Flight of the Nighthawks

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Of course,” said Tilenbrook, “you need to learn how to protect your side when you do that.”

  He stepped forward to Zane and steadied him, saying, “Watch me.” He showed the boys how to draw their elbows into their sides and bend slightly to take the blow on the arm or hipbone. “Make your opponent tire himself out flailing at your arms, shoulders, and hips. You’ll be sore and covered with bruises the next day, but you’ll be alive. Your opponent, however, will be heavy of arm and huffi ng for breath. Because of all your running, you will still have your wind, and even if he’s a better fighter than you by nature, you should be able to win the brawl.”

  He spent the morning showing the boys how to use their fi sts, then in the afternoon he showed them the true art of brawling: fi sts, feet, knees, elbows, and the forehead butt. “The eye gouge is especially effective if you can manage to quickly get both thumbs in there, for it leaves your opponent sightless just long enough to effect some serious damage to other parts of his body.” He glanced at the setting sun and said, “I think we’re done now.”

  Both boys were exhausted when he was done, and as he dis-missed them he announced, “Tomorrow we’ll move on to common weapons.”

  Tad and Zane looked at one another but both were too tired to speak.

  The next morning they finished their early meal and reported to the lawn where Tilenbrook was supposed to be waiting for them. Instead they found Caleb, now fully restored from his wounds, who stood with two travel packs at his feet and a third over his shoulder.

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  “Where’s Tilenbrook?” asked Tad.

  “About other business,” Caleb answered. “Your training is going to be cut short, because we have to leave, and this very morning. Grab a pack. Each has shirts, trousers, extra boots, and other items you’ll need. We’ll get you weapons once we get to the ship.”

  “Ship?” asked Tad.

  Caleb smiled. “Sometimes it does well not to arrive by uncommon means.”

  As he picked up his pack, Zane asked, “Where are we bound, Caleb?”

  “Kesh.”

  “To Yar- rin?” asked Tad.

  “Jonril?” asked Zane.

  “No, to the great city itself,” said Caleb as he started walking.

  “I’ll tell you more once we’re under way, but we are heading to Port Vykor, then onward past Stardock—we’ll drop in to see your mum—then down into the heart of the empire.”

  “What are we going to do there?” asked Tad.

  With no smile, Caleb said, “That’s a long tale to tell and we’ll have time on the ship.” Saying nothing more, they marched on.

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  SEVEN

  R a l a n B e k

  Magnus watched thoughtfully.

  Three Tsurani magicians gathered around the Talnoy he had brought to Kelewan more than a year before. They all stood in a large chamber set deep in the bowels of the Assembly of Magicians on the Tsurani homeworld. Light was provided by a series of magical devices fastened to the walls, as torches tended to fill the air with a haze of smoke.

  “We believe we have come to understand the nature of this . . . thing, Magnus,” said a magician named Illianda.

  “We have consulted with priests of several orders on the aspect of this creature housing a . . . soul, as you called it.”

  Illianda, like his brother magicians, was dressed in a simple black robe. Unlike his brothers he was a tall, thin man. His height approached that of a citizen of the King-

  Raymond E. Feist

  dom, making him very tall for a Tsurani. Since the Riftwar, many Tsurani children had been exhibiting this uncharacteristic height. Illianda’s face was smooth shaven, like most Tsurani magicians, and he also shaved his head. His eyes were dark as sable and they were fi xed on Magnus as he spoke. “Our main concern, however, is the problem of this thing acting like a beacon for this other world.”

  Fomoine, a stout magician of a more traditional Tsurani stature, said, “We received a report yesterday of a wild rift located in an isolated valley to the north of the city of Barak in Coltari Province.”

  Magnus’s interest was quickly piqued. “A herder saw a black rift appear in the sky and a fl ock of ill - omened birds fl ew through it. Vile creatures, from his description.”

  The third magician, Savdari, added, “One of our brothers transported himself to the valley and found a measure of residual energy from the rift formation. It is certainly not of this level of existence, and must be from this Dasati homeworld of which you have spoken.”

  Fomoine said, “He also found the birds and destroyed them, but not until they had killed several of the herder’s needra. Our brother returned with three specimens and the remains are being examined now. These birds from the Dasati homeworld are analogous to the carrion birds of your world—crows, I believe you call them—or the janifs here on Kelewan. They are, to say the least, far more aggressive and dangerous than our birds; the herder was forced to hide in a nearby thicket to save his life.”

  “This is troubling, indeed,” said Magnus. “What luck have you had in duplicating the wards against these occurrences?”

  “Little. We feel humbled, once again, by the work of your legendary grandfather.”

  Magnus’s eyebrow lifted slightly but otherwise he kept his face expressionless. He always found it nettling to have Macros the Black referred to as his grandfather. Macros had died before Magnus was born, and all he and Caleb knew about the man was what their mother had told them—most of which was hardly fl attering. That he was a prodigious practitioner of the magical arts was undoubted, but in many ways he had proved a bigger confidence trickster than 1 1 4

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  Nakor, and was a man who often pushed compassion and ethical considerations aside. By conservative estimates, tens of thousands had died as a result of his manipulations. The debate lay in whether they were necessary sacrifices, or if there could have been other means available to him to achieve the ends he sought. It was the sort of conversation Magnus and his father had enjoyed many times over the years: discussing the consequences of choices made by those with great power.

