‘What is this?’ asked Locklear, looking at a multi-faceted stone of an odd blue hue.
‘A snow sapphire.’
‘Sapphire!’ said Locklear. ‘It’s as big as an egg!’
‘It’s not a particularly valuable stone,’ said Gorath. ‘They are common north of the Teeth of the World.’
‘So it’s, what? A keepsake?’
‘Perhaps, but when a war party leaves our homeland, we travel light. Weapons, rations, extra bowstrings, and little else. We easily live by forage.’
‘Maybe this isn’t a war party,’ suggested Locklear. ‘Maybe they live around here?’
Gorath shook his head. ‘The last of my people south of the Teeth of the World lived in the Grey Towers and they fled to the Northlands with the coming of the Tsurani. None of my race has lived this near the Bitter Sea since before the Kingdom came to these mountains. No, while not of my clan, these are from the Northlands.’ He put the gem in his belt pouch and continued to examine the bodies.
Time passed and finally Owyn put in an appearance, leading his horse. ‘Damn all horses,’ he swore. ‘He made me chase him until he got bored.’
Locklear smiled. ‘Next time, don’t fall off.’
‘I didn’t plan on it this time,’ said Owyn.
Gorath said, ‘We need to hide these.’ He pointed to the four dead moredhel. He picked up one and carried it a short way down the trail then unceremoniously threw the corpse over the side of a ravine.
Owyn looked at Locklear, and the young magician tied his horse’s reins to a nearby bush. He picked up the feet of the nearest corpse while Locklear lifted the creature under the shoulders.
Soon all four bodies were consigned to the ravine hundreds of feet below. Locklear mounted as did Gorath and Owyn. Leaving for the time being the mystery of why these moredhel were waiting at this lonely spot on a rarely used trail, they rode on.
Loriel appeared before them, a small city – really a large town – nestled into the large valley which ran eastward. Another valley intersected from the south.
Gorath said, ‘We need food.’
‘A fact of which my stomach is well aware,’ answered Locklear.
Owyn said, ‘Not that I’m in a hurry to face my father, but this is turning into a roundabout journey, squire.’
Locklear pointed to the southern valley. ‘There’s a road through there that’s a very straight course to Hawk’s Hollow. From there we have our choice of routes, south along a narrow ridge trail, or southwest back to the King’s Highway.’
Gorath said, ‘And then to Krondor?’
‘And then to Krondor,’ agreed Locklear. ‘Something in all this is making what my friend Jimmy calls his “bump of trouble” itch like I’ve been attacked there by fleas.
‘Gorath, this stolen ruby, the Tsurani magicians, all of it is somehow … more than coincidence.’
‘How?’ asked Owyn.
‘If I knew,’ said Locklear, ‘we wouldn’t be stopping off to visit Mr Alescook. He may know something or know someone who knows what it’s about, but the more I think on this mystery, the more it bothers me that I don’t know what’s behind all this.
‘But we’re going to find out or die trying.’
Owyn didn’t look happy at the second choice, but said nothing. Gorath just looked out over the town as they rode down towards a small guard post that sat beside the trail.
A town constable of advancing years and considerable girth held up his hand and said, ‘Halt!’
The three reined in and Locklear inquired, ‘What is it?’
‘We’ve had a rash of renegades around here, lately, m’lad, so state your business.’
‘We’re travelling south and stopping for provisions,’ said Locklear.
‘And who might you be, to be riding down out of the mountains?’
Locklear produced the paper given him by Captain Belford and said, ‘This should explain as much as you need to know, constable.’
The man took the document and squinted at it. Locklear realized he couldn’t read, but he made a show of studying it. Finally, convinced by the large embossment at the bottom, the constable handed back the paper and said, ‘You may pass, sir. Just be wary if you’re out after dark.’
‘Why?’ asked Locklear.
‘As I said, sir, lots of ruffians and bandits passing by lately, and not too few of those murderous Brothers of the Dark Path. Look a bit like your elf friend there, but with long black nails and red eyes which shine in the night.’
Locklear could barely hold back his amusement as he said, ‘We’ll be wary, constable.’
They rode past and Gorath said, ‘That one has never seen one of my people in his life.’
‘So I gathered,’ observed Locklear, ‘though I must pay more attention to your eyes at night. I may have missed the red glow.’
Owyn chuckled and they found themselves an inn. It was dirty, crowded and dark, which suited Locklear fine as he was low on funds. He had thought about asking Captain Belford for a loan, but decided the captain’s only response would have been, ‘wait for Earl Kasumi,’ and while Locklear didn’t mind taking a circuitous route to get to Krondor to avoid ambushes, he was anxious to put the mystery of what was occurring in the Northlands before Arutha.
There were no rooms available, a situation that surprised Locklear, but the innkeeper gave them leave to sleep in the commons. Owyn grumbled at the need, but Gorath kept his thoughts to himself.
So far no one had objected to the moredhel’s presence along the way, either because they didn’t recognize him for what he was, mistaking him for an elf, or because a moredhel with renegade humans in these mountains was not all that unusual a sight. Whatever the cause, Locklear was grateful he didn’t need to deal with curious onlookers.
They ate at a crowded table, and after the meal listened to an indifferent troubadour. There were some games of chance and Locklear itched to try his hand at some cards, either pashawa or pokir. He resisted the impulse, as he could ill afford to lose, and one lesson taught him by his father and older brothers was don’t gamble what you can’t afford to lose.
As the inn settled down and those sleeping in the commons began to claim corners and places under tables, Locklear approached the barkeep, a heavy-set man with a black beard. ‘Sir?’ he asked as Locklear moved between two other men to stand before him.
‘Tell me, friend,’ began Locklear. ‘Is there a merchant in this town who deals in gems?’
The barkeep nodded. ‘Three doors down on the right. Name’s Alescook.’
‘Good,’ said Locklear. ‘I need to purchase a gift for a lady.’
The barkeep grinned. ‘I understand, sir. Now, one word: caution.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Locklear.
‘I’m not saying Kiefer Alescook can’t be trusted, but let’s just say the source of some of his merchandise is a bit dodgy.’
‘Ah,’ said Locklear, nodding as if now he understood. ‘Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.’
Locklear returned to the table and said, ‘I’ve found our man. He’s nearby and we’ll see him first thing in the morning.’
‘Good,’ said Gorath. ‘I tire of your company.’
Locklear laughed. ‘You’re not exactly an ale and fair song