Slowly, the mighty leaders of the Empire left the gallery, while Turgan Bey motioned for those on the floor to exit through the door behind the throne. Sezioti was the last to leave, and with an obvious expression of regret, he cast a look backward over his shoulder.
As they moved through the hallway reserved for the Emperor’s easy passage to and from the gallery and his private apartments, Nakor paused. When Sezioti reached where he stood, he said, “Sorry about your grandfather, Majesty. He was a good man.”
Sezioti’s eyes widened. “I recognize you! But . . . I was only a boy—”
“I’m older than I look,” said Nakor with a grin. “I gave your great - grandmother that boy hawk so the line of royal falcons could be restored.”
The Emperor glanced at Turgan Bey, who nodded and, with a faint smile, shrugged.
“Who is this?” Sezioti asked as they reached the Imperial apartments. Two members of Dangai’s Inner Legion stood at the door in place of the dead Household Guards.
“He’s Bek,” said Nakor. “He’s coming with me.”
“Where are we going?” asked Ralan.
“Home for the night, then someplace else.”
Bek nodded as if Nakor’s words explained everything.
Pug turned to Magnus. “Go with Nakor and investigate the death rift site we found west of Maladon. If Varen has escaped again, we need to know where he went.”
Magnus said, “Yes, Father.”
As he turned to leave with Nakor, Pug restrained him with a light touch on his shoulder. “You did well, son. I’m proud of you.”
Magnus looked over his shoulder at his father, then smiled.
“Thank you.” Then he moved to Nakor and Bek and said, “The night is young and we have work to do.” Suddenly the three of them were no longer there.
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Flight of the Nighthawks
Caleb said, “Father, the boys are with Chezarul and I should go and see to them.” He indicated with a small inclination of his head that he wished to be gone. Pug realized that the fewer of the Conclave’s agents who were around to be questioned, the fewer lies they’d have to concoct.
“You also did well,” said Pug, and he watched as his youngest child moved through the many servants and guardsmen in the hall.
Turgan Bey arranged a reception in the Imperial apartments with enough food, wine, and ale to satisfy two hundred people. Servants were scarce, as many of them had fled, but a few of the most faithful remained to serve those who entered.
The Master of the Imperial Keep said, “Majesty, I will have the Imperial suites readied for you and your family in a few days’ time.”
“There’s no hurry,” said Sezioti. “I’m comfortable where I am, and while this room may be suitable for one old man and a score of young girls, I think my wives might have opinions on what needs to be changed.”
The Emperor sat in the chair that his grandfather had occupied when playing chess with Kaspar. “I heard every word you spoke, Pug, and I witnessed the insanity on the plaza myself just . . . what, two hours ago? But I still can barely believe what has occurred.”
“This is not a bad thing, Majesty,” said Pug. “The sort of evil we face is . . . daunting, and most people are not even prepared to acknowledge it. Let the official history of Kesh record that your grandfather died this day and that others died as a result of a . . . mishap.
Some fireworks were faulty and unfortunately some people—the old Emperor among them—died as a result. Do not trouble your nation with secrets best left to us few.”
Dangai said, “What of those who attacked us?”
Kaspar looked at Pug, who nodded at him. “The Household Guard must be disbanded to the last man,” said Kaspar, “and may I suggest that a watchful eye be kept on those who were serving closest to your grandfather, Majesty. Varen had years to prepare this mayhem, and many of those serving him were members of the Guild of Death.”
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“Others,” Pug said, “were enchanted, like the girls who died this night. Some of those may be redeemed by magic, others may be lost forever, but they must be identified. I can have magicians of Stardock come to see they are all found out.”
“How can we protect ourselves against anything like this happening again?” asked Turgan Bey.
Miranda said, “My lord, for years my husband was a ruling lord of the Kingdom of the Isles, and he had the King’s ear, as well as that of the late Prince of Krondor, Lord Arutha. Magicians were part of that court as a matter of course, and one of their tasks was to be vigilant against this sort of evil.”
Sezioti looked at his brother, who nodded. The Emperor said,
“Have you someone you might recommend to fulfill a similar function here?”
Pug bowed. “I can send a reliable magician to your court as an advisor on things magical, Your Majesty. A Keshian”—Pug looked up and smiled—“and perhaps even a Trueblood?”
Sezioti nodded and tried to smile, though his heart wasn’t in it.
“Our thanks, magician, for all that you and your friends have done to save us, our families, and our nation. What may we do to repay you?”
Pug was silent for a moment, then said, “We ask no payment for doing what must be done, but we would ask you to consider two things. The first is to formally recognize what has been de facto for a century—that Stardock is an independent entity, belonging neither to the Kingdom of the Isles nor to the Empire of Great Kesh.”
The Emperor said, “It may be difficult to convince our Lords and Masters, given that Stardock is an anchor in the Vale of Dreams, but we shall endeavor to see it done. What else?”
“That in the future, should another threat such as Leso Varen menace Midkemia, you will think beyond your borders and be willing to render aid, even if Kesh’s immediate interests are not apparent.
Will you consider that?”
