Exile's Return

by Raymond E. Feist

  'I always make an offering before leaving,' said Berganda. 'I don't know if it does any good to have those priests praying for a safe voyage, but it can't hurt.'

  'No,' said Kaspar, 'Prayer can't hurt. Who knows, they might even listen now and again, right?'

  'Oh, they listen all the time,' said the seaman. 'And they answer prayers. It's just that most often the answer is "no".'

  Kaspar nodded, and couldn't find a reason to disagree.

  He looked at the distant shore as they sailed south by south­west down the Bay of Sulth. It would be a long, and he hoped uneventful, voyage.

  Kaspar watched the sea, the choppy waves sending spindrift dancing in the late-afternoon sunlight. They had put forty-five days between the ship and Novindus. Kaspar had never felt any affection for the sea, but he had been aboard many ships voyaging from city to city as ruler of Olasko.

  The Western Princess was a well-run little ship, and the crew knew their tasks. There was none of the iron discipline found on military ships, rather it had more of a family feel. These men had sailed with their captain for years, some of them for their entire adult lives.

  Kaspar had fallen into a routine, mostly out of boredom, that began each day with his exercising on the deck. He would draw his sword and go through a vigorous workout, at first to the amusement of the crew, then to silent approval as his skills were shown. He would strip to his trousers and swing his blade for an hour, ignoring the weather unless it was blowing so fiercely he couldn't stand on deck. Then he would douse himself with a bucket of seawater, which was as close to a bath as he was going to get until they reached land.

  Now they were on the westward leg. Kaspar stood quietly, thinking, letting his eyes rest on the constant surge of the sea. He had pondered his next move, for Kalkin was right about Talwin Hawkins. Though it was nearly a year since the battle of Opardum, Tal was likely to draw his sword and start carving Kaspar up before he could get out three words. Kaspar had an idea of what he was going to do, but he hadn't worked out the details yet.

  'Captain!' came a shout from the lookout above.

  'What is it?' shouted the captain.

  'I don't know . . . something . . . off to starboard.'

  Kaspar had been on the port rail, so he crossed the ship. In the distance an enormous shimmering circle hung in the air.

  'What in the name of the gods?' muttered a seaman, while others made protective signs.

  The hair on the back of Kaspar's neck stood up. He didn't know if it was the few minutes spent on Kosridi, the time he had spent with the Talnoy, or just an intuitive moment, but he knew this was a rend in space, a rift as Kalkin had called it.

  Suddenly water started pouring from the circle into the sea, brackish, dark, and stinking of sulfur as the wind carried its reek towards the ship. 'Come to port!' shouted the Captain. 'I don't know what that thing is, but we're showing it our stern!'

  Sailors jumped to obey, while Kaspar watched in mute fasci­nation as water from that lightless world poured into the Blue Sea. Where it struck the sea, the water roiled and sputtered, throwing up steam and smoke, as flickers of energy danced along the foamy edges. Then abruptly a head appeared in the circle, a monster of that ocean's deep unlike any mythical sea monster or real danger on Midkemia. It was black, and the head looked as if it was armored, sunlight gleaming off its hide. To Kaspar it appeared to be some sort of giant eel, with amber eyes that glowed in the lowering sun. The head had a crest of swept-back spikes as if to protect it from even larger predators—if that was remotely possible. Kaspar could hardly believe the size of the thing. It was already thirty feet out of the rift and more of it was coming, and it was getting bigger at the girth, so not even half of the creature was through. It could swallow this ship in three or four bites!

  'Gods preserve us!' shouted the lookout.

  The creature's fins came through, and Kaspar reckoned it must be over a hundred feet long! Men began calling out the names of gods and begging for mercy, as the creature was now looking at them and attempting to come through the rift faster.

  Then abruptly the rift vanished, and a shock of wind was accompanied by the sound of distant thunder. Severed in two, the creature hung in midair, its eyes glazing over. It thrashed as it fell, spraying black-red blood everywhere. Then it plunged into the sea below, vanishing beneath the foam.

  Suddenly it was as if the incident had only been imagined, for any sign of the event had gone, the creature vanishing below the waves, and the empty sky showing no signs of the rift.

