercepted by your guards in the
Inclindel Pass. The journey south to your camp here outside the Dimwood took
many long days but we moved with great haste as our message is vital.

ARUTHA:
Very interesting tale, but how do I know a word of it is true? How can I believe
that this scroll you have given me is the genuine article and not a forgery
trumped up by Delekhan?

ARUTHA:
I was very explicit with you before, Gorath. I refuse to act until I have word
from Seigneur James!

OWYN:
He told us to give you a message, but it's... odd, sire.

ARUTHA:
What exactly did he say?

OWYN:
He said to tell you that there's a party at mother's...

ARUTHA:
... and a good time will be had by all. Gods, Laurie and Jimmie used that phrase
years ago! All's right then! James has just saved the pair of you your necks and
me a good portion of grief.

ARUTHA:
Now I must settle down to the matter of finding out what Delekhan is thinking.
If this report is correct then the best force he could muster would number at
the most two thousand warriors, a pitiful spit in the eye for a castle assault.

GORATH:
You believe he has something else in mind.

ARUTHA:
Undoubtedly. As James indicated in his brief note, it would take some
spectacular strategy on Delekhan's part to take the castle, and honestly, he has
never displayed that kind of wit. We faced him before when he was still a field
captain for Murmandamus. Wherever he is going he will no doubt hit fast and run
for high ground. Now we have to establish where that high ground is.

GORATH:
Shall we accompany you to Northwarden?

ARUTHA:
No. I have a much more important task for you, though I doubt you will find it
as exciting. I need you to return to Krondor immediately.

ARUTHA:
Inform Master Magician Pug of the situation. Considering his tactics, I have a
feeling Delekhan may have a few surprises in store for us. If that bastard
brings anything magical to bear, I want to know what it is and how to counteract
it.

ARUTHA:
You leave immediately.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			      Chapter 5
			When rivers run blood

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


James' breath emerged from his lips as a frosty white cloud.

Below him, Seigneur Locklear negotiated scrub brush as he worked his way up the
winding mountain path. He cursed expansively as a thorn bush caught in the
chinks of his leg guards and he paused to throw his friend an exasperated frown.
James smiled, then turned to look out over the snowy peaks that marked the
boundary of Moredhel territory.
	Five hours after arriving at Northwarden, Baron Gabot had called both he
and Locklear into his meeting room. While worried about James' story of
Nighthawks, he was far more concerned that his magical adviser had not reported
back from investigating possible Moredhel activity. With a large band of the
Dark Brothers approaching his castle, he feared that the old magician might have
 fallen into enemy hands, and so, reluctantly, he had asked the two Seigneurs to
finish Patrus' job.
	Locklear arrived puffing, his face haloed by mist.
	"I thought I was going to have to come down there and carry you up,"
James said grinning. "You shouldn't have stayed up all night with that serving
girl."
	"I didn't expect to have to get up at the crack of dawn," Locklear
growled, yanking a twig from his chain mail. "Mountain climbing and armor do not
mix."
	Suddenly, the two Seigneurs wheeled to the sound of a horrible
mewling...

PATRUS:
... And if it weren't bad enough I had to chase you, you made me get rocks in my
best shoes! I'm blistered! Know how mad I get when my feet hurt? I get river
bottom mud sucking badger whacked mad...

JAMES:
Excuse us...

PATRUS:
Go way. I'm busy right now agitatin' this here Moredhel...

JAMES:
Begging your pardon, but I am Seigneur James... and this... and this is...
Seigneur Locklear. We have been sent... by the Baron Gabot... to find... you.
You are his magical advisor, aren't you?

PATRUS:
Just Patrus, please. I don't ken to titles much. Glad to meet you. I've just
been out trying to get some information about these Moredhel. They've been
gettin' too close to the castle and it was makin' my tongue itch. Man can't
respectably eat thataways.

JAMES:
Have you... learned anything about the attack?

PATRUS:
Only that there's six companies of 'em out creepin' in the woods somewhere, but
I don't know exactly where yet. I think they've got their own magicians, too.

JAMES:
Magicians?! The Baron will be sorry to hear that, I'll wager. We need to return
to the castle. Which way would be quickest?

PATRUS:
Northwarden? Oh, well it's THATAWAY...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				Entering Northwarden

The portcullis creaked.

An ashen faced soldier trembled as he labored at the monolithic peg wheel, his
back arched backwards taut as a bowstring as he hauled the iron gate upwards.
With a jerk of his neck, he gasped between clenched teeth for James and his
companions to hurry inside.
	Within, a handful of soldiers hurried to various tasks on the
battlements and panicked captains attempted to rally the surviving contingents
of the day's fighting.
	"Something's wrong," James muttered, observing the disarray. "What's
happened?"
	"Baron Gabot's been murdered, that's what's happened!" a nearby soldier
shouted, glancing up from where he worked feverishly at unplugging a keg of oil.
"We found a bloody nest of Nighthawks in our midst! They murdered the Baron's
staff and three of the captains before we cornered 'em in a storeroom."
	"Torch those corpses immediately," James ordered. "They might be Black
Slayers. Where is Duke Martin?"
	"Don't know. You're the closest thing we have to nobility at the moment.
Guess that puts you in command, Seigneur.
	James said nothing as a rumble of thunder split the sky.
	Half dead soldiers trumped past, their eyes hollowed with exhaustion as
they traded places with equally worn men brought from the dining
hall-turned-infirmary. Few men still possessed clothing unstained by blood.
	Dour with the turn of events, James eyed the horizon for any sign of
help. In all likelihood, the Moredhel would attempt to breach the wall today and
there was little he could do about it. Nighthawk treachery had silenced their
cannons and too many men had fallen in four days of heavy fighting.
	"Attack!" a voice screamed in the stillness. "Attack! Men on the south
face!"
	James cast a fuming curse into the sunrise. He might die, but he would
send as many Moredhel as he could reach in to the halls of the Death Goddess
before he would go down...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Moredhel thrashed.

As life dimmed in his horrified eyes he toppled backwards into a wooden
balustrade. With an ear splitting shriek the railing sundered into flying
splinters, tumbled after his flailing feet as he disappeared into nothingness.
Almost too dazed to breathe, James bolted to the wall to sight his fallen
opponent. A crumpled heap of armor lay far below, splashed in gore and a
spreading stain of red. Close by, a grim looking figure lowered his crossbow
and tilted up his shaggy dark head to favor the Seigneur with a rare smile.
	Arutha!

JAMES:
I was beginning to believe you were going to miss all the fun!

ARUTHA:
Delekhan would think me impolite if I didn't attend his little party. How are
the men?

JAMES:
Very bad. Of the original garrison of four hundred and fifteen men, two hundred
twenty seven are dead, thirty five are mortally wounded, and the rest are
afflicted with dysentery or are too exhausted to wield a sword. Your arrival
came none too soon.

JAMES:
No discourtesy intended, Prince, but why did you wait so long in coming?

ARUTHA:
We made all haste, nearly to the point of calamity! Your well-meaning messengers
bumped into trouble and nearly didn't win themselves free. Consequently we
didn't receive your word until it was nearly too late for us to respond. We were
greatly fortunate to arrive as soon as we did.

JAMES:
The Moredhel are in retreat?

ARUTHA:
What few of them remain. By the accounts of my scouts, they think there may have
been up to at least six companies in the hills.

JAMES:
About that. Since they didn't have the decency to attack all at once, we
couldn't tell.

ARUTHA:
If our trackers are to be believed, four of those companies slipped out a week
ago while the other two kept your forces pinned down. The rest apparently turned
southwest.

JAMES:
Sounds like they mean to strike at Highcastle.

ARUTHA:
Undoubtedly. Since the Moredhel leader has mimicked many of the moves that his
predecessor Murmandamus made, it stands to reason he may make many of the same
mistakes.

ARUTHA:
As a precaution, I split my forces and diverted half of them to Highcastle. As
soon as we are finished cleaning up here, I will take the rest of our companies
to engage him there.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			    CHAPTER 6
			     BETRAYAL

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Pug concentrated on the storm.

