The Kingdom Mine - Let's Play Betrayal at Krondor!

Four letters long, something an adult has that a newborn doesn't... Yeah, I'm not going to touch that one. Tits.

An....interesting response...is no one going to take a crack at the how and who and where of our investigation?

I guess for starters we can talk to the Duke of Romney, and see what he says. Part of me vaguely remembers something about the Crawler,, if that's related, but I haven't played the game in so long I don't remember much at all. I'll have to go back and read some of the earlier stuff to look for more sources...

Most importantly, it's time to play with the new toys.

Now that the party's undiseased, they need to amble back south to Silden and give Joftaz a swift kick in the groin. After that vital business, there's that very suspicious receipt for a "Isunatus of Cavall Keep", which takes us up north of Romney - an area I don't believe has been visited yet, so I'm sure there are some side quests to be had.

Or acne or debt or kids or porn or hate....i could do this all day guys. need a hint from the wheel.

On where to go....honestly, I've no clue, never got this far in the game.

and to all: all maps of the game! If you click on a city-ish area it gives ALL the actual overhead shots Brer is using, contiguous. It's pretty sweet.

Those are good maps. I like the BAK Help Web as a guide to the game, but the maps are spoiler-rific. As for not -remembering- where to go next, that's not really the point. I'm hoping you guys will have picked up various hints and clues from the conversations and events of the chapter. We'll start out by following up with the Duke and ending the Guild War, and if new options open up I'll stop to ask you guys what to do next.

Yeah, they're extremely spoiler-y, and I should have noted as such, but it really gives a good feel for how the game world is laid out (and you can save bandwidth by skipping those types of posts in the future, except where the visuals change, now!).

Guild Wars are bad, especially if we can buy some shiny weapons and armor if we end it.

Those ones aren't -too- bad (aside from seeing the endgame areas if you click on some links). I meant the BAK Help Web. It's great, but every combat, chest, answers to the chests, contents, NPC encounters, and so on are annotated on their maps. And I'll try to get a few posts up tonight.

So although I haven't been able to play the game alongside the LP (due to COMPUTER PROBLEMS), I did reread the book in anticipation of it and, after ringworm mentioned rereading Magician, I did that as well.

Today, in an unexpected twist of fate, I somehow managed to find a copy of Silverthorn in the wild. I must've had the Magician books for at least five years now (and Krondor: The Betrayal even longer), but this will be the first time I've actually managed to obtain Silverthorn. I think I've only seen it one other time in a bookstore. Oddly enough, I've seen every other book (including Darkness at Sethenon) much more often. I don't know what the deal with that is, but I'm glad I finally get a chance to read this damn book. Hopefully I'll still be able to find Darkness at Sethenon when I'm through.

Awesome! I have really been enjoying my reread. I even picked up the trilogy of books covering the novelization of the Betrayal at and Return to Krondor (and the book covering the time in-between) as I read them in chronological order...which is mostly the order they were written in except for that trilogy and the Empire trilogy.

I liked Silverthorn an awful lot, and loved A Darkness at Sethanon where we get to read about Pug and Tomas ripping some shit up together.

Silverthorn was the first Feist book I ever read, and probably the one I've reread most ten years later. The wedding/post-wedding scene still makes me tear up.

Edit: Then I saw Arutha there staring at me after I posted this and started laughing. Great, a decade of emotions, gone.

I looked at the maps page... and realized just how long this game is going to go. Brer, you are a trooper.

((Well, so far, so good anyway. As always, people, let me know if there's something I can do more/less/different to improve the LP.))

Romney



They spent the rest of the night in the Duke's Romney home, but despite the comfort of the well-appointed guest chambers none slept well. In fact, only Gorath was able to sleep at all, and his sleep was brief, shallow, and troubled. The next morning a servant came for each of them, leading them back and down to the servants' quarters and finally to a cellar that had been cleared of contents save for a broad table, a few torches, and the Duke of Romney sitting cross-legged in a large wooden chair. The Duke was surprisingly young, and at this range and light James realized he was barely five years younger than the lord. Romney didn't look up as they entered, but continued to stare hard at a cloth-wrapped form laid out on the table. From the size and shape...

"What's under there?" James asked, causing the Duke to look up as he continued, "or rather, who?"

"Botho Chandler," the Duke replied grimly. "They found him in the alleyway and have dropped him off here until the undertakers can come for him."

"Murdered?" Gorath asked, moving to draw back a corner of the sheet for a moment, then letting it fall once more as the pale and doughy face of the grossly overweight merchant from the meeting hall the night before was revealed.

The Duke sighed. "Fortunately it's no great mystery. He was fighting with the leader of the Miller's Guild and got cornered by three mercenaries. We have them all in custody. Things have gotten so bad here that we're regularly building a bonfire to burn the bodies from this idiot private war between the Guilds."

"Any way we can be of assistance?" James asked, taking a glance beneath the sheet at the bloated corpse. "We may be in the area for some while."

Drumming his fingers on the table, the Duke stared intently at them. "Actually, you may be of service to me," he said after a thoughtful moment. "If I can convince Arlie Steelsoul to come into negotiations with the rest of the guilds, it's possible I can break this deadlock between them. My father always said that the guilds will follow Mitchel Waylander and Arlie Steelsoul whichever way they go, but unfortunately Mitchel is too intertwined in the origins of this problem for me to use him effectively."

"Where do we fit into this?" James asked.