  Kaspar looked around. Ashen-faced sailors muttered prayers and clung to lines and rails, until the Captain's voice shouted for them to be about their duties.

  Kaspar glanced at Captain Berganda, and their eyes locked across the gulf between them. For an instant the Captain's gaze seemed accusing, as if he sensed somehow that this terrible vision was linked to Kaspar being aboard the ship. Then he turned his attention to his ship and the moment was lost.

  Kaspar looked around and knew that by the time they reached Olasko, the crew would be arguing over what it was they had seen, and the tale would become another bit of seaman's lore.

  But Kaspar knew that what he had seen had been no vision. And he knew what it heralded. He heard a voice in his mind. He didn't know if it was his own recognition of what he had seen, or Kalkin whispering one last warning into his ear, but in his mind the words formed, 'Time is short.'

  Chapter Seventeen

  Home

  The lookout shouted.

  'Land ho!' he cried, as Kaspar and Captain Berganda stood on the quarterdeck.

  'Just where you said we'd be, and on the very day, too,' said the Captain.

  'I got my instructions from a very high source,' said Kaspar, trying to find humor wherever he could. Since seeing the alien sea creature, he knew two of Kalkin's warnings to be true: the Talnoy was a magnet for the rifts and those on the other side would dominate this world swiftly. No matter what else occurred, he had to warn those in a position to do something about it. He had to find the Conclave of Shadows, even if it meant his death.

  Not a selfless man by nature, Kaspar had come to realize that if those creatures invaded Midkemia, no one would survive, no matter how high born, where they hid, or what their skill with weapons. Eventually all would be slaughtered, either in the war, or as entertainment for those heartless beings. So his survival became secondary to those he cared about, even if there were only a handful. He found it odd there were so few of them: his sister, Natalia, and Jojanna and her son Jorgen, and in an odd way, the families of the men who had died on the ill-fated expe­dition that had begun all this. But even without them, it seemed impossible to consider standing idly by and watching the world of his birth be destroyed.

  Kaspar shouted to the lookout. 'What do you see?'

  'Islands! Hundreds of 'em from the look of it.'

  'Turn north by northwest, Captain, and that'll put us on a tack for home,' said Kaspar.

  They sailed all day and by dawn the next day saw coastal ship­ping sailing close to land. Kaspar had already worked out his strategy for getting ashore and finding Talwin Hawkins. He had spent no time with any member of the criminal element of Opardum, but he had hanged enough of them, listened to confes­sions under torture, and read enough reports by the City Watch to have a few ideas of how to contact the man he assumed was the new master of Olasko.

  By midday, they saw the city of Opardum rising against the escarpment behind the citadel. 'Impressive,' said Captain Berganda. 'Tell, me, Kaspar. How many ships leave from here bound to my city?'

  With a grin, Kaspar said, 'None.'

  Berganda fixed Kaspar with a narrow eye. 'Before I tell the lads they're stranded and they chuck you overboard, owner or not, I assume you have a plan as to how we're getting home?'

  'Yes,' said Kaspar, his eyes now captivated by the rapidly approaching city. 'Keep the ship. Sell it again when you get back to Sulth. I just needed the passage home and it's worth the price.'
/>   'Well, then,' said Berganda, with a laugh, 'you're the finest man I've ever met and I'm proud to say I worked for you.' He shook Kaspar's hand. 'I think I'll take that gold you gave me and load up on rare items to sell at home. Who knows? If I make enough profit from this, maybe I'll get my brother-in-law to sell his caravan business and he'll come work for me!'

  Kaspar laughed. 'A word of advice; find someone who speaks a language called Quegan, for it is closest to your speech anyone here knows, and learn a bit of the local tongue, else the merchants of my homeland will send you home with nothing to show.'

  'Advice noted,' said Captain Berganda.

  Kaspar settled in, impatiently watching as they drew near the harbor mouth. He couldn't believe the emotions that rose up within him, for until this moment he had no idea how much he had missed his homeland and how much he loved it.

  Still, he realized he was returning as an outcast and an outlaw. If he couldn't avoid being recognized, he faced the possibility of summary execution.