Whitecaps curled on the face of the Bitter Sea as furious jags of lightning
slashed down from a darkening sky. Far off, the wobbling sails of ships leapt
in the troughs of grey waves, struggling desperately against winds that
threatened to shear them into ragged scraps. Fishermen and frenzied ship masters
busied themselves along Krondor's docks as they raced to batten down flapping
hatches and prevent unsecured goods from pitching into the churning seas.
Everywhere there were planks and hammers and ropes, but among the workers not a
soul dared utter a word.
	Wrongness. Pug sensed it as clearly as he smelled the salt in the air,
and felt the hardwood railing under his hand. What had begun three days ago as a
seemingly weak summer squall was intensifying into a threshing eye of violence.
Within hours it would make landfall, doubtless bruising the livelihoods of many
coastal towns, Krondor among them.
	Perhaps it can be tamed, Pug thought, his face twisting into a frown.
More of a Lesser Path affair but it should be simple enough...
	Even as he extended his hand the image of another storm formed in his
mind unbidden, a terrifying storm that had raged over his head as he came into
the greatness of his power in a far distant Empire called Tsuranuanni, a storm
that had tested his right to be a member of the alien Assembly of Magicians, a
storm that had rent open the heavens and forever set him apart from other mortal
men.
	Energy leapt from Pug's outstretched fingers into the heart of the
storm, exploding within it a glorious rainbow pattern that illuminated the
clouds in a throbbing elemental display. Greenish bands of color danced the sky
as the wind began to abate, the torrential rains quickly softening to a mild
patter as blue blasts of energy moved between sea and sky. Gently the ocean
stilled of its own accord.
	Satisfied the threat was reduced, Pug discontinued the spell with a
slicing gesture and stepped back to watch the storm's progress. The sight eased
his mind and allowed him time to mull over a series of issues, not the least of
which was the ruined vacation that he, his wife Katala and daughter Gamina, had
intended on making in Krondor, but like a lodestone to metal he found his
thoughts returning again and again to recollections of the Empire...

PUG:
Arrayed in flame the enemy comes, To shriek his cadence on skeleton drums...

MAKALA:
For thunder's spite we'll raise our call, Though down shall crumble Empire all.

MAKALA:
A Tsurani poet. I believe he was House Omechan...

PUG:
House Minwanabi, reign of the fifty third Light of Heaven...

PUG:
Is there something you need to see me about Makala? I am... busy.

MAKALA:
Busy? You have been behaving like a needra bull with a burr in his bit! I came
to ask what has Pug of Stardock so distracted that he cannot find time to meet
with his associate magicians? Has his reputation so inflated that a member of
the Tsurani Assembly is no longer worthy of his attention?

PUG:
I am sorry. Perhaps you are right, I've just been very preoccupied.

PUG:
I find myself obsessed with this storm. All week I've felt it building over the
Bitter Sea and all the while I have suspected there is more to it than is
immediately perceptible. It doesn't feel natural. Have you seen its like?

MAKALA:
I have seen its match in destruction. As I recall, you created far more havoc in
Tsuranuanni when you disrupted my Emperor's Imperial Games. Several city blocks</pre><pre id="faqspan-2">
destroyed, countless lives lost, the War lord cast down in dishonor...

PUG:
I had a feeling you didn't summon a rift-door to chastise me about my lack of
attention. What is this about, Makala?

MAKALA:
Your loyalties, Pug. While you claim loyalty to the Empire, you live your life
under the influence of a Midkemian King and took to wife a Thuril highlander.
Your judgment is suspect!

PUG:
From the day I left the Empire, my judgment and my loyalties ceased to be the
concern of the Assembly of Magicians. I do what I see is best for all concerned.

MAKALA:
I see. Then, is any act justifiable to that end?

PUG:
If it serves the common good, yes.

MAKALA:
Even if it violates an individual's rights?

PUG:
What do you wish for me to say, Makala?! You lead me as if I were one of your
needra cows but I am in no mood for games. State your business.

MAKALA:
Very well. Your daughter Gamina has blossomed into a remarkable young woman. She
is beautiful, gracious and an honor to your house. Unfortunately, she is also a
girl with remarkable powers.

MAKALA:
Your love for your daughter has led you into a grievous miscarriage of your
duties! Why have you let her live?

PUG:
My estimation of a person's magical talents is not determined by their sex,
Makala, and I refuse to murder my child to appease a barbaric tenant of the
Assembly! They have no authority in Midkemia!

MAKALA:
In this instance, I believe they will choose to ignore the geography. At this
juncture, the Assembly is troubled - surrounded by anti-traditionalists who
embrace your Midkemian values, led in large part by Mara of the Acoma.

MAKALA:
Open defiance by you as our most notable member could weaken our position within
the Empire and that is something we cannot afford! We would be forced to make
you publicly comply.

MAKALA:
Although I am equally wary of female abomination, I have no desire to see your
daughter dead. I have acted on your behalf and placed her in exile until such a
time we can agree upon her ultimate fate...

PUG:
Why didn’t you consult me? Where have you sent her?!

MAKALA:
Seek her if you wish, but it will avail you little. Your further interference
will likely ensure that the Assembly will carry out its order of death. They
will be unable to kill her, however, if they cannot find her. It would be to
your advantage to leave her be.

PUG:
I will not content myself to sit here while the Assembly banters about the value
of my daughter's life! I shall find her and then you tell your brethren to
expect my visit!

MAKALA:
You embark on a dangerous road but it is yours to take. Farewell then, Pug...

				"THE BOOK OF MACROS"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				TALKING TO KATALA

KATALA:
... the meditation tower being one of the first places I suspected of looking. I
went there as soon as I discovered that neither he nor my daughter appeared for
breakfast that morning. There I found the message that he had burnt into the
wall.

OWYN:
The Book of Macros... What do you think the message means?

KATALA:
I thought for a while that he intended for us to contact the magician named
Macros, but it would be a feat impossible for even Pug to accomplish. Macros
left Midkemia long ago and all he left behind were his writings...

OWYN:
And presumably this Book of Macros would be among the books he left behind...

KATALA:
Perhaps, but I cannot be certain. The library that Macros left on Sorcerer's
Isle was vast and it took us the better part of a year to move the bulk of it to
the Academy at Stardock. Since that time, some of the volumes have been lent out
to various scribes so that they can be cataloged and transcribed.

OWYN:
Then the book could be anywhere--- a new approach. Before he disappeared, did
you note anything unusual that he may have said or done?

KATALA:
As I said earlier he had seemed agitated for some long time, but yes, there was
something. About a month ago we were walking in the gardens outside of the
palace, just the two of us enjoying the day when he suddenly halted us near a
sewer grate. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, "Not all of the sheep are
in our fold."

OWYN:
Sheep? Forgive me, Lady, but your husband seems to have an infuriating penchant
for the cryptic...

KATALA:
Not ordinarily, no, only when things are on his mind. But come, I must head
towards Stardock and look for evidence of this Book of Macros there. Where shall
you two go?

GORATH:
We go below into the sewers under Krondor, Owyn, good Lady. I believe we
shepherds have an errant flock of sheep to find.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			ENTERING THE GREEN HEART

Gorath halted. Blinking slowly, he put a hand over his stomach, then looked
towards his confused looking companion.

GORATH:
Hold for a moment, Owyn. I wish to speak to you.

OWYN:
Why? What is it?

GORATH:
I merely wished to prepare you for things that may transpire before we reach
Elvandar. There are magics -- things ancient -- which have kept the Moredhel
from crossing into the forests of the Eledhel, but I feel those things have been
awakened. I may have some difficulty in completing our journey.

OWYN:
Difficulty. What do you mean?

GORATH:
It was not my intent to alarm you. Only to reassure you that no matter what may
happen between here and Elvandar, I have come to consider you a friend.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			  Entering Elvandar

Gorath faltered.

A hand clasped to his gullet, he grimaced as Owyn looked to him for reassurance,
forcing as much of a smile as he could for the boy's benefit. Imitating a
gesture of fondness he had often seen, he reached out and tossled the squire's
golden hair.
	"We have come to the moment," Gorath said. "Elvandar lies just ahead.
Perhaps the Eledhel may put this matter of Macros to rest."
	Owyn nodded, peering into the heights hoping to catch a glimpse of the
fair folk on their elaborate balconies among the leaves. "I am almost afraid to
go on," Owyn said. "What if what we are looking for isn't here? What if the
Elves think were invaders and try to kill us?"
	"We will not be... harmed," Gorath said, gasping as the magic of the
Elven forest attempted to turn him aside. "If you think it is time to enter the
city, then I follow. It is your decision, Owyn."

They emerged among trees.
	Seeing that the lights of the elven city were not far off, they cut
through a field of long weeds, emerging at last at the base of a fantastically
large tree.

