Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1998
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist
Cover design by Dominic Forbes © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008311254
Ebook Edition © January 2018 ISBN: 9780007374977
Version: 2018-11-13
Dedication
For John Cutter and Neal Hallford
with thanks for their creativity and enthusiasm
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
Prologue: Warning
Chapter One: Encounter
Chapter Two: Deception
Chapter Three: Revelation
Chapter Four: Passage
Chapter Five: Mission
Chapter Six: Journey
Chapter Seven: Murders
Chapter Eight: Secrets
Chapter Nine: Suspect
Chapter Ten: Nighthawks
Chapter Eleven: Escape
Chapter Twelve: Preparations
Chapter Thirteen: Betrayal
Chapter Fourteen: Instructions
Chapter Fifteen: Quest
Chapter Sixteen: Tasks
Chapter Seventeen: Misdirection
Chapter Eighteen: Regroup
Chapter Nineteen: Encounter
Chapter Twenty: Retribution
Epilogue: Dedication
Afterword
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
Map
PROLOGUE
Warning
THE WIND HOWLED.
Locklear, squire of the Prince of Krondors court, sat huddled under his heavy cloak, astride his horse. Summer was quick to flee in the Northlands and the passes through the mountains known as the Teeth of the World. Autumn nights in the south might still be soft and warm, but up here in the north, autumn had been a brief visitor and winter was early to arrive, and would be long in residence. Locklear cursed his own stupidity for leading him to this forlorn place.
Sergeant Bales said, Gets nippy up here, squire. The sergeant had heard the rumour about the young nobles sudden appearance in Tyr-Sog, some matter involving a young woman married to a well-connected merchant in Krondor. Locklear wouldnt be the first young dandy sent to the frontier to get him out of an angry husbands reach. Not as balmy as Krondor, sorry to say, sir.
Really? asked the young squire, dryly.
The patrol followed a narrow trail along the edge of the foothills, the northern border of the Kingdom of the Isles. Locklear had been in court at Tyr-Sog less than a week when Baron Moyiet had suggested the young squire might benefit from accompanying the special patrol to the east of the city. Rumours had been circulating that renegades and moredhel dark elves known as the Brotherhood of the Dark Path were infiltrating south under the cover of heavy rains and snow flurries. Trackers had reported few signs, but hearsay and the insistence of farmers that they had seen companies of dark-clad warriors hurrying south had prompted the Baron to order the patrol.
Locklear knew as well as the men garrisoned there that the chance of any activity along the small passes over the mountains in late fall or early winter was unusual. While the freeze had just come to the foothills, the higher passes would already be thick with snow, then choked with mud should a brief thaw occur.
Yet since the war known as the Great Uprising the invasion of the Kingdom by the army of Murmandamus, the charismatic leader of the dark elves ten years ago, any activity was to be investigated, and that order came directly from King Lyam.
Yes, must be a bit of a change from the Princes court, squire, prodded the sergeant. Locklear had looked the part of a Krondorian dandy tall, slender, a finely garbed young man in his mid-twenties, affecting a moustache and long ringlets when he reached Tyr-Sog. Locklear thought the moustache and fine clothing made him look older, but if anything the impact was the opposite of his desired intent.
Locklear had enough of the sergeants playful baiting, and observed, Still, its warmer than I remember the other side of the mountains being.
Other side, sir? asked the sergeant.
The Northlands, said Locklear. Even in the spring and summer the nights are cold.
The sergeant looked askance at the young man. Youve been there, squire? Few men who were not renegades or weapons runners had visited the Northlands and lived to return to the Kingdom.
With the Prince, replied Locklear. I was with him at Armengar and Highcastle.
The sergeant fell silent and looked ahead. The soldiers nearest Locklear exchanged glances and nods. One whispered to the man behind him. No soldier living in the north hadnt heard of the fall of Armengar before the hosts of Murmandamus, the powerful moredhel leader who had destroyed the human city in the Northlands and then had invaded the Kingdom. Only his defeat at Sethanon, ten years before, had kept his army of dark elves, trolls, goblins and giants from rending the Kingdom.