  Magnus knew the official histories of the Kingdom well, and had studied various chronicles from historians in the Free Cities and a few personal journals that had come into Pug’s possession, but nothing rivaled the tales about the trials of the Riftwar, told to him and Caleb as boys by his father and Tomas when the boys visited Elvandar.

  From time to time, Magnus felt the odd premonition that like his father and grandfather before him, he too would be tested. He feared failing that test, for he knew that like his progenitors, he would not bear the consequences of his choices alone. Only Magnus’s mother seemed able to distance herself from the consequences of their choices.

  Her position had long been that without the Conclave’s participation in the conflict between the forces of good and evil, evil stood a far greater chance of reigning unchecked. Magnus tried not to visit that debate too often; he felt that his mother was more like her own father than she cared to admit.

  Magnus said, “It’s unfortunate that those who found the Talnoy destroyed most of the warding spells when they removed the thing from its crypt.” He again wondered how the Tsurani Great Ones would feel if they knew that there were an additional ten thousand of the creatures concealed in a vast vault in Novindus. Fortunately, the ward around that chamber was intact. Nakor, Magnus, Pug, and Miranda had all taken turns to study and try to learn Macros’s secrets.

  Magnus saw the three Great Ones staring at him, as if they expected him to continue, so he said, “Perhaps my father has gained some insight since last I spoke to him.”

  They nodded and Magnus felt frustrated. He had spoken to his father only an hour before coming back to Kelewan, so he doubted 1 1 5

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  that Pug had come to any grand revelation since then. He had seemed more distracted by news coming from Great Ke
sh, that the Nighthawks were once more manifesting. He sighed. “I shall consult with him and return here in two days. I know he would want to be informed at once about the new rift you mentioned.”

  Illianda stepped forward. “Please tell him that we think we have made one breakthrough. As I was saying, with the consultation of some of the more powerful priests of a number of temples, we think we can safely say that it is not a soul that empowers these things, but a spirit.”

  “I fail to see the difference,” said Magnus.

  “For the sake of brevity, we’ll avoid most of the lengthy discussion we had with the priests. The soul is a specific quality of mind unique to the individual, and it is the part that flees to the realm of the gods upon the death of the body. The spirit, on the other hand, is a form of life energy and that is what drives the Talnoy.”

  Magnus’s eyebrows rose and he looked genuinely surprised. “In other words, they’re haunted?”

  “The energy that once served the soul is now trapped within the creature. In our own experience, the soul and spirit are inexorably linked, but within these creatures, or rather the creatures who provided the life energy, they appear not to be. In other words, it is, at the heart of things, just another form of energy.”

  “And what can we infer from that?”

  “Two things,” said Fomoine. “First, that most priestly arts will avail us little or nothing because we are not truly dealing with a soul . . .”

  Savdari interjected. “Assuming that creatures of the lower circles have souls as we understand them.”

  Fomoine threw his companion a dark look. “ . . . therefore, all exorcisms, spiritual banishments, and the like will have no effect on them. It also means that they are mindless objects, and the spell of control used to fashion the ring you provided is truly a marvel of design, for it interprets intent and then translates it into commands for the Talnoy.” His voice dropped, and he added, “Which means they have magicians of prodigious arts.” Then he smiled. “But if there is 1 1 6

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  any good to be found in all of this, it is this: because it’s a life force, it’s limited.”

  “Limited?” said Magnus. “How can that be? The Talnoy has been resting under the hill on my world for thousands of years and is still active.”

  Fomoine said, “It is our considered opinion that as long as none of the life force within the Talnoy is being utilized, it remains in reserve. But as it acts, moves, fights, and does whatever it is instructed to do, the life energy runs out, and eventually . . .” He shrugged. “It will stop functioning.”

  “How long?” asked Magnus. “This could be very important.”

  “Days, a few weeks at the most,” said Illianda. “From what you told us, it walked and fought for what must be less than a few hours before you brought it here. Yet we can see a slight weakening in its strength as we have experimented on it. We have used the control ring to test its strengths and abilities and our entire use of it has amounted to less than half a day.”

  Magnus was quiet for a moment, then said, “That would explain Kaspar’s report about why the Dasati seem to use their own soldiers in most of their conflicts. These Talnoy must be special assault troops.”

  “Their strength is in numbers, they would be nearly invincible for a short while. After that, however, I think they could be easily neutralized.”

  Magnus nodded. “I can think of several ways to do that.” He turned toward the doorway and said, “I will speak to my parents about the ward and in a day or two one of us will return with more information on the problem. Even if these things are few in number and short in endurance, the Dasati themselves are still a danger that should not be underestimated. We need to discover how Macros hid this thing from detection. Please keep us informed of any new rifts, if you would be so kind. Good day.”

  The three magicians bowed as Magnus left, heading for the rift room where he would power up the gateway between Kelewan and Midkemia. Then they returned their attention to the Talnoy. All felt the same thing; there was something about this creature that Magnus was not telling them.