"You're neutral," he replied, gaining his feet. "You were born outside of Romney and you have no connections to the guilds. I am right about that aren't I?" Quickly an anxious look flickered in his eyes, but quickly vanished as he noticed that James was shaking his head. "Excellent. My point being, as the Duke, the guilds might view a private meeting between myself and Arlie as unfair negotiation. They have to believe that he is coming to the negotiation table of his own free will, and believe me, they will be watching my movements for a while."

"So you want us to find this Arlie Steelsoul fellow and convince him to come and negotiate with the rest of the guilds, is that it?" James asked.

"Just so," the Duke replied. "You will find that he has a farm manor southwest of Sloop. I would advise you though, he is a paranoid man. He keeps himself well guarded and there may be some danger involved. I will reward you for your efforts of course."

"That's all right," James said with a smile, heading towards the door. "We're used to danger."



From the Duke's house it was not far to the Black Sheep, and when they returned to the common room James swore. "Damn them," he hissed as he glanced over the damp floorboards and the freshly spread reeds, nostrils flaring at scent of fuller's earth. "They've already cleaned the place. Well, perhaps the staff..." he broke off as a pale, scrawny boy perhaps fourteen years old approached and offered a quick and jerky bow. "

Silden

C-c-come in, please..." the boy murmured, his voice so soft that Owyn had to lean in to make out what he was saying.




"Because when I break things master always tells me that someone would come and take me away someplace bad and someplace dark where they would never feed me and I'd never see the light of day," the boy murmured, never looking up. "And I knew when all those people got killed in here that someone would come for me and take me to the bad place."

"You don't have anything to be afraid of, lad," James said, reaching out towards the young man and then pulling his hand back when he flinched away as if expecting to be struck. "You didn't kill those men. It's not your fault. What's your name?"

The boy started to shake. "Jason, sir, and Master says anybody that stays under our roof is our respont...respono...responsibility and I was here when they were killed! That means it was my fault."

"Then you saw the murders?" Owyn asked Jason.

"No," Jason said, shaking his head violently, "but they come in and told me to leave or they'd hurt me real bad. They didn't tell me what they were going to do."

"What did the men who told you to leave look like?" James asked.

Jason voice was uneven, but he answered. "They were big and they had birds on their chests, like eagles. And they smelled funny, like sometimes the sailors from Kesh smell like. Like flowers..."

"Hawks on their chests. That at least would seem to confirm the Nighthawks' involvement..." Gorath murmured before turning to the boy. "Do you know any thing about a spider made of silver or a brass spyglass that one of the men that were killed might have carried? It is very important. Think hard..."

"I...I don't know anything about the spider, but I remember that one of the King's Men had a brass tube with little pieces of glass in the ends of it and I could see things that were far away with it," Jason said after a few moments. "He said that he and one of the other men had brought it back from Silden."

"Did he say where in Silden he got it?" James asked.

"No...just in Silden," Jason said.

"Can you think of anything else?" the Squire asked, lightly gripping his chin in one hand, thumb stroking along his jaw. "Did anyone else come into the Black Sheep before the murderers?"

"A carrying man brought in some wine from the Upside Down Keg for the soldiers," Jason said after another moment's silence. "Told me it was sent special, but besides that, I can't think of anything."

"Thanks, Jason. We may be back later to ask you more questions, so don't go anywhere." James said before gesturing for the others to follow him out the door. "The Upturned Keg is in Sloop, and our first real lead on the spyglass is in Silden, so we'll head south for now. But first I want to stop in the shops. The guild war will have driven prices up, and with the gems we've been gathering we could solve our financial problems for the rest of this crazy little adventure with a few careful sales."

Romney




The prices were incredible, and before the sun had reached the midpoint of its arc across the skies the squire had carefully unloaded all of the goods they'd accumulated since leaving Nia's shop near Sethanon. When he rejoined Owyn and Gorath near the bridge leading back to the west back of the Rom he had nearly tripled their funds, so that he was forced to exchange some of the gold for letters of credit from one of the larger merchant houses.

As they reached the northern edge of Romney's bridge and stepped onto the west bank James paused, holding up his hand to halt the others while his other hand produced the two objects. "Let's have a more careful look at these," he murmured. Undaunted by the spyglass' cracked lenses, James raised the nautical tool to his eye and looked through it. While he could see nothing with the naked eye it was almost as if he saw something beyond the world before him. By some facility he was able to see objects that were hidden from his view.

"Very interesting," the squire said, lowing the glass and glancing towards Owyn. "Try this. It seems as if it acts like one of your scrying spells."

The young mage tried it, then gasped, and when he lowered the glass he was grinning. "Exactly like it. It will save me the effort of casting, and give you the ability to scout out our surroundings even when I'm not around," he said. "But who could have made it?"

"Well, perhaps we'll find out in Silden," James replied, shrugging as he stowed the glass and carefully examined the other strange artifact.



James frowned, then carefully drew his rapier. "I wonder..." he muttered. Flipping the ornate miniature over, he slid his sword blade through the groove which had been incised into the spider's belly. While there was no fluid visible in the small channel, his blade now dripped a green venom.

"We can envenom our bolts as well using this device," Gorath said, reaching out to take the spider. "It will be as useful to us as it obviously was for the assassins, and it is quite unusual. People are more likely to remember it than a spyglass, especially since the glass' properties can only be noticed by the person using it." Just then, Gorath was distracted by a sudden rustle from the bushes to either side of the road, and the companions spun to either side as familiar black-clad figures rushed them.