“Before, I would have had a great deal of diffi culty understand-3 4 0
Flight of the Nighthawks
ing the wisdom of your request, Master Pug, but I now can imagine how the kings of Roldem and the Isles would feel with that monster sitting on my grandfather’s throne, commanding armies unequaled in the world . . . Yes, if you ever need Kesh’s aid, send word and we shall heed you.”
“That’s all I ask.”
Sezioti said, “Then I think we are done. Let us relax as best we can, remember our grandfather for the good that he did, and try to blot out the horrors of this evening from our memory.”
“So says He Who Is Kesh,” intoned Turgan Bey.
The others nodded and then Prince Dangai said, “Send for our families. I would have my wives and children close at hand.”
“And the grandchildren,” said the Emperor. “Let us hear the sounds of joyous noise for a while.”
“It will be done,” said Bey, bowing and motioning to a servant to carry word.
Miranda turned to her husband and said, “What now?”
Pug smiled and said, “We have something to eat. I’m famished.”
She returned the smile with a playful jab to the ribs with her elbow. “I mean with the other things.”
Pug’s expression darkened. “We wait until we hear from Nakor and then we assess the damage. We’ve lost men here over the last week, and some of our”—he glanced around to ensure he wasn’t being overheard—“agents have been compromised. We’ll need to shift some people around.”
“It never ends, does it?”
Holding her close, he said, “No. But sometimes we win, and then we get to rest for a while.”
“Can we rest now?”
He put his arms around her and hugged her. “For tonight, my love. For tonight.”
The early morning light barely cut through the lingering chill. Dew on the grass reflected the sunlike gems scattering the glittering light.
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Raymond E. Feist
Nakor, Pug, and Magnus hurried to the place where Nakor and B
ek had found the tiny rift.
Pushing through the trees, Nakor said, “There. It was there!”
Pug stood where Nakor indicated and said, “Well, it’s gone now.”
“Father,” said Magnus. “Do you think Varen still survived?”
“I think all that bloodshed at Kaspar’s citadel over the years was designed to give him a way out should his soul vessel be destroyed.”
Pug looked at the place Nakor had indicated and said, “I can’t pretend to think like him, but I understand him well enough to know that no price would be too dear to him to escape fi nal destruction. I wish I had returned sooner and put more time into researching this thing.”
“Even you can’t be in more than one place at a time, Father.”
Nakor grinned and laughed. “Don’t be too sure, Magnus. It’s just a trick he hasn’t learned yet.”
“Let me see if there’s anything still lingering here,” said Pug, closing his eyes.
Magnus and Nakor remained silent while Pug concentrated his energies and let his mind reach out, tracing the energy that had come from Opardum to this place then on to . . .
Pug’s eyes opened wide and his face drained of color. “Varen!”
“What, Father?”
Pug looked genuinely shaken. “I recognize a component of this rift, Magnus, Nakor. I know where Varen has fl ed.”
“Where?” asked Nakor, his usually sunny demeanor fl eeing before Pug’s obvious concern.
“He fashioned this rift to be triggered upon his death. He has gone to Kelewan.” Pug looked at Nakor. “Leso Varen is now somewhere in the Empire of Tsuranuanni.”
The three men said nothing more, for the most evil soul they had ever encountered was now loose on another world, in a nation three times the size of Great Kesh, and the search for him would have to begin over again.
* * *
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Flight of the Nighthawks
Jommy stood blinking in astonishment. Marie hurried to greet Caleb and her sons. One moment Caleb and the boys had been in Chezarul’s safe house in Kesh, and the next they were standing outside the villa at Sorcerer’s Isle.
Unlike his father and brother, Caleb had lingered a day in Kesh, conferring with Kaspar and Bey on what would need to be done next to reorder the Conclave’s presence in the Imperial City. Magnus had carried word to Marie that Caleb and the boys were well and would be home at midday.
Marie finished kissing her sons and looked at Jommy. “Who’s this, then?”
Caleb smiled with a slightly guilty expression. “I think it safe to say we’ve managed to pick up a third fosterling.”
The redheaded boy grinned and said, “No worries. I won’t call you ‘ma’ if that’s troubling you.”
Marie shook her head, smiled and said, “I suspect I’ll get used to it. Come along. I expect you’re all famished.”
Caleb put his arm around his wife. Jommy began following the adults when Zane grabbed him by the arm. “We ate before we left,”
he said.
Jommy turned around, his brow furrowed, and said, “But I’m hungry!”
“We’ll be along in a while,” said Tad, grabbing Jommy’s other arm. “We’ll show Jommy around the island.”
As they half dragged him away from the large villa, Jommy said,
“This better be good, you two.”
“Come on,” said Tad, starting to run.
“Where are we going?” asked Jommy.
“To the lake!” shouted Zane, as he started to unbutton his tunic.
“The lake?” asked Jommy. “What for?”
“For a swim,” answered Tad.
Jommy stopped. “A swim! I don’t want to swim. I want to eat.”
Zane turned, took a couple of steps back and grabbed Jommy’s arm. Tugging on it, he said, “Believe me; you want to take a swim.”