	Owyn gaped.
Awash in light Elvandar glistened, its circuitous faerie walkways decked in
glowing lanterns of brushed gold and crystal. Above, a canopy of silver white
leaves arched over the whole of the tree-top city, masking from view whether sun
or moon reigned in the skies beyond.
	"Gorath, isn't this the most perfect place you've ever seen ?" Owyn
exclaimed. "I've never dreamt of anything like this!"
	"Squire, if you can hold your tongue for a moment," Gorath said, "it
might behoove you to bow to their Queen."
	Flushed with embarrassment Owyn turned heel, shriveling as he noticed
the cloaked figures who waited patiently upon their thrones. Quickly he folded
in obeisance, hoping sincerely that human manners would be appropriate in the
elven court.
	"We have come from Krondor with news about Pug of Stardock," Owyn said.
"We were in hopes..."
	"Silence, child." Queen Aglaranna spoke gently, her pale blue eyes
glowing in the shadows. "Though we would hear of our dear friend, Pug, we first
must attend to the unraveling of eons." Inclining her head towards Gorath, her
voice and composure took on a grave edge. "You have come before us as a
Moredhel, but never may you leave Elvandar as such. Are you willing to return to
us, your ancient kin, cousin?"
	Rage flashed in his eyes. Trembling with emotion Gorath advanced on the
Queen, his hand darting to the hilt of his sword.
	"No, Gorath!" Owyn gasped, knowing his voice was too small to stay his
friend's wrath. "You can't!"
	"I was Gorath of the Clan Ardanien," he spat, his voice thick with an
ageless contempt. Color drained from his face as he gripped ever more tightly
the sword at his side. "I am Gorath and I formally return to the Eledehel and
swear fealty to Aglaranna, Queen of Elves and to Tomas, Prince Consort and
Warleader." Falling to one knee, he knelt low before Aglaranna's feet. "I am
yours to command, lady."
	His heart hammering an unsteady tattoo in his chest, Owyn stared in
frank appraisal of the elves before him. Except for a glazed expression
lingering on Prince Consort Tomas' face, he saw no evidence that any of them had
witnessed anything unusual.
	"Rise. From this day forward, you are no longer Moredhel, Gorath,"
Aglaranna said. "You are a member of the family of Elvandar and of the Eledhel.
When your quest is done, you will return here to be one with us. That is our
desire."
	"What is this news of... Pug?" As if wakening from a dream, the elven
Warleader spoke the magician's name with great concern, his dark eyebrows rising
in interest as Owyn began to elaborate the details. At times he would request
that certain details be repeated, but always his glassy eyes became sharply
focused when Owyn spoke the names of Pug and members of Arutha's court.
	"By the moons that means trouble," Tomas coughed as the boy finished his
tale. "The Book of Macros is not a book but instead a gift that Pug gave to me
long ago. I was to use it to come to him if ever he left that message for me. I
must go."
	"You cannot, love. Even now I can sense the effects of the painkilling
herbs beginning to wear off," Aglaranna said, laying a pale hand on Tomas'
shoulder. As if broaching a delicate subject, she continued quietly. "Three days
ago the Warleader was struck with a poisoned blade. Only last evening did his
fever abate but he demanded to be brought here when he heard that a Moredhel was
returning. He hasn't the strength for the trip. You must go in his stead."
	"Don't try my patience, Aglaranna. Pug needs my help and I shall go!"
Struggling to gain his feet, he blanched with the effort, standing straight only
by groping the back of his throne.
	"How many of our kin carried you here, my Warlord?" the Queen asked, her
voice laced with concern. "Was it five or six? You are no longer possessed by
the soul of Ashen-Shugar and you are not gifted with immortality! None doubt
your strength or loyalty, Tomas, but you owe it to Pug to send able help."
	"As always my love, you are wise," Tomas whispered, his strength
beginning to fail him. Reaching beneath the seat of his throne, he brought forth
a leather tome covered with dust.

GORATH:
We may not be the strongest or the fastest, Tomas, but we are able and we are
here. Send us to him.

TOMAS:
I have little choice. You, Gorath, shall be my emissary in this. May the
blessings of Elvandar go with you... and tell Pug I am sorry.

GORATH:
We shall.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			     Chapter 7
		           The long ride

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Bells tolled in the towers of Northwarden.

Jubilant guards shouted from the walls, slapped backs, exchanged war stories
only days old. Already a bard was milling through the crowd, gathering names and
 places, scribbling them down as fast as he could. Tonight they would gather,
and they would drink, and they would pay old Tamney the Minstrel each time he
sang their names.
	Listening to the general hubbub drifting in through an opened shutter,
Seigneur James allowed himself a grim smile as he dropped down to where Arutha
and Locklear conferred over a battle map.
	"By day's end, I warrant that Delekhan will have died on the sword point
of every man here," James said. "It's a shame he wasn't really leading that
raid."
	"Indeed," Arutha agreed, his eyes shrouded as he brooded about
something. "I would like to ask him a few questions."
	"I leave for Highcastle at noon. Even though the Moredhel have turned
from here, I am certain that the first of them will be upon our troops there by
sunup tomorrow. Fortunately, my army will be there to greet them. Still, I wish
I knew what they were up to."
	Arutha glanced up, startled, as a page boy skidded into the chamber.
	"Your p-p-ardon my lord!" the boy stuttered. "They have captured the
Moredhel raiding leader!"
	Without pause, Arutha's eyes hardened. "Prepare him for questioning."


ARUTHA:
Cooperate now Moredhel and I promise you'll live to see your children become
adults. Daunt me and I'll have your eyes for necklace beads and your manhood for
an inkwell!

MOREDHEL:
My death will be unimportant...

ARUTHA:
If you think we shall torture you unto death, I would advise that you ponder my
mood. Anxious though I am to have answer, I will keep you screaming this side of
death a month or a year or until I feel well satisfied that we have heard all
that you have to say!

MOREDHEL:
A day, a month, you've already lost! Nail my entrails to your door post, feed...
my brain to your dogs, it will not matter! Even if you act now, you will be too
late!

ARUTHA:
You will win only pain for your trouble! Instruct him, torturer!

MOREDHEL:
You do... not... listen!

MOREDHEL:
We know... the secret of Se- thanon! We shall free him!

ARUTHA:
What secret? Why to Sethanon?

MOREDHEL:
Ten years ago we attacked... with Murmandamus... you captured, imprisoned him...

ARUTHA:
Deluded fool, we killed Murmandamus at Sethanon and burned his bones for potash!
There is nothing there for Delekhan to find!

MOREDHEL:
A lie... we have spied... What else could... you guard so closely?

ARUTHA:
How does he think he will win past our garrison at Highcastle! He hasn't enough
men!

ARUTHA:
Answer me!

MOREDHEL:
Riiift-machine! The Six have a machine... It can take them place to place...
like a door between great distances... Even while your troops die at Sethanon...
we will walk through the machine!

MOREDHEL:
We shall be through the Dimwood and inside Sethanon a week before you can reach
us! Your troops will be exhausted! The day will be ours!

ARUTHA:
A rift- machine inside the Dimwood! That bastard Tsurani magician has been
consorting with Delekhan!

ARUTHA:
Torturer, tell Seigneurs James and Locklear to ride to the Dimwood. They must
find and destroy that rift-machine while I hie to Highcastle and divert our
forces once more! Time is of the essence!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

	 		    The Rift Machine

James held the Waani in his hand.

"I pray to Ishap this wooden gem works," he said. "Though I hate to think about
the fate of the Kingdom resting on this little experiment, I fear that is the
truth of it." He took a deep breath, "Well... shall we give it a try?"

The Waani arced gracefully through the air.
	James grunted loudly, nearly falling from the momentum of his throw. He
glanced up just in time to see the strange wooden object pass between the two
crystal-topped posts.
	The Waani never made it to the ground. Powerful lightning-like blasts
rocketed out from each crystal, ripping it into thousands of tiny fireflies of
light that floated gently downward to a cold death on the dusty forest floor.
The ground trembled, and before they could utter a sound, an ominous humming
buzz rolled towards them. Growing in intensity with each revolution it rose
before them striking like a hammer blow, knocking them from their feet in a
roaring rush of energy and sound.
	Still dazed, they watched in horror as the energy storm reversed
direction. Suddenly it was rushing back through the rift machine, sucking leaves
and dirt and small stones with it!
	An angry scream of air raked at James and Locklear like the claw of an
invisible beast, tugging at them as if to stuff them whole into the insatiable
black maw of the collapsing rift machine. Desperately they called out to Patrus
to grab on to something, but for him it was too late...

PATRUS:
Stay back! Stay back!

LOCKLEAR:
Spellweavers!

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				Chapter 8
			      Of lands afar

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Golden sweat traced his jawline.