Fight to the Death



James took the first nighthawk, lunging, stopping the assassin short. His opponent twisted, shoving his broader, heavier blade to the side, stealing much of the force of the lung, but still the rapier tore an ugly gash through the lightly padded armor hidden under the black cloth, staining the nighthawk's side with blood. Owyn and Gorath, meanwhile, dispatched the second killer almost instantly. A fireball and a whistling bolt sent the man crashing back into the bushes in a broken heap, and their twigs began to smoke and smoulder as the flames spread from the corpse to the foliage around it.

Mage and moredhel turned back to James' opponent then, and even as the nighthawk was forced back by the squire's rapid lunges and criss-crossing slashes he found himself flanked by both Owyn and Gorath. The assassin attempted to defend himself, but within moments he too had fallen under a flurry of heavy blows. Owyn panted, trying to catch his breath and starting to shake a little when he noticed a smear of blood across his staff where one of his blows had crushed the nighthawk's jaw and pulped his lips through the hood. The mage felt vaguely ill in a way he hadn't for weeks.

"Well," Gorath muttered as he started to clean his blade, "it seems that the Nighthawks were expecting us."

"Expecting someone, at any rate," James said. "They seem to have gone to some effort to keep things in Romney stirred up. This might be part of that plot, not directly related to our business."

"You had earlier said that our business and the guild war may not be unrelated," the dark elf pointed out, and James sighed.

"Yes, I did. We'll have to see where this information leads us. We'll stop by Sloop on our way to Silden and see what the owner of the Upturned Keg has to say on the matter."

They reached sloop that evening, and the Upturned Keg was easy to find. It was a sprawling building next to a half-finished temple, and James could see the large open workspace where coopers assembled the barrels used for the brewery's products, and the scent of fermenting spirits was strong in the air. Entering the work-space, he was met by a broad-shouldered and sharp-faced man who was carrying a wooden keg. Quickly dumping it with a pile of other casks, he wiped his hands off on a towel, then extended his hand. "Welcome to the Upturned Keg. Best brewery this side of the Romney. Would you care to sample some of our stock? We make a dandy apple wine..."

"I'm sure you do, but no thank you," James said. "We have other business with you. Have you recently sent a special delivery to the Black Sheep Tavern in Romney?"

The man nodded. "Yes. A man here in town named Mitchel Waylander came in and made the purchase order himself. Paid with rubies."

Recognizing the name of the leader of the Glazer's Guild of Romney, James arched an eyebrow. "Was there anything unusual about the order?"

"I'll say," the man replied. Moving to a small bin, he pulled out a handful of a substance that looked like tabac, letting it sift between his fingers back into the bin. "He asked that I add this to the kegs - called black tarweed."

"A poison?" James asked.

"No," the brewmaster said, lips twisting into a sneer. "It's a cheat used by the less scrupulous tavern keepers. Handful of this dissolved in your ale, and whoever drinks it will think they're dying of thirst. Gets worse the more you drink."

Gorath spat. "It is often done in the north," he said. "A man will drink until he is no longer capable, either for lack of gold or wit."

"And an excellent way to make certain that someone is incapable of fighting you back," James said with disgust. "The Nighthawks aren't what they used to be."

Alarmed, the brewmaster seemed to pale. "Nighthawks? What have they to do with this?"

Omitting most of the smaller details, James told what they had already learned of the murder. Horrified, the man shook his head. "I assure you, this has never once happened in association with the Keg. If you would like, I will get you something to drink. I guarantee that it has not been laced with the black tarweed..."

The squire declined, instead asking for and receiving directions to the home of Mitchel Waylander. They traveled quickly through the streets of the small town, and soon enough they found the small but well-built home tucked away on the settlement's western edge.



The windows were dark, and as they approached Gorath motioned for them to move slowly as he drew his greatsword from its shoulder scabbard. James frowned but followed suit, carefully producing his rapier and glancing first to the darkened house and then to the rapidly setting sun. They moved forward...and one of the shadows under the house's broad eaves moved, followed by others that streamed from the sides of other houses to block their path.

Charge into Battle



James acted first, his crossbow sending a bolt whistling straight into the nearest assassin's shoulder. A muffled scream came from under the layers of black cloth, and the nighthawk turned and stumbled away even as two of the other killers readied crossbows and a fourth and fifth assassin charged to meet them. They were ready, however, and a brutal five-way melee commenced. The nighthawks were skilled fighters but not used to coordination and teamwork, while the three traveling companions had been fighting together for weeks.

James drew attention with a fleche while Gorath's blade bit deep into a hip. Gorath's overhand blow provoked a frantic block while Owyn's staff snaked out to crack against ankles. The first nighthawk fell, and as they rushed their second foe bolts from the remaining pair hissed into their midst. One whipped past Gorath's blade and buried itself in the timber of a nearby home, but a second glanced off Owyn's left forearm, drawing blood and making the mage stumble while the shaft spun off into the growing darkness.

Still, the nighthawk was outnumbered and could not stand long. Before a minute had passed the moredhel's long blade had swung in overhand only to reverse, describing a near perfect circle before it arced up into the assassin's gut and spilled out his life and his innards. Owyn spun away at once, his voice already raised in the strange syllables of magic, fire springing into existence in one hand. The mage cast first one and then a second ball of sooty flame into the two remaining killers, wreathing both in crackling fire while James and Gorath drew their own crossbows. A volley, and one crumpled to the ground with a bolt protruding from its chest while the last nighthawk charged desperately only to die on James' outstretched rapier.