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Raymond E. Feist
Just then the sound of female laughter could be heard in the distance as feminine voices shouted welcome to Tad.
Jommy’s face appeared to light up in delight and he said,
“Girls?”
Zane said, “There are some people you have just got to meet.”
Suddenly Jommy was off at a run, passing Zane who stood standing alone for a second, then he turned and ran after the boy from Novindus as the sound of splashing and laughter grew louder.
3 4 4
EPILOGUE
R e d u x
Two black - clad men strode the fi eld.
Both wore the black robes of Great Ones, the magicians of the Assembly. At first light they had been asked by the membership to investigate another reported rift, perhaps from the Dasati world.
“There,” said the one in the lead, pointing a short distance away.
He hurried, his taller friend behind him, and when they reached the object of their search, they both halted.
The man in front raised his hands in a gesture of defense.
A rift had formed, no more than a hand’s span in size, but most certainly a rift, and through it had come a creature. Both men looked at the thing and marveled.
It appeared no larger than a baby in size, yet it stood upright and glared at them. Its shape was roughly human, Raymond E. Feist
with two legs, arms, and a head. The face was nearly featureless, two dark lines formed its eyes, and there was a single slash where its mouth should be. The thing’s head was completely round, a sphere with no other features. It numbered three fingers on each hand, with opposable thumbs, and it was garbed in what appeared to be black trousers and tunic. It held a tiny metal staff in one hand, and with a defiant chirping sound, drove it into the ground before the rift.
“What is it?” asked the fi rst magician.
“I don’t know,” said the second, and for a moment his friend glanced at him, for his voice sounded strange.
“Are you well?” he asked, for his friend had been seized by an unexpected fever and had lain abed nearly three days before arising just the day before.
“I’m fine,” said the second man. The thing glanced in the direction of the morning sun, and shivered, though the day was already hot. It kept its face toward the sun, ignoring the two magicians.
“What’s it doing?” asked the shorter of the two magic users.
“It seems . . .” The second magician paused, as if seeking the word. “Fascinated by the sun.”
“If what we’ve heard is true, and this thing is from the Dasati world, their sun casts no light.”
“Oh, really?”
Again the first magician glanced at his friend. Then he looked at the staff and said, “Look at this!”
The tiny staff was emitting sparks of purple that fl ew straight to the rift. Soon, tiny flows of energy, like purple - white lightning, erupted from the staff and struck the rift.
“I believe it’s drawing power,” said the second magician, his voice again sounding odd.
“Pug believed that the Dasati rifts were drawn here by the Talnoy. But he said he thought they needed a source of energy here to sustain them.” Then the magician’s voice rose in alarm. “We must destroy this now!”
As he started an incantation to obliterate the rift and the creature who stood before it, the second magician retreated back half a dozen 3 4 6
Flight of the Nighthawks
steps. Then he raised his hands and two lances of green - white energy lashed out, incinerating the first magician where he stood.
The tiny creature turned its attention to the display and hissed like a snake warning an intruder to back away.
The second magician said, “We can’t have that, now, can we?”
He came and knelt down next to the creature, who had returned its attention to the sunlight.
As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky and the heat of the day rose with it, the tiny alien creature stood trembling. The second magician leaned in and said, “Ah, you’re not able to cope with all this yet, are you?”
T
he tiny creature trembled, and then the shaking became more violent until suddenly it erupted into flame. The flash left the magician momentarily blinded and he blinked to clear his vision.
“Well, that was interesting,” he said to himself. Then he looked at the staff that was providing the rift with power. “So, someone wants to come and visit, do they?”
He reached out and plucked the staff out of the ground. As soon as he did, the energy flow stopped, and after less than fi ve minutes, the rift vanished.
Sticking the tiny staff into his robe, the magician turned and said,
“Got to work on this language. Very different, and my accent just won’t do.”
Humming a nameless tune, Leso Varen looked at the smoldering char that had been a Great One of the Assembly of Magicians. “Too bad you sacrificed it all for the good of the Empire.” He knelt and lifted the man effortlessly, hoisting him across his shoulders. “But at least you’ll get a hero’s burial, or funeral pyre or whatever it is they do on this world.” He pulled an orb from his robe and depressed a toggle, and suddenly he was gone.
The morning sun beat down upon the grass and only a tiny bit of char revealed what had just occurred in the vast plains of the Empire of Tsuranuanni.
3 4 7
Acknowledgments
As I have done in the past and will continue to until Midkemia is no more, my thanks everlasting to the Mothers and Fathers of Midkemia for giving me a wonderful sandbox in which to play.
From Thursday to Friday nights, for thirty years, your voices echo in my ear each time I sit down to spin a yarn on our world.
To Jonathan Matson, as always, my thanks for friendship and wise counsel.
To my editors, for always trying hard no matter how crazy the circumstances.
To my mother, for always inspiring me through sheer endurance and unqualifi ed love.
To my children, for giving me a reason for existing beyond mere self- gratification and personal goals.
To those ladies with whom I dine, thanks for the amusement, the affection, the drama, and the glimpse into a world I barely understand.
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