  Kaspar went over what he knew of docking procedures and cautioned the Captain that things might be different since he was home. He neglected to mention to Berganda the reason for his absence or the fact he really knew little of docking proce­dures because as Duke of Olasko, whenever he sailed into the harbor, everyone got out of his way.

  It was almost sunset when they entered the harbor. An assis­tant pilot in a customs boat waved the Western Princess over to a mooring buoy and by hand signals got them to heave to and drop anchor. The young man in the boat shouted up, 'Anyone speak Olaskon?'

  This was Kaspar's first risk of being recognized, but he had to take it, for the Captain would want to know why he wasn't willing to translate. He shouted back, 'I do.'

  'Stay here until morning. A customs officer will come aboard at first light. If anyone comes ashore, you'll all be hanged as smugglers!'

  Kaspar shouted back, 'We understand!' He translated for Berganda.

  The Captain laughed. 'Is he serious?'

  'He's an earnest young officer in the duchy's service, so of course he's serious. But the threat, however, isn't. Smuggling mainly takes place in the islands we passed to the south. Anyone bold enough to try to smuggle right in the main harbor prob­ably deserves to get away with it. No, they're just trying to ensure we don't come ashore, get drunk and start a brawl, and end up in jail before you can sell your cargo so they can fine you.'

  'If you say so, Kaspar,' the Captain said, 'However, I think once you're ashore, I'll have the boys stay here until morning.'

  'What will you do when the sailor who speaks Olaskon is missed?'

  The Captain laughed again. 'Nothing. We'll work out a way to communicate, and if anyone here speaks that Quegan language you say is related to ours, we'll get it across. That earnest young customs officer was obviously mistaken about which ship berthing this night had someone aboard who spoke your language. Must be a lot of foreign ships come into this harbor every day.'

  Kaspar laughed. 'Play dumb and they'll buy it. Now, lower a boat as soon as it's dark and I'll tell your lads where to take me.' He reached into his tunic. 'Here's the other two hundred, and a hundred again. Just to make sure that if your brother-in-law decides to become a sailor, you'll have enough gold to make your wives a little less furious.'

  'Thanks for that,' said the Captain. He passed the word that a boat was going over the side away from the docks after dark­ness fell.

  Kaspar returned to his cabin and waited.

  The inn was out of the way and quiet. It was the sort of place Kaspar had never once set foot in throughout his entire life in this city. It was a favorite of dockworkers, stevedores, team­sters, porters and other rough men. It was the sort of place where men would look the other way.

  Kaspar and the Talnoy had entered the inn two days earlier and had taken a room at the back, on the lower floor.

  Kaspar was keeping a low profile, sniffing around, and trying to make contact with someone from Opardum's underworld. He had an idea about getting a message to the palace, to his sister, but he was still reeling from the news he had received earlier that day. He had just finished his midday meal when a pair of city constables entered the inn.

  They had walked through the room, glancing here and there, and after a few minutes they had left. Kaspar was struck by one thing, and motioned the serving girl over.

  'Yes, sir?'

  'It's been a while since I was last in Opardum, but what was that crest those constables were wearing on their shoulders? I don't recognize it.'

  'It's a new coat-of-arms, sir. We have a new duke.'

  Feeling a chill, Kaspar played ignorant. 'Oh, really? I've been at sea. What happened?'

  She laughed. 'You must have been on the other side of the world.'

  'Might as well have been,' he said.

  'Well, we had a war, and old Duke Kaspar was run out. I hear they banished him to some hellish place, but you know how gossip is. He's probably rotting at the bottom of his own dungeons. Duke Varen is in charge here now.'

  'Duke Varen?' said Kaspar with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Had Leso Varen managed somehow to turn things to his own advantage at the very end?

  'Ya, nice enough bloke, come over from Roldem. Married the old Duke's sister, and now they're expecting a baby.'

  'Duke Varian Rodoski?'

  'Ya, that's him. Seems a fair man for a noble.'

  After she left, Kaspar had almost laughed aloud. Half in relief, for despite his past attempts to kill Rodoski, Kaspar knew him to be a good man. He had been a loving husband before his wife had died, and he was a devoted father. It was a damned good state marriage as far as Kaspar could tell. It would bring stability to the region and make it nearly impossible for the vultures to try to pick at Olasko's bones.