James knocked cautiously on the door. A few tense moments later the wood began to creak and the door swung open. From the darkened room a figure emerged and James gripped his sword tighter, prepared for any eventuality. Though Mitchel Waylander wasn't one of his favorite people, he was a bit relieved to see his familiar face...and Mitchel seemed a bit relieved to see them. "Oh, gods, it's good to see you," the reeve exclaimed before turning to gape at the corpses littering his front path.

Revenge




"But I'm a merchant!" Mitchel protested, his voice growing a touch shrill. "I don't know anything about the Guild of Assassins!"

James shrugged. "You wouldn't necessarily have to know anything about them. You might have witnessed something they preferred unseen, perhaps they think you've wronged them in some way. Where were you the night the King's men from Bas-Tyra regiment were assassinated?"

The guildmaster turned paler still. "What?!" he gasped, "I hadn't heard... Gods, they were good men! If it hadn't been for them, we never would have broken the Riverpullers' siege at Romney. How did they die?"

"Nighthawks set up on them in the Black Sheep Tavern," the squire replied, watching the reeve's pale face carefully. "Killed every last man. The only thing I found strange was the fact there were few signs of resistance. I was told by the boy who tends the bar a few casks of Keshian Ale were delivered the night before, but the Bas-Tyra men are very disciplined men. Does it seem reasonable to you a detachment of men trailing the Nighthawks would get drunk in the town where they suspect the Guild of Assassins have their headquarters?"

"It...does sound a bit odd." Waylander admitted after a moment's silence.

"It sounded odd to me as well," James continued, "so I decided the ale had been tainted in some way. I thought if I found the man who sent the ale, I might be on the trail of the Nighthawks. Then I visited the tavern here in town and I discovered something very disturbing. The arrangements for the ale delivery were made here and the keeper was instructed to add a significant amount of tarweed to the mixture, a mixture that while not poisonous, induces the drinker to become excessively thirsty, ensuring that he will continue to drink until quite drunk."

The squire offered the reeve a thin-lipped smile and his voice grew colder as he continued. "But that was not the shocking information. You see, it seems the local chief reeve of a prestigious guild arranged for the delivery of the Ale...Mitchel Waylander!"

"I never made that order!" Mitchel protested, raising both hands. "I would have been in Romney when the arrangement was made. I couldn't have made that order!"

"I realize that as well," James agreed, nodding slightly, his voice softening. "The Nighthawks have gone to extreme trouble to implicate you and that tells me they want revenge for something. The men that were sent here to kill you would undoubtedly have planted the final evidence on your corpse. So, what could you have done to them?"

"Truly, I don't know..." Waylander said, sighing.

"Do you know anything about a silver spider or a brass spyglass?" Gorath asked, stepping forward.

"A brass spyglass?" Mitchel blinked in confusion for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "Oh dear gods! But that man couldn't have been a Nighthawk... He was so, so regal looking..."

"What did you do to this man? Is the spyglass involved?" James demanded.

"There is a place north of Romney known as Prank's Stone," the guildmaster began. "When people approach it, they often discover that items on their person disappear. A business partner and I discovered where the disappeared items go to and we sell the items we find. Any way, one night I was drinking in the town of the same name and I saw this man who had a very marvelous brass spyglass. My guild was having difficulties at the time and I was low on cash so I conspired to achieve the spyglass for my own. I had noticed the attention he was paying to a rather fetching barmaid and I arranged that a note was sent to his table telling him to meet her near the Prank's Stone. The spyglass became ours..."

"If the man you snatched the spyglass from learned what happened, I could see how he would want revenge. Where did you sell it?" James asked.

"I don't sell the items," Mitchel said. "My partner does and we split the profits. I don't know anything about him other than the fact that he is a native of Silden. We decided early on that we would share only our booty so that if one of us was caught, the other would be safe."

"Then it seems we have business in Silden," Gorath murmured, eying the reeve skeptically. "Lay low. It may be the only thing that keeps you alive. The Nighthawks are not men that should be angered."

The Inn at Sloop didn't give a good first impression, but Mitchel promised them that they would be unmolested there, and so the three made their way to the old and ramshackle building that served travelers on their way between Romney and Silden. James suspicions lightened when Owyn pointed towards the tiny ribbons that had been pinned to the building's frame. "Those offerings to the protector goddess are as good as a traveller's seal of approval," the young man explained to Gorath. "It means it should be a good place to stay."

Inn



Despite the temptations on display, the three made their way to bed early, and arose early the next morning to find that the nightmaster was waiting. "There is a message for you," he said, seeing James. Reaching beneath the counter, he produced 30 sovereigns. "One of the guests that was here last night told me to give you these and tell you they are a gift from Delekhan."

James froze, his hand clasped over the coins. "Anything else?"

"No, that was it," the man said cheerfully. "Just give them these coins and tell them it was from Delekhan. So, how about spending a little of that new found fortune on another night here, eh? That will more than cover the cost."



James demurred, and soon they were back on the road, approaching Haphra's home. Approaching from the north, however, Gorath spotted a camp on the far side of a low hill that sloped down to the river. "There," he murmured, gesturing to a path that looped towards the camp site from the south and west. "I saw men in the trees by the river, and shapes that might have been chests."

