He was impatient to talk to Pug and his advisors, especially the Demon Master, Amirantha, and, he hoped, unburden himself with his intelligence; he wanted this to be someone else’s problem. He had Keshian spies to catch, competing criminal gangs to crush, and a court life that was going neglected far too long.
He waded ashore, ignoring the water up to his thighs, sloshing into his boots. He wanted to get this obligation of his discharged and be on his way.
The pathway up from the beach was short and came to a divide. To the left it meandered up and over a ridge, then down into a vale where the sprawling estate, Villa Beata, had rested. Gutted by fire in an attack a year previous, it now lay abandoned, a testament to the wicked effectiveness of Belasco and his minions. To the right lay the stone-strewn path leading to the black castle.
Now regretting his impulsive jump into the surf, he trudged up the path, water knotting his stockings in his boots. Even with the rain, they had managed to stay dry until he jumped into the water. Not only would he have serious polishing to do to save the fine leather boots from the predations of seawater, he would have a heroic set of blisters to show for his impatience as well.
Sighing in resignation, he wondered if one of the inhabitants of the black castle might have a balm for his feet when he reached the gate. He crossed over a rickety-looking drawbridge—really well maintained and sturdy, but allowed to look as if it had fallen into disuse.
The castle itself was a study in theatricality. Originally constructed by Macros, the first Black Sorcerer, it had been magically erected out of a blackish stone, shot through in places with steel grey. The looming gatehouse had the look of an open maw, as if any who entered would be devoured. The empty courtyard was weed-choked and dusty, and the twin doors to the castle were ajar.
Jim knew as well as those who lived here that the decision to relocate from the villa to this miserable haven was part of a ruse to let Belasco and his masters think the Black Sorcerer and the Conclave of Shadows had been humbled, driven into a fortress where they huddled in fear and waited for the mad magician’s next assault.
The truth was much more complex than that, Jim had quickly come to realize. As he approached the entrance of the forlorn-looking castle, Jim reflected on his changing relationship with these people over the last year.
The relationship between the Conclave of Shadows and the Jamison family had been difficult for twenty years. Jim’s great-grandfather, the nearly legendary Jimmy the Hand, later Lord James of Krondor, had married Pug’s foster daughter Gamina. In a sense, they were distant family, but along the way a division had slowly developed.
Jim walked through the empty great room, crossing before the massive fireplace. In ages past, this type of castle would house as many as a hundred members of a noble family, and retainers and their families, and on especially cold nights they could gather in this one room. He paused for a moment and considered the painful attention to detail undertaken by Macros the Black in constructing this place. Anyone exploring this near ruin would assume it had been built ages before its erection. Jim, not for the first time, counted the Black Sorcerer who built this place slightly mad.
As he mounted the stairs leading up to the one tower he knew to be occupied, he wondered how his great-grandfather would have viewed the current situation. By all reports of his nature, he would have been annoyed and amused by it, Jim concluded.
Pug had shamed the Prince of Krondor at that time, later King Patrick, disavowing his loyalty to the Kingdom of the Isles and virtually daring the Kingdom to assert its claim to control over the island duchy of Stardock, in the Vale of Dreams.
Jim recalled there was some issue with those running Stardock on Pug’s behalf at that time, as well. Whatever the causes, truly, Pug had withdrawn to this island with his family and retainers. He had also begun the Conclave of Shadows, the secret organization that had become a major part of Jim’s life, despite his wishing to have nothing to do with it at the outset.
Reaching the top landing, Jim paused, considering what he would report to Pug. Not only was he bringing intelligence of the most dire sort to the magician’s attention, he was about to make a choice.
The relationship between the Jamison family and the Conclave became strained when Jim’s grandfather had been summoned to the King’s court, eventually rising to the rank of Duke of Rillanon. Jim’s great-uncle Dashel had retired from public service, beginning the family’s merchant presence in Krondor.
At times during his grandfather’s administration of the capital city—and by extension the Kingdom itself—conflicts of interest had arisen between the Conclave and the Kingdom. James of Rillanon, like his grandfather before him, had been steadfast in his loyalty to the Kingdom of the Isles.
Jim reflected it might have been simpler for Jimmy the Hand—in those days the aims of the magicians of Stardock and the Kingdom were more or less in harmony. He wondered if his great-grandfather would have looked at this situation the same way Jim did.
Jim’s father, William Jamison, and his uncle Dasher had both died in border wars with Kesh when Jim was a boy, and his great-uncle Dashel had no surviving sons. By the time he was twenty years of age, James Dasher Jamison was the sole surviving heir to the family, and both his grandfather and great-uncle had marked him.
Jim pushed aside flooding memories of the ruse used by both his forebears to get him to take over control of all crime along the Kingdom’s Bitter Sea coast, and taking charge of the Kingdom’s intelligence services. That he had found a knack for both and had made the criminal activities serve the Kingdom’s intelligence interest hadn’t made wearing two caps at the same time any easier.