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  * * *

  Nakor climbed through the narrow passageway between the outer cave and the vast inner chamber housing the ten thousand Talnoy. A solitary figure stood before him. “Greetings, Nakor,” said the warrior decked out in white and gold armor. “Hello, Tomas. I hope your stay hasn’t been too tedious.”

  The tall warrior nodded and said, “It brings back old memories. I spent months at a time in deep tunnels with the dwarves of the Grey Towers during the early years of the Riftwar.” He glanced behind him at the row upon row of Talnoy standing motionless, like soldiers at attention, and said, “Still, there has been a noticeable lack of good conversation for the last few days.”

  “Pug appreciates your help,” said Nakor with a grin.

  Tomas stiffened and his head came up. “Do you hear horses?”

  Nakor turned and looked toward the light streaming in through the small tunnel. After a moment, he said, “I do now.” He glanced at the human - turned–Dragon Lord and said, “Your hearing is excel-lent.” Tomas moved to investigate the noise, but Nakor said, “I’ll look. You stay here unless there’s trouble. It’s probably just a few ragged bandits. I’ll chase them away.”

  Tomas laughed quietly as Nakor departed. Like many others before him, he had discounted Nakor when they had first met. The spindly - legged little man in the tattered robe, with the ever- present leather rucksack, seemed about as menacing as a day - old kitten, but over the years Tomas had discerned something of Nakor’s true nature. Now, he was inclined to agree with Pug—that Nakor might be the most dangerous man either of them had ever met.

  Still, Tomas was not one to sit idly by if there was trouble approaching, and he was also bored, so he waited for a moment before climbing through the narrow tunnel to the smaller cave where the original Talnoy had been discovered, and waited near the back.

  He could see Nakor standing before the cave’s entrance as a band of horsemen reined in.

  “Hello,” said Nakor with a wide grin, one hand on the rucksack 1 1 8

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  at his left hip, the other waving in greeting. Tomas edged closer so he could see past his friend.

  There were five riders, young men with the look of a ragtag bunch of wild adventurers rather than hardened bandits. They hardly seemed the type to offer real danger, but they were all armed and looked prepared for trouble should they fi nd it.

  One rode forward a few feet and laughed. “You are the most amusing thing I have seen in years, old man. We heard from a wagoneer down in Jakalbra that there was a cave up here with treasure in it. So we thought we’d ride up and see for ourselves.”

  He was a youngster, only twenty years of age or a bit older, but very broad of shoulder and tall, perhaps nearly as tall as Tomas’s six feet six inches, and he had thickly muscled arms and neck. He wore leather chest armor and leather riding breeches tucked into leather boots. His arms were bare, except for heavy leather bracelets circling his wrists. Raven hair hung past his shoulders and his ears were bedecked with golden rings. He had eyes the color of night, set in a handsome face of sun - bronzed skin. And there was something about him that made Tomas draw his sword slowly.

  Nakor shrugged. “If there was any treasure here, do you think I’d be wasting time sheltering myself from the hot sun? No, I’d be living like a raj down in Maharta!” He laughed. “Treasure? Think on it, my young friend: if that had ever been true, by the time word of it reached you, someone would have already looted this cave.” He turned and indicated with a gesture that the cave was empty.

  “Oh, sometimes people miss things,” said the young man. “I think I’ll have a look for myself.”

  Nakor stepped nimbly in front of him. “I don’t think you wish to do that.”

  “Why not?” asked the young man, drawing his sword.


  Tomas stepped into their view and stood barring the entrance.

  “Because I would be very annoyed if you tried.”

  Nakor stepped to one side, his eyes scanning the area, making certain he knew where the other four riders were. The young man’s companions took one look at the towering - presence that was Tomas and suddenly an afternoon’s lark became a potentially deadly con-1 1 9

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  frontation. One of the young men nodded to the other three, and they all turned and began riding away.

  The young man glanced over his shoulder and laughed. “Cow-ards,” he said. He eyed Tomas as he started circling to his left. “You’re a big one, that’s for sure.”

  During Tomas’s boyhood, chance had placed him in a deep cavern where a Valheru, a Dragon Lord, one of the ancient rulers of this world, once resided.

  By donning the Valheru’s armor—the very suit he wore this day—Tomas’s mind and body had been changed, until he had become a living embodiment of that ancient race. The role of consort to the Elf Queen, being a father, and protecting his adopted people had shaped him far more than the ancient legacy he carried, but it made him no less dangerous. There were perhaps only a dozen men who could face Tomas in combat and survive, and all of them were magic users. Even the finest swordsmen around, such as Talwin Hawkins, might only delay being cut down a few extra minutes.

  Nakor turned his attention from the fleeing riders back to the lone youngster approaching Tomas. There was something about him that made Nakor feel uncomfortable. The little Isalani gambler walked over to the young man’s horse and took the creature’s reins. He led him a short distance away, giving the two combatants more room.

  With a slightly mad glint in his eye, the young man said, “You’re really going to try to keep me from going in there?”