He is older and he feigns intoxication. Even now I think he watches from under hooded lids.”
“Is he a Nighthawk?”
“Almost certainly, for they would not send a mere underling to drive you into their arms.”
“How dangerous?”
“Very, for he would willingly die for his clan, which means that his task may be to allow you to kill him, then as you flee, others will take you outside.”
“Fanatics,” Tal said as if it were a curse word.
“What would you have me do?”
“Wait,” said Tal. He approached the two girls who had been circling the floor for hours, trying to look as if they were having a good time. They brightened up noticeably as Tal closed in on them. Both were dressed in Trueblood fashion, though it was clear from their fair skin and light eyes that they were not Trueblood. In addition to their linen kilts and torques, they wore gauzy wraps that covered their breasts, if only slightly. Their jewelery was cheap and obvious, and it was clear to Tal that both girls were not in their usual habitat.
He would probably find them in a moderate brothel or haunting the 2 3 3
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modest inns of the city on most nights. In a few years when their looks faded, they would be walking the streets in the poorer section of the city.
The taller of the two, with reddish - brown hair, said, “I was just telling my friend that if one man in the room were to come talk to us, I wished it would be you, handsome!”
They both giggled. Tal smiled and leaned forward, saying, “How would you two like to make even more gold than you’ve been promised?”
The girls’ expressions turned to shock. Tal put his arms around their waists and pulled them slightly toward him as if getting familiar, but his grip was firm as he said, “Smile, girls; you’re being watched.
And those men who promised you gold after you have lured me upstairs are going to cut your throats instead. Now, what will it be? Life and gold, or do you want to see some fairly spectacular bloodshed right here, right now?”
The shorter girl with raven - dark hair looked as if she were on the verge of fainting, but the taller one said, “They promised us that no one would get hurt. They said it was a prank.”
“It’s not a prank. Now, what do you have?”
“What do you mean?”
“What did they give you to poison me with?”
“Not poison,” said the shorter girl, her voice wavering with fear.
“Just some drops to make you sleep. They said they were going to drag you out of here and put you on a caravan to the south. They said you had caused some trouble with a man’s wife and they were going to teach you a lesson.”
Tal shook his head and laughed loudly. Then he whispered. “And you, of course, believed that.”
The redheaded girl said, “For ten gold coins, I’d believe you were Sung the Pure for the night.”
“Good, here’s what I want you to do. Come upstairs with me and give me the drops.”
He motioned for Amafi to come over and said, “I’m going to spend some time with my friends, here, before playing again. Settle it with the landlord.”
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Flight of the Nighthawks
Amafi bowed and went to find the owner of the establishment, while Tal stood with his arms around both girls. They ran their hands up and down his arms in a display of affection, but their eyes darted anxiously around the room. “Don’t look for anyone,” whispered Tal.
“Keep your eyes on me.”
Amafi returned in a moment and said, “Top of the stairs on the next fl oor, Magnificence, the room at the end of the hall.”
Tal took the key, knowing that the man by the garden or the one feigning sleep in the cushioned seat would have a duplicate. Tal whispered to Amafi, “Follow the sleeping man when he rises. When he reaches the door, help him enter the room.”
Tal took the girls upstairs, and once they were in the room, he motioned for them to stand in the farthest corner from the door. He was grateful that it was a large room. One immense window overlooked the garden, directly above the corner where Amafi had secreted the rope ladder. As in most Keshian homes, there was no glass in the window, just wooden shutters that could be closed to provide shade, or warmth on those rare days when the temperature fell below a comfortable level.
Tal said, “Give me the potion.”
The redhead gave him a small vial and Tal took out his own purse.
“There are about three hundred gold coins in here,” he said, tossing it to the dark - haired girl. “When I tell you to, leave quickly, but do not appear to be fleeing. If you want to live to spend that gold, do not go back to your brothel or where you live—they will have someone waiting for you. Wait until the market opens at dawn and buy robes like those worn by the desert women of the Jal - Pur. Cover yourselves so only your eyes can be seen. Then, hire a guardsman from the Mercenaries’ Guild—he should cost you no more than ten pieces of gold.”
While he spoke, Tal measured every angle of the room: the large bed on the floor, the two tables, one on each side, the large tray of fruits and sweets at the foot of the bed, and an earthenware crock in which pitchers of wine or ale could be cooled.
“Take passage on the first caravan north. Then, if you can fi nd your way to the Kingdom, Queg, Roldem, or anyplace not in the Empire, you may live.”
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The dark - haired girl looked on the verge of fainting again. “Leave Kesh? What will we do?”
Tal smiled. “Exactly what you’ve been doing since your parents threw you out, girl. Sleep with men for money. If you’re wise, you’ll find a rich old husband before you lose your looks. Otherwise, save your gold.
“Now, that’s all the advice I have to give and I think we’re about to be joined by an unwelcome visitor. You two get over by the bed and talk as if you’re still playing with a customer.”
Tal went to the door and cracked it open slightly, so he could see anyone coming down the hall. He waited patiently while the girls prattled, trying hard to sound festive while being frightened.