And now he was on the verge of donning a third cap, as a fully committed agent of the Conclave. Pushing open the door to the tower’s common room, he wondered if he was making the right choice.
He was confronted with two young women, knitting, while a third was putting wood on a fire in a small fireplace in the opposite wall. A group of three men huddled near the fire speaking in low tones. One young magician recognized him and said, “Jim Dasher, welcome!”
Jim nodded a return greeting and said, “Jason.” He glanced around. “Where is everyone?”
“Scattered,” said Jason, running his hand through his long blond hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “Pug’s sent many of the younger students home or to Stardock, while most of the rest of us have been moved to safe locations.” He indicated the others in the room. “A few of us stay here to keep a lookout for any more trouble, and convey messages. What do you require?”
“I require to speak to Pug,” said Jim, not masking his impatience. He held up a sphere of dull golden metal. “This doesn’t work. I had to take a fast ship from Durban to get here.”
The magician took the sphere and said, “The Tsurani transport spheres…we’ve not had any new ones in years.” He looked at it and his tone was one of regret. “I fear most of the artificers who made them perished on Kelewan. The few who survived…” He shrugged.
Jim knew Jason meant those few were struggling with the rest of the Tsurani survivors on their new home world, or perhaps were living quietly in LaMut. And, without saying as much, implied that if the Conclave had access to newer devices, they would have them. “Most of those we have are decades old, my friend,” Jason said softly.
Feeling a fool, Jim said, “Yes. You’re right. Now, may I speak with Pug?”
“Pug’s not here,” said Jason.
“Where is he?”
As he glanced over at his companions, the young magician’s tone was apologetic. “We don’t know. We haven’t seen him for nearly a month now.”
Jim said, “Then I need to speak with Magnus.” “He’s gone as well,” said Jason. “Come, sit by the fire and rest. We have means of sending word, but it may take some time.”
“By ‘some time,’ do you mean hours or days?” asked Jim, pulling off his leather gauntlets and moving to a stool near the fire.
Jason only s
hrugged, and Jim felt his frustration return in full. He knew his crew would wait until he either sent word or returned, so he felt little need to move away from the warming fire. Thinking of nothing better to do, he sat back against the cold stones and wondered just where the two magicians might be.
The New York Times bestselling fantasist returns with the second thrilling entry in the Demonwar Saga
“Without question one of the very best writers of fantasy adventure practicing today.”
—Science Fiction Chronicle
www.RaymondFeistBooks.com
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.eosbooks.com
About the Author
RAYMOND E. FEIST’S previous novels include the Darkwar Saga (Flight of the Nighthawks, Into a Dark Realm, and Wrath of a Mad God); the Conclave of Shadows (Talon of the Silver Hawk, King of Foxes, and Exile’s Return); Magician; Silverthorn; Faerie Tale; Prince of the Blood; and The King’s Buccaneer; as well as the four books of the New York Times bestselling Serpentwar Saga (Shadow of a Dark Queen, Rise of a Merchant Prince, Rage of a Demon King, and Shards of a Broken Crown) and the three books of his Riftwar Legacy (Krondor: The Betrayal, Krondor: The Assassins, and Krondor: Tear of the Gods). Feist lives in Southern California.
www.RaymondFeistBooks.com
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
ALSO BY RAYMOND E. FEIST
THE DARKWAR SAGA
Flight of the Nighthawks
Into a Dark Realm
Wrath of a Mad God
CONCLAVE OF SHADOWS
Talon of the Silver Hawk
King of Foxes
Exile’s Return
LEGENDS OF THE RIFTWAR
Honored Enemy
(with William R. Forstchen)
Murder in LaMut
(with Joel Rosenberg)
Jimmy the Hand
(with S. M. Stirling)
THE RIFTWAR LEGACY
Krondor: The Betrayal
Krondor: The Assassins
Krondor: Tear of the Gods
THE SERPENTWAR SAGA
Shadow of a Dark Queen
Rise of a Merchant Prince
Rage of a Demon King
Shards of a Broken Crown
THE EMPIRE TRILOGY
(with Janny Wurts)
Daughter of the Empire
Servant of the Empire
Mistress of the Empire
KRONDOR’S SONS
Prince of the Blood
The King’s Buccaneer
Faerie Tale
THE RIFTWAR SAGA
Magician
Silverthorn
A Darkness at Sethanon
Credits
Jacket design by Richard L. Aquan
Jacket illustration by Steve Stone
Map designed by Ralph M. Askren, D.V.M.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
RIDES A DREAD LEGION. Copyright © 2009 by Raymond E. Feist. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition March 2010 ISBN 978-0-06-200727-8
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
Rides a Dread Legion Page 40