Discomforted in the unrelenting heat he stripped back his shirt sleeves and with
passing humor noted the development of his sunburns. Within a month he doubted
even his closest of kin would recognize him; his moonlight pale skin tinged a
light almond color and his brownish hair streaked with golden highlights. All
things considered, he felt very differently about himself now, felt more aware
that there were bigger problems in the world than his own. Still, it was
difficult not to dwell on his sudden... disability.
	Owyn contemplated resuming the meditations that had occupied him the
length of the morning, but decided that in the space of four hours he had
learned nothing he hadn't already deduced intuitively. For some reason, his
magical abilities were useless in this alien environment and the prospect
frightened him nearly beyond reason.
	"Another week beneath this strange sun and I shall seem pale next to
you." Gorath shouted as he hiked back up the path, the dark strands of his hair
dancing in a hot breeze.
	"This magician Pug must walk without leaving footprints! I can find no
evidence of him. How progress your meditations?"
	Owyn shrugged. "No luck. I've tried everything from lesser path cantrips
to greater path incantations. Nothing works. It's almost as if there were no
manna here."
	Arching his brows inquisitively, Gorath motioned for the boy to
continue.
	"Most people misunderstand the way that magic works," Owyn explained.
"As a magician, I don't have power within me. All I know are a series of words
and actions that help me gather the power, or manna, from the natural world. If,
however, there is no manna for me to collect, then all of my magical training is
futile. I'm powerless."
	"Would the same be true of Pug?"
	Owyn nodded. "He would be as helpless as I am, worse perhaps. If I were
accustomed to having the kind of command that he has and suddenly lost it... "
	"He could be in very dire danger," Gorath said, finishing the thought.
Leaning over, he fetched Owyn's staff from where it lay discarded in the sand.
"I think that makes our journey all the more urgent."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

		     THE SEVEN PILLARS OF KARZEEN MAUK

Something inhabited the column.

Alerted as much by a feeling that they were being observed as by the strange
light which throbbed within the pillars, Owyn felt they should exercise caution
in dealing with the alien ruins.

SOUTH-WEST PILLAR

The pillar was smooth to his touch.
Towering over Owyn, it seemed to be made of an exquisite crystal of some
fashion, though it was wholly unlike anything he had ever seen on Midkemia.
Through it he could see refracted images of the desert beyond, but when he
varied the angle at which he held his head, it seemed as though he could see
other places which were not on the other side of the column. Instead, it seemed
that there were images of oceans and skies of other colors.
	'Your observations intrigue me. You are savani, are you not?'
	Startled at the presence of the alien sentience in his mind, Owyn shook
his head. Unsure whether he should simply think his reply or speak it aloud, he
decided that speaking it would be the safest route. "I'm not familiar with the
term savani so I don't know if I am one or not. Who am I communicating with?".
Nearby, Gorath threw Owyn a startled glance, apparently alarmed that his friend
was speaking to the air. Before Owyn could rattle off an explanation, the voice
within his mind returned.
	'I am Sutakami, Mother of the Thousand Mysteries, once goddess of
Timirianya. You have summoned me. What do you desire to know?'
	"I am not sure what you are asking," Owyn said. "Are you an oracle?"
	'No, the voice replied. I may only tell you that which is already known,
though I dimly perceive things that may come to be. I sense you are newly come
to this world. Perhaps you would desire to see something of the creatures who
inhabit the desolation of our world...'
	Suddenly Owyn's mind reeled with visions of men with scales rather than
skin and large hulking creatures with shining carapaces which roamed the
deserts. Grasping to retain what he learned about the creatures as the
information flooded through his mind like a tide, he at last seized upon an
image of a wispy figure.
	"What are these things I see?" Owyn asked. "They look as if they are
made of smoke."
	'They are the ancient servants of Relynn Skarr, the last priest of
Dhatsavan before The Desolation. Creatures of magic, they can only be killed by
special spells which drain directly from their materiality, their strength. Now
they still wander the ruins of Dhatsavan's ancient Temple. For a moment the
image wavered, then stabilized once more. I must rest... I am needed...
elsewhere.'

Northwest Pillar

The pillar was made of crystal.
In better condition than the others in the circle, its reflective surface was
not as pitted by the blast of the sands as the others had been. Stroking its
surface, Owyn marvelled at the amount of work it must have taken the craftsmen
to make.
	"I wonder what this place was originally," Owyn asked, not expecting
the mental reply which flooded his senses.
	'You stand in the ruins of Karzeen Mauk, once the high temple of the
seven gods of Timirianya. Once, these columns were only symbols of the gods,
crafted by the savani artisans who were the servants of Dhatsavan. Now they are
the vessels within which we have taken refuge.'
	"Refuge? What drives a god into refuge?" Owyn asked. "I wouldn't think
it would be possible."
	'Valheru,' the voice said. Though without a true voice it was impossible
for Owyn to tell, but there were shadings within it that seemed a mixture of
hate and sorrow. 'Those who were known as the Valheru extinguished all life as
we knew it here, using this as a battleground where they warred with all who
dared challenge their universal supremacy. Only when Dhatsavan showed to us that
our struggles would be futile did we create a plan by which we could drive out
their hordes of Pantathians and Kadaand Xekka'mati...'
	"What did you do?" Owyn asked. A long silence greeted him before a
distant reply came to him.
	'Of the Seven Who Ruled, there are only six of us who survived The
Desolation. Two have faded so far from the world they can no longer give voice
to their thoughts, but instead are little more than sentient forces of nature.
Only Dhatsavan will remain, waiting for the time of the Awakening. He shall call
us when the need has come... We shall not speak again, savani.'

SOUTH-EAST PILLAR: DHATSAVAN - WITHOUT CUP

Owyn hesitated.
Shimmering in the hellish alien heat, it seemed probable the sun warmed crystal
would blister him if he touched it, but he was curious what material the
glass-like pillar had been made of. Privately he wondered if the serpent people
they had encountered in the desert plains had been responsible for the enigmatic
monoliths, but somehow the idea seemed wrong to him.
	'No. The Pillars of Karzeen were not crafted by the Panath-Tiandn,'
a voice whispered in his mind. 'We made ourselves...'
	Horrified by the sudden, uninvited intrusion of the alien presence
within his mind, Owyn drew back from the column, but the intruder remained. 'We
seven were the gods of Timirianya, savani. I myself was once Dhatsavan, Lord of
Gates. But once the Valheru brought their wars of desolation, we narrowly
averted the great star death... '
	"I don't know what any of the things you are saying mean," Owyn replied.
"I have heard a very little bit about the Elven old ones called the Valheru, but
beyond that... "
	'It is unimportant, savani,' the voice said. 'What we were is lost
beyond regaining, but there is time yet to save your people from the same fate.'
	"Our world?" Owyn asked. "The Valheru have been dead on my world for
time beyond reckoning. They can't pose any threat to us... "
	A feeling of disinterest washed through him as the God brushed aside the
question. 'The one you know as Pug of Stardock will tell you more when the time
comes for you and the Wanderer to make your choices. For now, you must bring to
this place the Cup of Rlnn Skrr. Do this and we will free Pug from his captivity
...'
	Suddenly suspicious about the nature of the entity which spoke to him,
he worded his reply carefully. "If you are a God, why do you need me to fetch a
cup for you? And why should I trust a bodiless someone who claims to have
imprisoned the one we look for?"
	'You are wise to question,' the voice replied, 'but it is mine alone to
know this truth. You may do as I ask and bring to me the Cup of Rlnn Skrr or you
may perish in the desolation of Timirianya. The choice is yours. I warn you
however it would be an unwise decision to utilize its powers. Pug already has
learned this lesson.'

SOUTH-EAST PILLAR: DHATSAVAN - WITH CUP

Owyn touched Dhatsavan's column.
Feeling the familiar presence stir within, he waited patiently for the entity to
respond to his mental call.
	'You have returned with the Cup, the voice said calmly. That is well.
The abandoned progeny of the Pantathians will now be denied access to the Hall.
We can be assured they will never again hear from their Midkemian mistress,
though their reestablished contact with their brethren holds dire consequences
for the future of your world. But, for now, you have no need of concern. The
cup's powers may now be subdued until the time it is needed again.'
	"Pug's welfare still remains," Owyn said firmly. "We have run to the
limits of this island for you, now we wish to know where you have kept him."
	'He is safe within a structure constructed by the Panath Tiandn. The
protective barrier that kept him within the structure will be removed once you
locate him. He misapprehended the scope of the cup's powers. When he wakened its
powers to seek the mind of his lost daughter, it overwhelmed him and reduced him
to little more than a helpless child.'
	"You imprisoned him so you could protect him?" Owyn guessed. "To save
his life?"
	An amused quality lent itself to the god's mental reply, though Owyn
felt certain such feelings were beyond a god. 'As an individual he is of little
interest to us, but we saved his life in honor of a kindness done for the last
survivor of our world's holocaust by one known as Macros. He knew of these
events and asked that the one known as Pug be sheltered until you returned here
with the cup. Already he has regained most of his identity and memory, but his
abilities will yet be impaired for some months. You will also find that the way
is open to a place that would have gained you your deaths if you had gone there,
the ancient lands once occupied by the Valheru during their wars here. There are
artifacts there that may be of help to you in your battles. You may now leave,
but take the cup with you. With it you may teach Pug any of the spells you
know.'