Even as Owyn began to incant, James reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder while his other hand produced the brass spyglass. "We have this, remember?" The squire said, and Owyn nodded, falling silent while James inspected something only he could see through the cracked lenses. When he lowered the device, James looked grim. "It has to be a smuggler's camp. I count at least five chests..."

"Do we avoid them?" Owyn asked, glancing nervously towards the thin copse by the riverbank.

"No," Gorath said. "The Nighthawks are in business all along this river, and no doubt their network extends to the local smugglers as well as the guilds of Romney. They might yield up some valuable information."

They attempted to approach carefully, but something must have given them away, for when they crested the hill and began to descend towards the camp they found a hawkish looking man waiting for them. "Hold there," he said, holding up a palm tattooed with a yellow spiral pattern. "Strip off your clothing and drop your possessions, then turn around and leave, and we'll have no more business between us."

"And if not?" James asked even as Gorath drew his sword.

"Then we'll kill you," the man said, shrugging very slightly as his companions stood and left their cook fires, spreading out before the three friends.

James scratched his chin. "Must we come to blows over this? There must be another option," he said.

"Nope," the leader grunted, producing a broad cutlass and swinging it in a few practice arcs before he started towards them. "I'm afraid not..."

Fight to the Death



The fight lasted moments. The smugglers were tough men, but they were no nighthawks, and even as the sharp features of the smuggler's leader dissolved into smoke and flames and the second smuggler toppled back with a poisoned bolt through his throat James neatly skewered the third, twisting his wrist and shredding the last thug's heart before whipping his bloodied blade free.








The smugglers dispatched, the three split up and began to examine the chests carefully. Two were moredhel wordlocks, while the remaining three were locked and trapped and required some time with James' skills before yielding their contents. James smiled wryly. "Swords blessed by Kahooli," he muttered, gesturing to the inscriptions on the broadswords, "rubies like the ones used to pay for the tainted ale and to hire Quegan mercenaries, enhancements for the blades, armor...yes, they're working with the Nighthawks all right. No information, but depriving them of this should go a ways towards frustrating their operations in Romney."

They continued south once the smugglers' camp had been thoroughly looted, and soon enough Arlie Steelsoul's home hove into view. However, when they attempted to approach the farm house a large man appeared out of the nearby field, waving to them and shouting.

"Have you brought the Chief Reeve's dinner?" he asked, evidently viewing their arrival as part of a regular schedule. When James wasn't quick to respond, the man seemed to get a bit irritated. "Are you or aren't you the delivery men from the goods store?"

"Yes," James quickly lied, seeing it as an obvious way to get past the guard. "We'll just go on in and deliver his dinner to him..."

The man frowned. "Obviously they didn't explain to you the way things work round here. No one comes past Podrich," he said, thumping his chest. "You go over next to the field and put the goods in the box, then go about your way. Now do you or don't you have his food?"

Playing the role of stupid delivery boy, James scratched his head. "We thought we had to come and find out what he wanted first," he said. "We'll come back later."

((There are three ways to do this. Leave normal food, leave poisoned food or spoiled food, and sneak in. We're going to sneak in. Try it yourselves and try another way in to see the alternate dialogues.))

Back at the roadside, they conferred quickly. "I'm not waiting for this man to have his dinner while Romney burns," James muttered, and Gorath nodded, gesturing to the trees north of the property.

"If we use those for cover," the moredhel said, "we could reach the house and speak to the guildmaster without interference from this Podrich."

All agreed, they slipped into the shadows under the trees. The spring foliage made silent passage all but impossible, but the servant and guard seemed not to notice them. From time to time Gorath would stop and hold up a hand, carefully scanning the border between trees and fields until they reached the back of the house...and found familiar devices rising from concealed hiding places in the earth. "Not again..." Owyn groaned.

It's a Trap



Carefully, Owyn and James moved, triggering first one of the flame-spitting devices and then the others while Gorath crossed the dangerous space between the lightning poles. They negotiated the trap only to be faced with a half-dozen mercenaries, weathered men with battered swords and boiled leather armor who were spreading to encircle them when a booming voice echoed across the property. "Lay off, you louts! I want to see these folks!"

The Reeve met them at the door. Nearly bald except for a few short tufts of hair which cropped behind his ears like untended weeds, the Chief Reeve was a surprisingly small man for the position of power he held among the Guilds of the Romney. Smiling fiercely at them, he slapped Owyn's shoulder with a heat blistered hand.

"Arlie Steelsoul here," he said. "If nothing else, you've got chutzpah. Not many men see that trap out there and have the gumption to try to come through it. I wanted to at least talk to whomever had the guts and the smarts to pull it off."

He invited them into his home, offered them some food and water and spoke of the guild war near Romney. "It started when the Riverpullers jacked their prices so high no one could afford to ship things down river," he explained. "That forced Mitchel Waylander to turn to the Guild of the Romney - well, let me tell you, Chief Reeve of the Riverpullers didn't like that at all - felt the new guild was trying to undercut his business, but can you blame him? Mitchel, I mean."

James shook his head."The Duke of Romney doesn't seem too happy about matters either," he said. "He wants you to come to the negotiations table so they can bring a halt to the violence in Romney."

Arlie nodded. "Bloody politics started this mess and it looks like that's what it'll take to bring it to an end. They'll take a chunk out of the Ironmonger's Guild, be sure of that. We've always lost at the negotiations table."

"Then we can tell the Duke you will negotiate?" James asked.

