The man shook his head. “There’s a clean-shaven fellow, but he’s big, and a slender one, but he’s got short hair and a beard. Who do you think it is?”
“That is not for you to know,” said the Slayer. Jimmy eased his legs by slowly shifting his weight. He knew the Black Slayer was trying to connect this band to the one that raided Moraelin for Silverthorn the year before. Then the moredhel said, “We shall wait. News reached us two days ago the Lord of the West is dead, but I am not foolish enough to count a man dead until I hold his heart in my hand. It may be nothing. Had an elf been with them, I would burn that inn to the ground tonight, but I cannot be sure. Still, remain alert. It could be his companions returning to do mischief, to avenge him.”
“Seven men, and two of them really boys. What harm?”
The moredhel ignored the question. “Return to the inn and watch, Morgan Crowe. You are paid well and quickly for obedience, not questions. Should those in the inn leave, follow at a discreet distance. Should they remain upon the road to Tyr-Sog until midday, return to the inn and wait. Should they turn northward before then, I shall wish to know. Return here tomorrow night and tell me which. But tarry not, for Segersen brings his band north and you must meet him. Without the next payment, he takes his men home. I need his engineers. Is the gold safe?”
“Always with me.”
“Good. Now go.” For an instant the Black Slayer seemed to shudder, then wobble, then his movements returned. In a completely different voice, he said, “Do as our master instructs, human,” then turned and walked away. In a moment the clearing was empty.
Jimmy’s mouth hung open. Now he understood. He had heard that first voice before, in the palace where the undead moredhel had tried to kill Arutha, and again in the basement of the House of Willows when they had destroyed the Nighthawks in Krondor. The man called Morgan Crowe had been speaking not to the Black Slayer, but rather through him. And Jimmy had no doubt to whom. Murmandamus!
Jimmy’s astonishment had caused him to hesitate, and suddenly he knew he could not return to the inn before Crowe. Already the man had quit the clearing, taking the lantern with him. In the dark, Jimmy had to move slowly.
By the time he reached the clearing near the road, Jimmy caught a glimpse of the red glow from the hearth in the common room as Crowe closed the door to the inn. He could hear the bolt driven home.
Hurrying silently along the edge of the clearing, Jimmy waited until he was opposite the window to his room. He hurried across and was quickly up the wall, the rough surface providing ample hand-and footholds. From inside his tunic he retrieved twine and a hook and quickly fished open the simple bar locking the window. He pulled it open and stepped through.
Two sword points poked him in the chest and he halted. Laurie and Roald both lowered their weapons when they saw who it was. Locklear had his sword out and guarded the door. “What’s this? Looking for a new way to die: having your friends run you through?” asked Roald.
“What’s that you have there?” Laurie pointed at the hook and twine. “I thought you’d left all that behind.”
“Quietly,” said the boy, putting up his thieving tools. In hushed tones he said, “You’ve not been a minstrel for almost a year, yet you still lug that lute with you everywhere. Now listen, we’ve got troubles. That fellow in the common room works for Murmandamus.”
Laurie and Roald exchanged glances. Laurie said, “You’d better tell Arutha.”
Arutha said, “Well, we know that they’ve heard the news of my death. And we know Murmandamus isn’t certain, despite the show in Krondor.” All had come to Arutha’s room, where they spoke quietly in the dark.
“Still,” Baru said, “it seems he is acting upon the presumption you are dead until proven otherwise, despite any doubts he may harbour.”
Laurie said, “He can’t sit on a Brotherhood alliance indefinitely. He has to move soon or have everything fall apart around him.”
“If we continue for another day toward Tyr-Sog, then they’ll leave us alone,” said Jimmy.
“Yes,” whispered Roald, “but there’s still Segersen.”
“Who is he?” Martin asked.
“Mercenary general,” answered Roald. “But an odd sort. He doesn’t have a large company, never a hundred men, often fewer than fifty. Mostly he employs experts: miners, engineers, tacticians. He’s got the best crews in the business. His speciality is bringing down walls or keeping them up, depending on who’s doing the paying. I’ve seen him work. He helped Baron Croswaith in his border skirmish with Baron Lobromill, when I was in Croswaith’s employ.”