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

  				    PUG'S PRISON

There was motion in the tent.

Pushing back the strangely woven doorflap of the tent, a short man stepped
forward and squinted at them. Unassuming in most respects, he walked casually
forward, as if it were not at all unexpected that he would find humans in the
strange desert world.

PUG:
Where is Tomas? It is important I speak with him.

OWYN:
He was unable to come and he sent us after you. He gave us the spell which you
left to him...

PUG:
Unable to come? Why? What has happened to him?

OWYN:
He was injured during an attack on Elvandar by the Moredhel. Queen Aglaranna
assures us that he will be alright...

PUG:
I can't believe that Makala's plans would be served by sending you here, so for
the moment I will have to trust your word... In looking at you, it occurs to me
your face is familiar. Are you the magician boy who came into Krondor with
Seigneur Locklear a few months ago?

OWYN:
Yes, and you remember Gorath?

PUG:
His face has been hard for me to forget these last few nights. He was the first
tool of Makala's in this grand scheme...

GORATH:
You accuse us of being liars and spies?

PUG:
I'm not implying you were a willing participant, Gorath. You were as
unknowing in your part as I must assume Delekhan is in his. When you said he had
raised the war banners of Murmandamus over Sar-Sargoth, I became somewhat
alarmed.

PUG:
Having seen Murmandamus' death with my own eyes, I had no reason to believe he
still lived, but forces acting in his name caused the calamity at Sethanon and I
thought it possible the Pantathians were once again responsible. After some
investigation I found they were indeed interfering with affairs in the Kingdom,
but were acting through a band of magical thieves searching for various magical
items - trinkets - in no way directly responsible for what was happening in the
Northlands or posing immediate threat to Midkemia... With the issue resolved, I
believed then Delekhan was merely exploiting the reputation of his predecessor
to gain power...

OWYN:
So then what did Gorath tell you that was so important?

PUG:
It was only after Makala tricked me into coming here that Gorath's testimony to
Prince Arutha took on any significance. In passing, he had mentioned Delekhan
wearing a helm of black, shaped like a dragon. Murmandamus wore such a helm and
had it with him when Prince Arutha cut him down... Whoever had given Delekhan
Murmandamus' helm had to have had been inside the caverns beneath Sethanon.

PUG:
There are only four magicians I can think of who might have had the wiles to
slip inside the first perimeter of defenses that have been placed there. One is
Macros, but since he was instrumental in averting catastrophe there, I cannot
believe he would be responsible. Another is a magician whom Macros once told me
of, named Nakor the Isalani; but again, I have reason to believe the Northlands
would hold little interest for him. The only others who would be capable are
Elghar and Makala, but Elghar has been quite busy with his students at
Stardock...

OWYN:
Leaving your only suspect as Makala. But why is he doing all of this? Why would
he be pushing Delekhan into a war with the Kingdom?

PUG:
If he was ingenious enough to get within the caverns, he would still need
considerable help achieving his final objective - a chamber containing an
artifact of unbelievable destructive power about which he has been indefatigably
interested. I left behind a dragon to guard it, and even my powers would be
sorely taxed in a single battle against a dragon her age, let alone one with the
special capabilities of the one who sleeps under Sethanon. Once she is alarmed,
she will no doubt summon help from a secret garrison of soldiers which King Lyam
ordered to remain in the region of Sethanon, soldiers whom Makala surely would
have detected on his first visit and intends to counter with Delekhan's Moredhel
troops...

OWYN:
But that's why Prince Arutha sent us to find you! He's afraid that Delekhan is
going to have magicians working at the siege at Northwarden! Maybe if we can
stop them there...

PUG:
Unfortunately, I'm of no use to anyone at the moment, let alone Prince Arutha.
In my blind haste to find Gamina, I used a magical artifact that would have best
been left alone...

OWYN:
We already know something about it. You said before that you were going to have
to trust us, so you'll have to trust me now when I tell you I think I can help.
I hope for all our sakes that I'm not wrong about this...

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				DHATSAVAN: PUG'S VISIT

Pug studied the column.

When he had visited the site at Karzeen previously, he had sensed the sentience
that radiated from them, but had been unaware of the true nature of the beings
who inhabited them. Stepping forward, he made a slight bow.
"Greetings, cousins of the Aal," he said. "I regret that I did not recognize you
on my first visit. My apologies. It was only during the time I was in the tent
that something the Oracle spoke of once occurred to me."
	'Apologies are unneeded for such as we, savani, but we accept your
tribute. Your safety was greatly prized by Macros.'
	Pug nodded. "He has been a true friend to me, only as one other has ever
been. It is an honor that he prized me so highly. I sometimes wonder that he
will ever stop protecting me."
	'You have not come to us to waste thanks on us, one called Pug. What do
you wish from the gods of Timirianya?'
	"I came here in search of my daughter, Gamina. A magician, a savani by
your terms, brought her here against her will. It is important that I find her
and return to my home to avert a possible catastrophe. Forces are gathering to
tamper with the Lifestone."
	For a moment there was silence, the only motion in the air made by the
rasp of the sands moving in the deserts. Then, quite abruptly, Dhatsavan's voice
returned.
	'Your daughter is caged by Panath-Tiandn. They believe her an omen that
Alma-Lodka has heard their pleas and is preparing the way for her return.'
	"Is she in any danger?" Pug asked. "Is there something you may do for
her?"
	'No,' Dhatsavan replied. 'Such as my powers once were, they are limited,
part of the price we paid for continued existence.'
	"You exhausted your essence when you crystalized the manna to drive off
the Valheru. When their magical abilities seemingly began to wane, they assumed
they had tapped the manna of the planet dry and moved on."
	'Your speculations are deft, savani. But the gods of Timirianya are not
yet dead. We will abide until the time comes when we either sleep or until we
can be reborn through these children of the holocaust. Perhaps once they have
forgotten Alma-Lodka and the rest of the Valheru, they can mature in their own
ways.'
	Pug accepted the information calmly and began to turn to leave, then
halted. "Has Makala placed any special spells around her? I am very limited in
my abilities at present... "
	'Seek the old hordes of the Valheru. There may be something there to
assist you. Farewell, Pug. Dhatsavan shall speak no more.'
	Pug waited.
	When at last it became clear that Dhatsavan was beyond reaching, he
removed his hand from the crystalline pillar. "He is gone," Pug said. From now
on, we must help ourselves."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				   Relynn Skarr

PUG:
She lives. Makala has many blessings to count.

PUG:
Gorath, see if you can do something about the cage...

GORATH:
Cover your head and stand back!

Pug took Gamina into his arms.
	Eyes glistening with relieved tears, he hugged the girl tight to his
chest and for a long moment he simply held her, his head resting in her
silver-white mane of hair, while he mulled through recent events. At last he
slipped a finger beneath her chin, gently lifted, and allowed his gaze to lock
with hers as they initiated the special mind-speech that had been Gamina's gift
since birth.
	'He was lying father, all that time,' Gamina thought. 'Even when he
brought me here. He was trying to get you away from Krondor!'
	'I know, I know,' Pug thought in return, pushing a stray wisp of her
hair into place. 'I shall have to see you better guarded in the future. I had
always supposed that your gifts would keep you safe from harm, but I see my
pride in you sometimes borders on the dangerously arrogant. We must be more
careful. Agreed?'
	'Agreed. '
	Again she hugged herself to him. Feeling her faint nod, he released her
and kissed her forehead, looked to where Owyn and Gorath stood at the cave
mouth. Curiously, the squire was bent double, his face buried in his hands as
he shook with violent coughs.
	"I'm okay," Owyn wheezed, waving his hands, occasionally stealing
glances at Gamina. "Really, I'll be fine."
	Pug smiled. The boy's theatrics were poor, but it was manifestly obvious
he wished an introduction before his lungs collapsed. "Gamina, this hacking
young ruffian is Squire Owyn Beleforte of Tiburn. Both he and Gorath have been
instrumental in helping find you. Perhaps we should have them down to Stardock
for dinner someday."
	"Stardock?" Owyn's performance faltered at the mention of Pug's Academy
of Magic. Realizing his lapse, he coughed tentatively into his hand. "You mean,
the Stardock?"
	"None other." Pug frowned as he drew out a small multi-faceted stone
from the folds of his robe. "This special pattern stone should take us there,
but we have to drop off Gamina before we attend to our business."
	"We will go to join Prince Arutha?" Gorath asked.
	"No," Pug replied, clapping his hands overhead. "We go to Sethanon!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			     Chapter 9
		          Mad God’s Rage

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Locklear's eyes hardened.