Nearly half an hour passed before a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. As Tal suspected, it was the man who had feigned sleep.
As the man neared the halfway point in the hall, Amafi appeared behind him. Although the old former assassin had lost his appetite for killing as a livelihood, he had not lost all his skills. He ducked behind a column an instant before the Nighthawk glanced behind to see if he was being followed, and Tal marveled at the old killer’s ability. He had watched him move into the shadow of that column but he couldn’t see where he was now.
The Nighthawk was only a few feet from the door and Tal waved to the girls. The redhead forced a giggle and the dark - haired girl’s laugh sounded, but the Nighthawk didn’t appear to notice.
As he got close enough to notice that the door was slightly ajar, Amafi came out from his hiding place, and within two strides fell upon the Nighthawk.
The assassin must have sensed his approach for he turned at the last minute, a blade appearing in his hand as if by magic, and Amafi barely avoided being skewered.
Tal didn’t hesitate. He reached through the door and struck the man with the hilt of his sword behind the ear, and the Nighthawk went down in a heap. Tal caught him under the arms as Amafi grabbed his feet and they carried him into the room. The man groaned as they tossed him onto the bed, and Tal quickly administered the draught.
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Flight of the Nighthawks
“From what I’ve been told, these lads have a nasty habit of killing themselves,” said Tal. “So, not only are we going to frustrate them tonight, but let’s see if we can get this one back to where we might get some answers out of him.”
“Doubtful,” said Amafi, “but we can try. What of these?” he said, inclining his head toward the girls.
“Time to go, ladies,” said Tal. “Now, if you wish to stay alive, do as I
told you. You might increase your chances of survival if you invite some of those loud and annoying drunks to walk you back into the city.”
The girls nodded and left, saying nothing. “What now?” said Amafi .
Tal reached up and pulled the window sashes down. He ripped off the heavy cords that hemmed them and said, “We’ll tie him up and lower him to the ground below. If we can stay close to the side of the window, the lookout at the other corner of the garden who is watching the stairs for his friend to come down may not notice us.”
“We can but try.”
They tied up the man, and Tal was first to climb out of the window. He hung by his hands and then let go, landing on his feet with a soft thud. He looked across the large opening into the main room and saw the lookout with his eyes trained inside, on the stairs.
He motioned for Amafi to lower the Nighthawk, and almost had the man dropped on his head. A moment later, Amafi landed hard on his backside next to Tal. “I’m not what I once was, Magnifi cence,” he whispered.
“Next time, you go first and I’ll drop him on you.”
“As you say, Magnifi cence.” Amafi and Tal dragged the unconscious man around the corner and down the path to the outside hedge. Amafi lowered the rope ladder and quickly climbed down. Tal threw the man over his shoulder and carefully negotiated his way to the bottom of the ladder. Then with one arm, he lowered the man to where Amafi could guide his fall.
Tal leapt onto the roof of the house and said, “Do we have a fast route away from this home, Amafi ?”
Amafi pointed and helped Tal sling the Nighthawk over his 2 3 7
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shoulder, and they tiptoed across the roof of the house. Tal could hear tiles cracking under their boots and silently asked the owner of this fine home to forgive him when the next rains struck Kesh.
He followed Amafi and prayed that they could reach the closest safe house without incident.
2 3 8
SIXTEEN
W a i t i n g
The door swung open.
Tad, Zane, and Jommy all looked up from their dozing, fitful attempt at resting. A girl about the same age as the lads entered the room carrying a small kettle, a stack of bowls, and under her arm, a wrapped bundle.
The three boys stood up and gave her access to the table. When she had put down her burdens, she unwrapped the bundle to display half a loaf of bread and a small wheel of cheese. “My father told me to bring these to you,” she said in a low whisper. She was plump with a pretty smile, big brown eyes, and long dark hair.
Jommy handed the utensils around. He shared out the soup and the girl went to look at Caleb. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” she observed, “but his color looks better than last night and he’s breathing well. If he wakes up, give him Raymond E. Feist
something to eat.” She glanced into the kettle and said, “Which means leaving some of this for him, all right?”
Tad nodded and tried to talk with a mouth full of cheese. Zane said, “Thank you.”
Jommy said, “Miss, do you know what we’re supposed to do next?”
She glanced around the room and said, “Wait,” then closed the door.
Kaspar hurried through the halls of the palace with Pasko at his heels.
It was barely first - light, yet the summons had come nearly a quarter hour earlier. He had dressed without the benefit of a bath or shave and had become very used to the Keshian practice of consuming large mugs of hot coffee in the morning with the meal and after.
He reached the office of Turgan Bey who waved him into a chair and motioned for Pasko to wait outside. The Conclave agent posing as a manservant bowed and left the room, while Bey’s clerk closed the doors.
“Coffee?” asked Bey, indicating a large earthenware carafe sitting on the table next to two mugs.
Kaspar poured himself some of the hot, bitter, habit - forming drink and said, “Thank you. I’ve become accustomed to it in the mornings since I’ve been here.”
Bey smiled. “It may be even more addictive than some of the drugs you buy in the market.” He motioned for Kaspar to follow him to the balcony overlooking the garden.
