His nearly out-of-control flight caused him to bowl over a black-clothed figure waiting at the bottom of the trail. The two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs and Jim almost plunged his knife into the figure before he recognized him. “Amed!”

“Peace, my friend,” said the Keshian agent as he regained his feet.

“What are you doing here?”

“When you failed to return, I thought to follow you a bit, in case you needed aid.”

Jim glanced upward and said, “What I need now is to get as far from here as quickly as possible. Horses?”

“Down the road a little,” said the spy. “I thought it reckless for you to come on foot, so I brought along a spare.”

Jim nodded, and followed his companion. He had insisted on approaching the ancient fortress on foot, as all the supplicants were walking and a rider would have stood out. He thought he saw movement above and behind and with a quick tug on Amed’s shoulder, had him kneeling at his side. Pointing upward and behind, he nodded once.

The nod was returned, Amed signaled his route up, and Jim nodded. Practiced in stealthy ambush, both men knew almost instinctively what the other would do. Jim would head back the way he came while his companion would loop around, approaching anyone following from behind. Jim waited to see if anyone came down the trail, and after enough time to ensure Amed was in place he started back up.

Reaching the top of the trail, he found Amed kneeling, inspecting trail signs in the moonlight. “I can’t be sure,” said the Keshian spy, “but I think whoever followed turned back when you headed down to the caravan road. Do we follow?”

“No,” said Jim. “I need to report back as soon as possible.”

“Magic?”

Jim smiled. “I wish. Those devices are only loaned out when necessary, and lately some of the older ones have stopped working. Pug is trying to find ways to restore them, but it looks as if a lot of Tsurani art is being lost.”

Amed shrugged. “I know little of the Tsurani. Few ever venture this far south. And I have no desire to visit LaMut.”

“It is less than a captivating city,” said Jim. “Let’s be on our way.”

As the two made their way to where the horses waited, a man hidden deep in shadows watched them depart. He waited until they were gone down the old caravan route, then turned to trot silently back into the night. He reached the clearing now strewn with bodies to find Belasco waiting for him.

The mercenary said, “Master, it is as you have said.”

The magician smiled and there was nothing akin to humor in his expression. “Good. Let Jim Dasher return to Krondor with his tale of bloodshed and dark magic.”

“Master,” said the killer. “I do not understand.”