At some level he wanted to believe he'd seen something in the instant of the
gate's collapse. It was irrational, no doubt a vision he had conjured for
himself to soften the blow of Patrus' death. As a man who had stood against many
armies, Locklear knew all too well about last second visions seen on the
battlefield. There was absolutely no chance that Patrus could have survived the
blast. None.
	By some agency beyond his control, he turned back the melancholy that
threatened to overtake him, rationality brooking his grief for the lost
magician. There was still an army to contend with, still Moredhel to slay, still
a Kingdom to defend. There would be time for grieving when it was finished.
	"Such a dumb way to die," Locklear said, biting off the words bitterly.
	Seigneur James nodded. "He died a good death, Locky. I wouldn't have
wished for him to go, but he died to save others."
	"You say that all the time, James, but there's no good way to die.
They're all bad."
	James stared at his old friend and saw the coldness that glimmered in
Locklear's gaze. He had come to know that look over the years, an expression
that had first manifested itself at the Battle of Armengar years before when
Locklear's girlfriend, Bronwynn, had been slain by a troll. A bit of Locky had
died then and in that place had grown the seed that had bloomed into a deadly
and superior knight. But in all that time, he had never forgiven himself for
letting the girl die.
	"You're not mad Patrus is dead," James said finally. "You're angry that
you didn't die in his place.
	Locklear's eyes flashed protest, but suddenly he reached for his sword
as three flashes appeared in the woods...
	"Spellweavers!" Locklear shouted.
	Disliking the fact that they would be at a disadvantage against a
magical opponent without Patrus, James steeled himself as he grabbed for his
weapon...

PUG:
Stay your swords, Seigneurs. I believe it is still considered rude in the
Kingdom to skewer your friends.

JAMES:
Duke Pug! Never have I been half so relieved to see a friendly face. We were
expecting Moredhel magicians...

PUG:
Tsurani magicians, James, or rather magicians trained by a Tsurani. No Moredhel
witch would have the capability to make a rift machine nor would they chance
going into battle with such poor odds of success.

PUG:
I still should like to know how exactly it was that Delekhan managed to make
contact with Makala? I had hoped that the Moredhel would be wary of another such
attack following the defeat of Murmandamus ten years ago.

JAMES:
Prince Arutha said they hope to find Murmandamus and free him. The Moredhel are
convinced we've been holding him captive all these long years.

PUG:
So Gorath has told me. Doubtless Makala exploited that belief to his advantage.
That at least explains one wrinkle. The Moredhel have never forgiven us for that
loss.

JAMES:
But why is Makala doing all of this? Obviously he isn't in this to rescue a dead
Moredhel leader.

PUG:
For the moment I believe I know, but I don't wish to say until I have taken a
better look at something. This last problem I will have to unravel myself, with
some assistance from Gorath and Owyn.

PUG:
From here I think we will be able to teleport into the caverns beneath Sethanon.
It is there our objective lies.

JAMES:
What of Locklear and myself?

PUG:
Once Prince Arutha arrives with his reinforcements, deliver my assurance that he
will not face anything magical from the Moredhel. If Makala indeed has
assistants, they will be uninterested in the Prince.

PUG:
They will be waiting for me.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

				ENTERING SETHANON

PUG:
Before we move any further, I am of a mind to prepare you for what we are going
to encounter. Located in these chambers is an artifact known as the Lifestone,
crafted by the ancient Valheru. It has powers beyond even my comprehension, but
we know that it was crafted for the purpose of great destruction. It was this
that the false Murmandamus sought to achieve during the Great Uprising.

OWYN:
False Murmandamus? What do you mean?

PUG:
He was not truly Moredhel. He was a Pantathian who took on the semblance of a
Moredhel so he could achieve his goal. The point is irrelevant. What he sought
was to activate the Lifestone. If that had happened, the devastation of
Timirianya would seem a garden compared to what would be left of Midkemia.

OWYN:
If the Valheru are dead, what does it matter? If no one knows how to use it,
then it can't be of any danger to us.

PUG:
Not so. The souls of the Valheru are bound to the stone and it may be that
tampering with it may allow them to emerge once more, perhaps even to inhabit a
living body. Even in a symbiotic state, we have no certain way of knowing what
destruction they would be capable of.

OWYN:
So Makala wants to destroy everything?

PUG:
He is not mad, but his curiosity may lead to more trouble than he imagines.
Hopefully, we can find and stop him before he can do anything catastrophic.

OWYN:
But why tell us about any of this? I'm a squire from Tiburn and Gorath is a
renegade from the Northlands. Isn't that dangerous?

PUG:
Your stations are unimportant. I was once a kitchen boy in the court of Crydee.
I trust you because apparently Macros prefigured your involvement in this and
did nothing to warn me before he left Midkemia. For whatever reason, I think he
believes it necessary you be involved in these events and he invariably acts for
the greater good, however mysterious his reasons may be.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A spellweaver awaited them.

"We were told to expect you, Milamber," the spellweaver said, raising his staff.
"And we were instructed you were not to pass into the Lifestone Chamber."
	"You cannot win," Pug bluffed, not entirely certain he could match the
Great One's power in his present state.
	From somewhere, the Tsurani magician found the resolve to continue. "We
shall discover the truth of it!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			The Oracle of Aal

ORACLE:
I called for you but was unable to reach your mind. The magician wields an
amulet which renders this body feeble and he is in the process of disabling the
last of the defenses which ring the Lifestone.

PUG:
Makala is reckless, but I do not think he will have crippled you permanently. He
must have unearthed some Valheru artifact, likely a product of Lyron-Baktos, the
Master of Dragons. While he would be incapable of ruling your mind, he could
still command your dragon's flesh.

ORACLE:
My inability to know my own future blinded us to the possibility.

PUG:
It's something we will have to attend to later... Gorath, I wish you to stay
here and guard the Oracle.

ORACLE:
Thank you. It pains me that protection is necessary.

GORATH:
Pug, you may require my strength when you reach the Tsurani magician...

ORACLE:
You will have a difficult time in the Lifestone chamber.

PUG:
No, Gorath. You have already given too much to this quest, and seen what should
have been seen by no one other than myself. You would never so much as scratch
Makala's skin before he burned you to cinders. He will be more respectful in the
presence of magicians and less likely to do anything rash. For now, you have a
responsibility to guard the Oracle.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			   Makala

Pug hurried Owyn under an archway.

The corridor angled sharply downward, its rough earthen floor littered with a
slippery ceramic material which cracked underfoot with each step taken. In
places, the boy glimpsed ancient frescoes of a Moredhel-looking race who stared
back at him with eyes filled with enigmatic hate, the cause of which had been
millions of years dead.
Following a slow bend, they arrived at last at what looked to be a stone wall,
but quickly Pug muttered a few words and the door shimmered away into
nothingness. Beyond lay a vast chamber, and Makala was waiting for them.

PUG:
I hoped more for you, Makala. When first you came to us years ago from the
Assembly I sensed your heart full of dark calculation, but I had thought with us
you would grow to gentleness.

MAKALA:
We Tsurani are of course bereft of that quality.

PUG:
Save your prating for the Assembly! You have returned my friendship with cold
contempt, treated with my daughter as a wolf to his prey and have defied my
interdict to visit Sethanon. Assume nothing between us now other than the
respect due between practitioners. Why has the Assembly of Magicians seen fit
to interpose itself into Midkemian affairs?

MAKALA:
As a whole, the Assembly was unable to reach consensus on this matter; they
hesitate to dabble in matters that might arouse your ire. Otherwise disposed
with a small problem concerning House Acoma they decided those who felt this
investigation necessary could conduct it of their own volition. I undertook that
responsibility.

PUG:
I should be careful taking such weight upon your shoulders. It may yet crush
you.