  However, hours later the loss of his duchy was still nettling him. He sat back. It wasn't his duchy. It was his home, true, but he no longer ruled here, nor would he reclaim his throne. What had begun as a mad plan for revenge had long since become a desperate race against an implacable menace that would destroy this city, his nation, his sister and her unborn child. No, Kaspar had to let old emotions go. Revenge was no longer viable . . . or even desirable. In fairness, had his and Tal Hawkins' positions been reversed, he would never have forgiven Tal. He would have killed him.

  Kaspar stood up to return to the room and saw a man in the corner looking at him. He had noticed the slender man when he had entered the inn earlier that afternoon, and had been struck by something vaguely familiar about him, but the man's features had remained hidden under a large hat and in the corner he was shrouded in darkness. A few times Kaspar had cast a glance his way, and every time the man seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts as he contemplated the contents of his ale mug. This time, however, the man's eyes locked with Kaspar's for the briefest of instances, before he glanced away and looked down, hunching over.

  Kaspar made his way towards his room, then at the last moment he turned and in two strides crossed the gap between them. The other man was fast, as Kaspar had known he would be. Very fast for someone having to stand up and draw a weapon.

  Kaspar barely parried the dagger's blow with his own dagger, then used his advantage in size and strength to push the man off-balance. He went over the back of his chair and slammed his head against the wall.

  Men were moving away, for brawls were common in this inn, and no one got involved until they knew who was fighting whom, especially when weapons were involved.

  By the time the barman had come over, his cudgel striking the palm of his meaty hand, Kaspar had the man pinned to the wall, his dagger under Kaspar's boot, while Kaspar's blade was at the man's throat.

  'Hello, Amafi,' said Kaspar. 'How would you like to arrange things so that neither Talwin Hawkins or I cut your throat?'

  The former Quegan assassin, for more than a year body-servant to Talwin Hawkins before he had betrayed him and became a fugitive, said, 'Magnificence! I barely recognized you.'

 
With a grin, Kaspar whispered so the others in the room couldn't overhear. 'But recognize me you did, and what were you about to do, barter my head for your freedom?'

  'No, my lord, I never would have done such a thing,' whis­pered Amafi in return. 'I am, like yourself, a man fallen on hard times. For nearly a year I've lived hand to mouth, forced to menial labor to survive. I was afraid you'd recognize me. I was but waiting for you to retire so I could slip out unnoticed.'

  Kaspar stood up, and the barman sensed the fight was over, turned and went back to his station. Kaspar put out his hand and pulled the older man to his feet. 'You're a liar and a traitor and I don't believe for an instant that as soon as I went to my room you wouldn't have been off to the citadel to barter my life for your freedom. However, it happens I have a use for you, one which will benefit us both in keeping our heads on our shoulders. Come, this is not the place for the two of us to swap stories.'

  'Agreed.'

  Kaspar went to the bar and purchased a bottle of wine and two cups. He motioned for the assassin to proceed down the hall ahead of him. 'Forgive me, but it's going to be a while before I willingly turn my back on you.'

  'You are a wise man, Magnificence.'

  When they reached the room, Amafi opened the door when Kaspar indicated and took one step in, then froze. 'It's all right,' said Kaspar. 'That's my . . . servant.'

  Amafi entered the room. 'He . . . doesn't move.'

  'He's very good at standing very quietly,' said Kaspar. 'Sit on the bed.' He moved to the window and sat on the sill. There was only a small table in the room and a very dirty washbasin and a pitcher of tepid water. Kaspar poured a cup of wine and handed it to Amafi, then poured one for himself. 'I've got a long tale to tell, Amafi, but I'd like to hear yours first.'

  'There is little mystery. While I was in the service of Talwin Hawkins, I ensured I knew a quick way out wherever we were. It's an old habit, and while I knew no details, it was clear to me that my master was involved in something beyond my under­standing, which always means trouble, eventually. While my master was exploring the citadel for a means to defeat you when you betrayed him . . .'