Walking to a row of shelves, he pulled down a book. "Nothing else to do that I know of." Alerting Gorath first, he tossed the tome. "Thought you might like this after all your questions about the ironwork..."

"What is it?" Gorath asked, looking at the plain leather cover.

"A beginner's text on the art of repairing arms and armor. I was going to throw it out to make room for a few new books that Podrich brought to me. You're welcome to it."

Thanking the Reeve for his generous offer, James motioned to Gorath it was time they were on their way once again. "We will tell the Duke," he said before closing the door. "He will be excited I think."

Silden





The rest of the journey to Silden was uneventful, and by the end of their third day out from Romney they arrived at the stinking port. It was easy enough to find the Keshian's tavern once more, and this time the man offered them a broad smile the moment they entered. "Sah, enconsi. I see you are still alive. I, Joftaz, bid you welcome to the Anchorhead Tavern," he said, smiling again and seeming to take no notice of the dark looks directed his way. After another few moments of silent glare slid right off the tavernkeeper James sighed and got down to business.

Ch.1 Intro Part 2




"need to find out about the possible purchase of two very special items that might have been picked up here in Silden," James said. "I'm looking for whoever might have sold them."

"If an item is sold in Silden then I am the only man that you should speak to," Joftaz said. "Any other transactions are done the Silden way."

The squire nodded. "Very well, Joftaz. I need to find out what you may know about either a brass spyglass or a silver spider. I would be willing pay in gold."

The other man smiled and shrugged slowly. "You will pay most undoubtedly for that information," he said, "but I am not interested in your Kingdom coins. If it were gold I could come up with the sum I want myself. No, what I require is the assistance of a thief."

James raised an eyebrow, and when he replied he chose his words carefully. "And why do you think I would be of any help?"

Joftaz laughed. "I live in a city of thieves. I have spent my life knowing how to sense them and I know most assuredly that you have a thief's instincts," he replied. "This is the bargain. I will tell you about the silver spiders that I sell on occasion, and you will find a bag of powder that was stolen by the Crawler. It has most likely been taken to his house near here. The house is locked and I suspect that the pouch will be hidden away in a chest or cabinet or such."

"Any thief could do that for you," the squire pointed out, "Why would we be especially qualified for this?

"Because all the thieves in this place - they all are the hands and eyes of the Crawler. To be working for me, that would be death for them. And I know that you are not afraid of him," Joftaz said.

"Why? What is it that is in this powder bag?" James asked, frowning.

The tavernkeeper shook his head slowly. "I have made my offer. The information for the pouch. Do we have a deal?"

James sighed. "My bump of trouble is telling me that I shouldn't be agreeing to this, but you have a deal, Joftaz. I'll get your pouch. A straight exchange, the information for the item."

"Consider it a deal then," Joftaz said, and the sharp nod he gave them was a sharp contrast to the languidness he'd displayed up to that moment. "I will wait for you here in the Anchorhead until you return with the item."

"We will be back," James promised. "Don't leave this place."

Silden



Gorath watched the docks. Behind him, James stood with his ear pressed against the door of the house, listened for the stirring of the Crawler or his men, but heard only the thumping of his own heart. The door was locked and as he reached inside his pack to search for his keys and picklocks, he saw a very small, very straight crack in the trim beside the door. Smiling at the old Mockers trick, he pressed his thumb against the trim and pushed down. The wood slid away, revealing a small brass key! Removing it from its hiding place, he jammed it into the brass lock, whispering his thanks to the old Mocker who had first taught him the trick. Within, the house was dim, but not so dark that James couldn't navigate by instinct alone. Creeping, he investigated the whole of the three room house, noting anything that looked out of the ordinary. Near the fireplace he discovered something that appeared to be a chest, but dismissed it as suspect, its location tagging it as a trap for less clever thieves.

On the far wall, he eyed a row of five colorfully lacquered pots, each spilling over with a tangle of violet colored tondill horns. Many times in Krondor, he had heard the Princess Anita lamenting over the fact the flowers were nearly impossible to grow in the salty soil of the coastal regions and required nearly constant sunlight. Located as they were at the rear of the house, however, they would undoubtedly receive very little light at all. Smiling, he upturned each of the pots until, at last, he discovered the hidden powder bag and made a mental note to thank the princess for her relentless efforts to civilize him. Clutching his find triumphantly, he hurried outside to rejoin his very nervous looking travelling companions. Jimmy the Hand was still alive and well.

Ch. 1 Intro, Part 2

Joftaz gestured for them to come to the back of the tavern when he saw them return. "So, the honorable seigneur from Krondor returns. Have you brought along the pouch I asked you for?" He asked.

"It seems that today Banath has smiled on the both of us," James replied, bouncing the pouch on one palm and then holding up his other hand as the tavernkeeper started forward. "I have what you want, and you apparently know what I need to know. The pouch in exchange for the story. That was the deal. I want to hear a story about a silver spider."

Joftaz chuckled. "Yes, Banath has gifted you most certainly. I wouldn't have thought anyone wily enough to defeat the Crawler, but if the Happy Prankster has given you the knack then I'll happily help you as best I can," he said.

"Now - the silver spider is a rare item so I remember when I get one and am most assuredly pleased when I can turn a profit from one. They are heartily sought here in the Kingdom. It's been several months since last I sold one."

"Can you describe the last man who bought one?" Owyn asked.

"Oh yes. Stoop backed, crass, hard bartering fellow," Joftaz said. "He was wearing a black cloak and a bird - an eagle - was blazed across his chest."