MAKALA:
Ten years ago you engaged in a battle to bar the Valheru entrance to your world,
a battle in which you requested the service of several companies of Tsurani foot
soldiers. As such, the battle became a matter of imperial interest and fell
within the jurisdiction of the Assembly. You, however, have thwarted all our
efforts to gather information about that battle and have forbade our
investigation of Sethanon. Many sons of great houses fell but their bodies were
never recovered for the proper rites.

PUG:
Your attempts at evasion are execrable, Makala! Never has the Assembly concerned
itself with the souls of the dead and I don't believe they are practicing a new
found piety. You wished to learn how I defeated the Valheru.

MAKALA:
Indeed. How could we not? The Valheru were a race of unspeakable evil and dread
power who once nearly destroyed our world. Although my brothers harbor you the
greatest respect Pug, you would be incapable of turning aside such monstrous
power unaided. Judging by the numerous defenses that ringed this abandoned town,
we assumed the only possible solution. You concealed a thing of power in the
caverns here.

PUG:
I cannot fault your fears, but your methodology has been despicable. The
Lifestone was created in the darkest days of the Mad God's Rage, a war in which
the Valheru strove to destroy the gods of Midkemia. With it they believed they
could conquer every corner of the universe, and in all likelihood, they could
have. It must be eternally locked away here and its existence must die out with
that small handful of us that have looked upon it. You will speak to none of the
Assembly about what you have found here or you shall answer to me.

MAKALA:
I cannot in good conscience keep such a secret. What if such a weapon were
wielded against the Empire? Could not such a weapon lay waste to all her
children? We cannot simply bury such a weapon. It must be destroyed for the good
of all future generations of the Empire and the Kingdom.

PUG:
Impossible. We have no way to know what would happen if we attempted to destroy
it. It may not be tested without potentially disturbing the Valheru whose souls
now occupy the stone.

MAKALA:
As I suspected. You have done nothing to study it. Great though your power may
be, you haven't an inkling what secrets lie within that stone. It's very
existence is obscene! It must not fall into the hands of a hostile power.

PUG:
Makala, do not tamper with the stone. It must be left untouched for the good of
all!

MAKALA:
I judge now as is my right as a Great One of the Assembly of Magicians. It must
be destroyed, Pug ... for the good of the Empire!

Makala raised his staff.
Not wanting to strike down the Tsurani, but realizing the choice was being made
for him, Pug summoned what resources were left to him after the Timirianyan cup</pre><pre id="faqspan-3">
had blanked his spellcasting ability. Perhaps between he and the boy, they could
still defeat Makala.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It was over.
Pug stared at Makala's lifeless form as it lay silently on the hard stone floor.
Hiding from the grief that threatened to overcome his pain and exhaustion, he
turned to Owyn; saw the boy was on his knees. Pug was about to help the boy to
his feet when he noticed a strange light filling the chamber.

The Lifestone pulsed warmth.
Rays of emerald light touched Owyn's solemn features, deepening the hollows of
his face as he approached the blasted turf occupied moments before by Makala's
towering rage. Nearby, Pug spoke softly, his voice diffusing off the cavern
walls into a thousand bouncing whispers.
	"It may be difficult," Pug said, "but don't judge him too harshly, Owyn.
I have performed acts nearly as monstrous in the name of common good."
	"I find that hard to believe," Owyn replied. "You're a good man."
	"So was he, in his own way. Loyalty can sometimes misguide even the
finest of men... "
	Both magicians flinched in unison as muted sword strikes erupted in the
corridors outside the chamber. With startling rapidity the sounds approached,
dissolved into pattering desperate footfalls and howling half-screamed oaths.
"Watch yourself!" Pug shouted across the cavern. "Someone's coming!"
	Harried by a shadowy assailant Gorath backed into the chamber, his sword
flying in a defensive arc before him. Repeatedly, razor-like fists flashed out
of the darkness to challenge him, but he skillfully turned the attacks to his
advantage. Finding the rhythm of his opponent, he feinted right when he was
expected to move left and a warrior barreled past him.
	"Delekhan!" Owyn exclaimed.
	Tripped up by Gorath, the Moredhel leader crashed to the ground,
snarling all the while in slavering fury. Attempting to rise, he slashed upward
with his gauntleted fist but brutally Gorath stepped inside his guard and
delivered a rain of heavy kicks until the older warrior fell quiet.
	"I suggest you lie still," Gorath snapped, wiping rivulets of blood from
his face. "I may decide to kill you yet."
	"I hear you," Delekhan croaked, his voice weak. For a long moment he
remained curled in a ball, his breath tearing raggedly from his throat as he
clenched and unclenched his fists. With extreme effort he turned his head and
looked upon the mesmerizing light of the Lifestone and froze.
	"No!" Pug shook his head, apprehension welling within him like a black
lake as he caught the Moredhel's expression. Stumbling forward he tried to
interpose himself in the way but his failing strength abandoned him. "No!"
	Swatting Gorath effortlessly aside as he rose, Delekhan's eyes flashed
with reflected radiance. Like a puppet on a string, he began to stagger forward,
his steps almost childish in their plodding. Undoubtedly something had control
of his mind...
	Dazed but alive, Gorath leapt to the attack and jolted hard into the
Moredhel leader, his miscalculated blow carrying the both of them not down but
forward; forward into the Lifestone...
	Together they reached for the sword…

DELEKHAN:
What madness is this? WHO…?

GORATH:
Something within the sword... consumes! Can't fight... it... HIM…!
Ashen-Shugar...

PUG:
The Valheru souls trapped within the stone are slipping their bonds!
We will have to kill them both...

OWYN:
But what about Gorath?!

GORATH:
You must... Owyn... evil... Can't fight it... HIM much... ll... ON... ger...
Can't... hold... him...

PUG:
NOW!

Owyn stared blankly at the Lifestone.
	"We killed him," Owyn said, a bitter hurt in his words. "He came to the
Kingdom to warn us and we killed him."
	"Don't be petulant, Owyn. This isn't a time for it."
	Glaring at Pug with shock, Owyn opened his mouth to reply, but found
that adequate words failed him. Angered, he turned as if to leave, but felt the
master magician's hand on his shoulder.
	"Wait," Pug said, his voice more gentle than it had been. Meeting the
boy's hateful gaze, he motioned for him to stay. "You must understand. Gorath
was dead the minute he touched the sword. If we had hesitated but a moment
longer, both he and Delekhan would be dead and an unspeakable evil would be
loose on our world. When Delekhan began to change you could see the Valheru were
attempting to mold them into a form they could use. Do you remember the terrible
devastation we saw on Timirianya? That would be a paradise compared to the lives
we would lead under their dominion. I'm telling you this because you now have
knowledge and abilities which come with terrible responsibilities. You will have
to make decisions far worse than this someday if you continue down the path you
are on. You are going to have to learn to think before you act, but never to
regret your decisions, right or wrong. Otherwise, you will slowly begin to not
make decisions at all."
	"But how can I know which are the right decisions?" Owyn asked. "How can
I be sure?"
	Pug squeezed his shoulder. "You need to live to a ripe old age to know
that and I am not nearly old enough to have an answer. All I know is what Macros
the Black once told me. He said to train those around me well, to make them
powerful, but also to make them loving and generous. I see those things in you."


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

			    EPILOGUE

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The battle was against them.

