Free Krondor the Betrayal by Raymond E. Feist Page A

windows.
    But while the others were clean and recently painted, this was faded and dirty.
    Locklear knocked loudly, and after a few minutes a sleepy voice from the other side of the door said, ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Isaac?’’ shouted Locklear, and the door opened.
    A young man with long blond hair stuck his head out the door and said, ‘‘Locky?’’ The door opened wide, and the young man bid them enter. He wore only a rumpled tunic and trousers, obviously having slept in them. ‘‘I was just getting up,’’ he said.
    ‘‘Right,’’ said Locklear, as if humoring him.
    The room was dark, with the shutters and sashes still closed, and the air was stale. Old food odors and sweat mixed with the sour aroma of spilled ale. The furniture was simple, one wooden table with four chairs, a single shelf behind the table, and another small table upon which a lamp rested. Stairs led to a sleeping loft above. A faded tapestry, once residing in surroundings far finer than those in which they hung now, was the sole item of any note. It hung behind Isaac, framing him with a tableau of a meeting between princes who were exchanging gifts while notables of that day looked on from all sides.
    ‘‘Locklear,’’ said Isaac, as if savoring the name. ‘‘What a pleasure. You’re wearing your years well. I like the moustache.
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    Raymond E. Feist
    You always could manage the flamboyant.’’ He turned away and moved with a visible limp. ‘‘Sit down. I would offer you tea or coffee, but my cousin is temporarily visiting other relatives in Bas-Tyra, and I have just arrived last night, so we are not well provisioned.’’
    ‘‘That’s all right,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘How long’s it been? Since Arutha’s wedding?’’
    Isaac sat in a small wooden chair and crossed his legs so that he kept his weight on his good leg. ‘‘The very day. You should have heard the fit old Master of Ceremonies deLacy threw when he found out I wasn’t the Baron of Dorgin’s son.’’
    ‘‘That’s because there is no Baron of Dorgin,’’ supplied Locklear. ‘‘If you’d done your research, you would have avoided that gaffe.’’
    ‘‘How was I supposed to know the lands outside the dwarven enclave are the province of the Duke of the Southern Marches?’’
    ‘‘Study?’’ suggested Locklear.
    ‘‘Never my strong suit,’’ said Isaac with a wave of his hand.
    ‘‘Well, at least deLacy was too busy with the wedding to toss you out until the next day,’’ said Locklear. ‘‘We had a good time that night. What have you been doing since?’’
    ‘‘I spent some time in the East with my family, then returned a few years ago to the West. Since then I’ve been doing odd jobs along the border. So, what brings a member of Krondor’s court so far from home with such unusual company?’’
    ‘‘Certain doings, some bloody, which unfortunately point to you.’’
    ‘‘Me?’’ said Isaac. ‘‘You’re not serious.’’
    ‘‘I’m as serious as a Royal Torturer, Isaac, and you’ll have a chance to make a firsthand comparison if you don’t answer me truthfully. I’ll have Gorath sit on you while I go fetch the local constable. We can have a pleasant talk here, or a very unpleasant one in Krondor.’’
    Locklear had no intention of summoning the local constable and trying to sort out his claim of rank and authority, especially with no royal writs or warrants. But Isaac didn’t know that, and Locklear wasn’t about to enlighten him.
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    KRONDOR THE BETRAYAL
    ‘‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’’ said Isaac, starting to slowly rise.
    Gorath said softly, ‘‘Reach for that sword behind you, and you’ll have a leg to match the other before your fingers touch the hilt, human.’’
    ‘‘Damn,’’ said Isaac quietly, sitting back down in the chair.
    ‘‘The ruby,’’ said Locklear.
    ‘‘What ruby?’’ said Isaac.
    ‘‘The one you bought from Kiefer Alescook. The one you paid