"You mean a hawk?" James broke in. "A golden hawk?"

"I have lived the greater part of my days here in Silden," Joftaz said, shrugging. "It might have been a hawk or it could have been a gull. All I know is that I lost a great deal that day between he and the trader named Abuk who brought in some sailor's trinkets he appropriated from Prank's Stone. As for the man with the bird on his chest, the last I heard of him he was asking to purchase a ticket on a ship called the Mocker's Folly bound for Krondor."

James leaned forward and his voice rose slightly. "A Nighthawk bound for Krondor? Where could I find the ship's captain?"

"Krondor, I suspect, though I don't see why that would be important to you," Joftaz replied, smiling slightly at the squire's strong reaction.

"I will decide what is important or unimportant," James bit out, scowling. "Now, what about the brass spyglass? Would you know anything about that?"

"As I told you before, sailor's trinkets are common here in Silden," Joftaz said, shrugging yet another time. James fought the sudden urge to break his shoulders as he continued. "If it is a special glass you covet I would urge you to seek out the trader, Abuk. I could hope only to make five, perhaps ten gold sovereigns from such an item so I decided they were not really worth my time bothering with them."

"You may find that bothering with silver spiders has cost you more than imagined, Joftaz," James growled. "If I find that any of the Prince's family have died of poisoning when I return there, you'll have a great deal more to worry about than turning a profit"

On the way out, James paused. Though he had thought to get the man's attention, he decided he was far more interested what the man was whispering to a mercenary who was seated nearby.

"...well, who 'as the Crawlers key then?" the sallow-faced gambler asked, glancing about for eavesdroppers and missing James entirely.

The man shrugged. "Kivo dropped it in the scramble out the sewers. After they did in the Upright Man, none of us had the desire to stick about any longer. Mockers were right mad..."

"So, it's still in the sewers, is it?"

"Unless one of the Mocker's boys picked it up, I'd say so, yes. Not like it matters, what with the Crawler crawled away to the Sunset Isles..."

Disturbed, James slipped away from the conversation. Though it was possible the men were bandying about things overheard from a rumor monger, the demise of the Upright Man in Krondor would have far reaching implications both for the Kingdom and for himself. Once they reached the city's outskirts once more, James turned to Gorath and Owyn and related what he'd heard. "We should head for Krondor and investigate," he said, and was surprised when Owyn shook his head firmly.

"No," the young man said. "The trail of the Nighthawks leads north towards Prank's Stone and Cavall Keep. We should head that way. I know you...have a history with the Mockers, but their business is not ours."

"It well could be," James insisted. "The Mockers were having trouble with false Nighthawks, and the Crawler had the means and network to slip men in and out of Romney when the Nighthawks were operating there. A Nighthawk with one of these silver spiders boarded a ship for Krondor. There's a connection..."

((Well, TT-ers? West, or North? What shall it be?))

Go west young man!

North! Let's find Abuk.

Um, Abuk is just West of Silden, remember?

Geography was never my... er, James' strong suit. Seem we'll have to do both then, and I think we head North and hit West after since we've already seen some stuff to the west.

Can we get a tie-breaker or three?

Jimmy doesn't let Arutha push him around without good reason. He's not about to let some Easterner start.

((West it is.))

Gorath was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "I believe that we will arrive too late to take any meaningful action," he said to James, frowning slightly, "but I understand your desire to bring news to your Prince."

Owyn sighed and nodded. "Alright then," he said, "but if we're going back to Krondor let's travel quickly, by temple."

"We'll go on foot as far as Malac's Cross," James said, nodding as they headed west once more, "then take the temple from there. You said that that dragon statue spoke to you-"

"Not really," Owyn started to say, "It transported my mind-"

"Spare me the details. I never cared for magic," James said, shrugging. "Any way you look at it, it gave you information. Maybe it will do it again. And there might be news at Malac's Cross. Besides, if nothing else I want to speak with...Abuk..."

The squire trailed off and smiled slightly as they caught sight of a familiar figure approaching them down the road to Silden.

Jimmy the Hand

"We meet again," the keshian said, offering a faint bow,




Abuk's lips quirked. "A tongue wags loose in Silden. I see my enterprises may be silenced."

"I am interested only in a brass spyglass that you sold to Joftaz in Silden," James said. "Tell me about it and I will choose to forget about any other thefts you may have participated in. How did you come by it?"

The keshian shrugged slowly. "A year and twenty ago, I bought a box in Silden from a trader," he began, his deep voice falling into the cadenced tones of a practiced storyteller. "He told me it would bring me great fortune, but I wished only for a strong chest to hold my things and I told him that he would be a fool to sell such a box. We haggled and at last I purchased it for ten sovereigns, a price that the seller seemed positively glad to receive. I too was pleased with the exchange, but began to wonder at the nature of what I had purchased. The chest was possessed of cajunlo."

"Cajunlo?" James asked, blinking. "What does that mean?"

"It was a box of trickery," Abuk said. "One of magic. Objects would appear in the box, things that I had not placed there. Then one day I met a man from Romney and he told me of the true nature of my chest. When things were lost in a certain place, they came to my box and we could sell those items. We decided of course that we would never tell each other more about ourselves so our business would be safe should one of us fall into harm."

James nodded. "And you two would split the profits of whatever appeared in the box," he said. "I take it that the brass spyglass was one of the items he arranged for you to find?"