Enraged, Warleader Moraeulf growled orders to his terror- stricken lieutenants
as he reviewed their weakening lines from the safety of an elm shaded hill;
watched with fury as his forward ranks of pikemen retreated under an
unexpectedly heavy rain of Kingdom longbow fire. In a short while, the combined
mass of Prince Arutha's relief forces and the garrison at Sethanon would be in a
position to push them into the only quarter of the city where they would be
unable to retreat, and then it would only be a matter of hours before they would
be forced to surrender or die in a blaze set to flush them out.
	"Warleader Moraeulf, you must come quickly!" Hearing a commotion to his
left, he muttered a silent curse on Delekhan's head for leading them on this
fool's errand, then snapped his attention to a small group of Moredhel who were
advancing towards him, faces flushed with excitement.
	Their leader, a scar faced whelp of twenty summers, knelt reverently at
his feet before breathlessly delivering his message. "At the Keep! Your father
has taken Prince Arutha! And I believe the marked one is with him! The tide of
the battle turns!"
	Stalking skeptically after his messengers, he progressed through a
ruined avenue and into a cobbled central square filled with conversing Moredhel
warriors. Above them, Delekhan mounted the fire blackened parapet walk of the
keep, preceded by a mysterious robed figure and the Prince of Krondor, the
latter bound hand and foot, unable to do anything but follow where he was led.
	"Brethren!" Silence fell over the square as the robe clad figure stepped
past Arutha and Delekhan and into an archer's turret, a hand placed over his
right breast.
	Ripping open his white garment, he revealed a body made gaunt with
hunger, but bearing an unmistakable curling purple birth mark which resembled a
dragon and was the mark of legend. Instantly, a chant rose among the Moredhel
warriors, many of them falling to their knees in ecstatic reverence.
	"I have returned, O my children!" Murmandamus shouted from the
battlements, revealing a glittering sword of gold, its hilt set with stones of
lapis. "Hidden deep in the chambers of earth below our feet, Prince Arutha
sought to keep this sword from me, from us, the key to our future! For ten years
he imprisoned me in the bowels of this hell against my will, but you have freed
me," he said, sweeping the air with the sword. "Ten years ago I promised you the
dawning of a new age. I was repaid with abandonment. But today I am free,
because you who followed Delekhan believed in our dream. You have demonstrated
your worthiness and loyalty, and as a reward you shall all bear witness to the
death of the Lord of the West and the final fulfillment of the Prophesy!"
	A dark cheer rippled through the crowd as Murmandamus held the sword
aloft and faced Arutha, his lips curled back in a wicked smile as he advanced on
the dazed prince. Considering the things that had been done to him, the crowd
thought it likely their former leader would execute Arutha slowly, and they were
ripe for the spectacle.
	Abruptly Murmandamus halted. Beneath him, the stones of the keep began
to tremble, as if the entirety of the structure were being shaken by an
invisible hand. His look of proud defiance suddenly turned to outrage.
	"What treachery is this?" Murmandamus screamed. "Who meddles with the
Prophesy?"
	As if in answer, thunder pealed overhead, announcing the arrival of a
great dragon and rider, the pair seemingly having formed from the very air
itself. Floating down from dizzying heights, they descended to a point level
with the keep's rooftops, the dragon's wings beating great gales of wind against
the crowd.
	"The Prophesy is false, Murmandamus, as are you!" Pug shouted from the
dragon's back. "You have betrayed the folk of the Kingdom and those of your own
people for a lie! It is time for your terror to come to an end!"
	At Pug's command Arutha ducked, narrowly averting death as the dragon
skimmed low overhead, lashing the battlements with its titanic whip-like tail,
hurling both Murmandamus and Delekhan, screaming like babes, into the horrified
hordes who watched far below. Fanning away from the impact of the two,
bystanders hastened to escape, fearing a possible second attack from the flying
dragon and its equally menacing rider.
	Standing in the midst of the crowd, Moraeulf looked on, void of pain or
fear, his voice calm and clear as he addressed a goblin lieutenant who stood
near him. "Gather your kin and call the retreat."
	"Lord Moraeulf, we may still win! Lead us!"
	Collaring the green skinned creature, Moraeulf lifted him off his feet.
"I now lead the Nations of the North and my first command is that I shall lead
us home.
	"Call the retreat," Moraeulf spat, hurling the goblin backwards. "The
day is theirs, but I must see to something first."
	Disregarding the panicked warriors who sought egress from the square,
Moraeulf picked his way over the burning rubble to where his father lay dead,
his wolfish eyes reflecting only the clouds of smoke which drifted through
Sethanon. For all his father's grand schemes, for all the things he had thought
to accomplish, he was nothing now, nothing but a hulk of dead flesh. He had been
a fool to trust the Tsurani magician.
	Leaning over the dead body, Moraeulf snatched up the golden sword which
Murmandamus had retrieved from the caverns below. Although he knew very little
of the Prophesy which had inspired both his father and Murmandamus to their
deaths, he had no intention of wasting what little they had gained in the
battle. Perhaps when he returned to the Northlands he could still find a way to
harness the power of the artifact, assuming it had any powers at all...
	"Moraeulf!"
	Turning, the Moredhel Warleader had no time to react before the
lightning quick assassin was upon him, driving a knife skillfully through his
left eye and deep into his brain, killing him instantly. Without a sound, he
crumpled to the ground across his dead father, dropping the sword even before he
could raise it.
	Smiling coldly, Narab withdrew his knife and wiped clean the grey flesh
from its bone blade, then snatched Murmandamus' prized sword from where it lay
abandoned on the ground. One by one he had borne witness to the destruction of
his rivals; Gorath of the Ardanien, his own brother Nago, Delekhan and his son
Moraeulf, all destroyed by their own greed or inaction. Now there would be the
matter of dealing with the bitch Liallan who had been Delekhan's mate, and then
he might even claim the throne of Sar-Sargoth for himself, assuming no bastard
get of the former warleader claimed the right. It would be of small consequence,
however, for now he possessed what they had all sought. Assuming he lived, he
would learn to exploit his new found advantage.
	Resheathing his knife in his boot, he spotted a slow moving band of
Moredhel limping towards the Dimwood, and he hurried to join them, blending in
with the crowd in the same manner in which he had come to Sethanon, as an
unrecognizable face in a mob of the beaten and the angry.

	Arutha watched with mild wonder as Pug conjured the Prince's duplicate
into nonexistence, then just as quickly eliminated the remarkably life-like
illusions of Delekhan and Murmandamus who lay crumpled on the ground below the
Keep. The corpse of Delekhan's son would have to be removed later by less arcane
means.
	"A shame we didn't have you with us at Armengar, cousin Pug," Arutha
said. "A performance such as that before Murmandamus' troops might have won us
the battle."
	Pug shook his head. "Spectacle won't win your battles, but at least it
may prevent the Dark Brothers from plotting another attack against Sethanon.
With the dozen or more Moredhel witnesses you've left alive on the battlefield,
most of them should return alive to the Northlands. Having seen their leaders
die and possessing the object Murmandamus sought, they'll have little reason to
return here."
	"Let us hope," Arutha said. I have little desire to do this again."
	"What about the artifact?" Owyn asked.
	"A useless sword," Pug replied with a grin. "The Oracle of Aal indicated
a hidden room where I might find it when I asked for assistance with the plan.
Shortly after that Moredhel gentleman who picked it up returns to Sar-Sargoth,
he will discover it useless and curse the names of both of them for having
spilled so much Moredhel blood on false prophesies."
	Seeing James and Locklear poking about in the ruins near the keep,
Arutha scowled. "I have a feeling those two are going to keep me busy for months
with their questions about this place. Fortunately they're loyal - if I tell
them the subject is closed, they'll both trust me enough to leave the issue
alone."
	"You can always tell them the sword was truly what was buried here,"
Owyn suggested. "The answer is good enough for the Moredhel."
	Arutha shook his head. "Locklear will probably forget the matter once he
sees a pretty young face in Krondor, but Jimmy is different. He won't accept it,
though he will never ask anything more. I don't like that I will have to lie to
him. He's as loyal a subject as I've ever had."
	"What about the Tsurani?" Owyn asked. Nodding, Arutha seemed equally
concerned with Pug's answer.
	"I shall have to talk with them. A well-respected member of the Assembly
of Magicians named Hochopeppa already knows something of the event and he will
help me assuage their fears," Pug said. "Thankfully they have their hands tied
with another bothersome individual at the moment."
	Satisfied, Arutha said his farewells and moved off to be of assistance
in evacuating the remaining soldiers from the area, fearing that some might
become too curious and discover things best left unfound. While watching the
Prince depart, Pug smiled quietly to himself, gaining Owyn's attention.
	"You seem pleased about something," Owyn said." What is it?"
	"You will note that the Prince said nothing about your silence," Pug
said. "You know the secret of Sethanon. In all of Midkemia, only Prince Arutha,
King Lyam, Duke Martin, Tomas of Elvandar and myself truly know what lies
beneath our feet." As if to reinforce the point, Pug tapped his staff at Owyn's
feet.
	"What are you saying?"
	Smiling, Pug began to lead him down the winding path towards the city's
smashed southern gate. "What that means is the Prince expects me to guarantee
your silence. That will be difficult to do. With you in Tiburn and me at my
Academy of Magicians at Stardock, it will require that I make a number of long
and tiresome journeys for the sole purpose of ensuring you keep your silence. It
seems a waste of time." Stopping to look into the sunset, Pug seemed lost in
thought. "Of course, it is possible I could take you on as a student of magic,
your living expenses paid in full by Prince Arutha. Are you interested in
becoming a true magician, Owyn?"
	Laughing for the first time in a great while, Owyn twirled his staff in
his hands. "I've never wanted anything else... "


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


THANKS:

Eysteinn Bjornsson for the effort put in to make all the game text available.

Neil Gaiman, just for being the best damned writer on the planet.