The night sky had given way to the soft gray light of dawn, with rose and silver hues foreshadowing the bright blue sky to come. It would be another hot day as the Empire approached the Midsummer Festival of Banapis. Kaspar had come to expect the nights to be hot and the days to be hotter. If he didn’t think that he’d look ridiculous in Keshian garb, he would have already sent Pasko out for a linen kilt and a set of sandals.
Softly, Bey said, “There was some bloody work afoot last night, Kaspar.”
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Kaspar said, “I’ve heard nothing.”
“You’re hearing it now,” said Bey.
“Who died?”
“For certain, Prince Nauka.”
Kaspar said, “The Emperor’s great - nephew?”
“The same, and a staunch supporter of Sezioti.” Bey shook his head and blew out a long breath as if he were trying to release his frustration. “Here’s the maddening part of it; I know that Dangai is behind this.”
“You’re certain he’s not being used by others?”
“When Leikesha was ruler, her son Awari was being used as a dupe by One Whose Name Is Forgotten.”
Kaspar nodded. He knew enough recent Keshian history to know that as part of his punishment for treason, Lord Niromi’s name was removed from every historical reference, and all Keshian families were now forbidden from ever naming a child Niromi.
Bey continued. “Dangai is no one’s dupe. He has taken complete control of the Inner Legion, and if things come to a bad pass, we may even see a repeat of the last attempt to seize the throne, when Empress Leikesha’s Guards battled the Inner Legion in this very palace.”
He looked out at the garden for a moment, then turned to face Kaspar again. “Do you know that over one thousand officers of the Inner Legion were cast into the Overn? The crocodiles feasted for months.” He sighed. “However, this time I do not know if the Palace Guard would stand against the Legion, for Sezioti is not a popular fi gure. Respected, yes, and even liked somewhat, but he’s not popular.”
“Why all the bloodletting? Why not a straight appeal to the Gallery of Lords and Masters? From everything I’ve heard, it seems that Dangai would carry the day.”
“Because we are a nation of traditions, if not of laws.” He looked at Kaspar and said, “We have no tradition like the Great Freedom as they do in the Kingdom of Isles, and here there is no confi rmation of the King by the Congress of Lords. If the Emperor, blessings upon him, names Sezioti as his heir, then Sezioti is the next Emperor, or at least he will sit upon the throne until Dangai seizes it by removing his brother’s head from his shoulders.
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“But I need proof, Kaspar. I need some evidence that not only is Dangai behind this, but that he is also in league with those enemies only a few of us know exist: Varen and his Nighthawks.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Much more than the death of Prince Nauka occurred last night.
The Mistress of Luck is a gambling hall located atop Summer Winds Hill—one of the better districts in the city. It’s also a brothel, and last night several strange things occurred there. Talwin Hawkins disappeared. He went upstairs with two whores, and was followed soon after by two men, one of them Talwin’s so - called servant, the old assassin Petro Amafi, and some time soon after that, the two girls came down alone, invited some drunken louts out, and left. The room upstairs was empty, save that a cord from a curtain sash hung from the window.
“We can surmise that Hawkins avoided a trap of some sort. But I want to know who the mysterious man who went up the stairs before Amafi was. And where have Talwin Hawkins and Petro Amafi taken him?”
Kaspar said, “I have no idea.”
“Well, I suspect your man Pasko might have some mea
ns of getting word to him.”
“I’ll have him go about it as soon as we’re done here.”
“I have two masters, Kaspar. I serve those whom you serve, because I believe their cause is just, and in the long term your objectives also aid my other master, the Emperor. I can best serve by bringing proof of a plot to him. Not guesses, not vague circumstances, but proof.
“The other matter is that last night word reached me of an assault at an inn called the Three Willows, owned by a former Kingdom citizen by the name of Pablo Maguire. A trader from the Vale of Dreams was in residence, a man of vague nationality, seeming both Keshian and Kingdom, and with him were three boys, apprentices apparently.
The master was away on business, and the boys were eating their supper when an altercation broke out.
“Why these three lads were singled out is uncertain, but it is clear that there’s more going on than meets the eye.” Bey looked at Kaspar.
“This Maguire isn’t another of your agents, is he?”
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“I’m like you, Turgan; I only get told what I need to know, and no more.”
The large old man let out a deep sigh. “I understand why our masters act as they do, but I must confess that it annoys me no end to have other agents—potential allies—close at hand and be ignorant of them.”
“It’s all to a purpose,” said Kaspar. “You can’t divulge what you don’t know.”
“Then send your man to wherever he must be sent and start spreading the word: I need proof of Dangai’s duplicity, and I need it soon, or Kesh may be plunged into a civil war.”
“What have your own agents found?”
Turgan Bey flexed his hands in frustration. “I cannot trust more than a handful of those who are purportedly in my service—too many alliances have been formed and re-formed around the succession.
“The Banapis celebration begins in less than two weeks, and the city will be thronging with visitors. The Emperor is due to make what may be his last public appearance. He will address the Gallery of Lords and Masters and then stand on a balcony waving to the crowds below, though it is unlikely that they will be able to see him.
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