"It was one of many things," Abuk said, smiling.

"The day you got the spyglass, did anything else appear in your box?" James asked.

"A few things," the keshian said, making a gesture back towards Silden. "I keep the things whose value I do not know, so those items which arrived with the spyglass are still there as well. I believe there was a note whose contents I do not remember. The box lies behind a hill with two other boxes near Silden and is locked with a special lock. You will have to spell out 'thorn' so that it may be opened. If you do not understand of what I speak, you shall when you find the box."

"Thorn? We will remember your kindness, Abuk," James said, nodding slowly. "Thank you."




The next few days were quiet ones. The three traveling companions spoke little and when they did talk the conversation always turned towards the possible intentions of the assassin that had gone to Krondor ahead of them before the tense silence returned. James was particularly quiet, and even the slow but steady retreat of winter and the coming of the first spring flowers on the roadside couldn't lighten his mood. They reached the turn-off for "Malac's Dragon" on a cool but sunny day, and as they proceeded south towards the sheltered space in the hills where the statue waited, Gorath suddenly turned towards his companions and motioned them to a halt.

"Wait," he muttered, lips barely moving. "There's something wrong. Do you smell that?"

Owyn shook his head, but James looked troubled as he took a slow, careful sniff. "Something...dry and musky..." he whispered, drawing his sword. The air shimmered before them, and the young mage gasped as he felt the touch of a strange magic that had somehow hidden itself from him before.

"Pantathians!" Gorath cried, drawing his blade and leaping forward even as one of the black-robed reptiles raised its clawed hands towards him and hissed the words of some new spell.

It's a Trap



Gorath was too slow. Even as he charged forward the serpent priest finished its incantation and wrapped the moredhel in a field of energy that stopped him cold and gave off coruscating flashes of blue-white light. As Owyn summoned his will the second pantathian cast, and the mage was barely able to turn his structure of power from offense to defense before it was battered by lightning called from a cloudless sky. Owyn screamed and felt parts of his body burning even as the bulk of the magical energy was redirected.

Then James had his crossbow out, and the elven weapon's poisoned bolt whistled into the side of the second pantathian. The creature yowled in pain and twisted away even as Owyn cast a spell of his own, outlining the black-clad shape in tongues of magical flame. Still, the creature stood, charred flaps of robe fluttering in the heated updraft from the smoking grass at its feet to reveal more of its scaled form. While Owyn turned his attention to the first serpent priest James pumped bolt after bolt into the charred pantathian until it finally collapsed with a final gurgling hiss.

The first serpent priest ignored Owyn's assault at first, instead bringing its magic down on Gorath's paralyzed form. Gorath still lived, however, and as Owyn prepared spell after spell the creature must have realized that its companion had fallen. It turned to flee, and only Owyn's sudden spell of invitation stopped it, dragging it back to where James rapier could end the battle and release Gorath from his magical prison.

Revenge



"What are pantathians doing here?" James panted, glancing to where Owyn was attending to Gorath while the moredhel shook off the effects of the spell.

Gorath winced as he stretched, then turned back to the squire. "I do not know, but the obvious answer would be that they sought to prevent anyone from reaching the statue," he said, glancing at the corpses. "And you should know that Murmandamus traveled with pantathians in his retinue regularly. If Delekhan has their services..."

James nodded, moving to search their bodies. "Well, let's see if we can gain any insight into their motivations," he said.




James tossed the beaker of disgusting liquid to Owyn with a little grin. "Toss that in the face of the next moredhel who interrupts one of your spells," the squire suggested.

Owyn smiled grimly and stowed the glass container, although not before wrapping it in several layers of used ration paper.



They reached the statue and stopped, and Gorath turned to Owyn as the mage approached the stone beast with an upraised palm. "Are you sure this is wise?" The moredhel asked.

"No, but it's worth trying anyway," Owyn replied. Then his fingers brushed the stone, and once more there was the sense of being thrown from his body and drawn through space to a dark chamber...

Gorath's Truth





Though you believe you seek a name, it is not what you truly wish to know. As you have surmised, the two objects which you discovered are clues to murders, though one indicates a murder you may not have realized has taken place.

"Which object will lead us to what we're looking for?" Owyn asked.

The brass spyglass will guide you in your path. Ask after it and the way to your destination will become known.

Even as Owyn's lips parted for his next question the young mage felt himself torn away, thrust back into a body still crumpling as Gorath moved to catch it. Owyn stumbled, and then Gorath was there, propping him while James stepped forward.

"Well?" The squire demanded, actually wrapping a fist in the hem of Owyn's robe where it peeked above his armor.

Owyn steadied himself and told the other two what the oracle had told him. James' face darkened at the talk of another murder, and without a word he gestured them back towards the road to Malac's Cross.

This is interesting because:

*MASSIVE SPOILER FOR A DARKNESS AT SETHANON*

It reveals that it was not known, even amongst people as close to the core action as Jimmy and Gorath (who was one of his generals) that Murmandamus himself was actually a pantathian. I'm wondering now why Pug/Tomas/Arutha would feel it necessary to keep that quiet. You'd think it would demoralize the moredhel even further were they to know. I will be reading the novelization of this game next, I wonder if this will be touched on at all.

I am highly disappointed we couldn't get ourselves some ladies in the inn earlier on this page. There were even three of 'em, all for James!

I'm glad we're goin back to Krondor. James would go back, especially after using some of his 'Hand' thief skills just before the news.