Exile's Return: Conclave of Shadows: Book Three

by Raymond E. Feist

  If only I had a spear! Kaspar thought, cursing silently. He hurried around the fire and the creature turned. Seeing no flaming brand, the wolf was emboldened: he leapt at Kaspar without a warning crouch.

  Years of experience saved Kaspar’s life, for he recognized the single explosive leap as soon as it began. Rather than moving to his right, away from the beast as would be instinctive, Kasper spun to his left in a reverse pivot, swinging his sword parallel with the ground.

  As he hoped, the blade took the creature across the chest, and as the shock ran up Kaspar’s arms, the wolf let out a wailing yelp. Kaspar continued his turn, and came around, in case the wolf spun and attacked again.

  Instead, he saw the creature thrashing on the ground, trying to get up on a severed right foreleg. In pain and confusion, the animal snapped at its own wounded leg, causing itself further pain. Kaspar had cut off the creature’s leg above the carpus.

  Flynn came over as the wolf righted himself on three legs. “Wait!” said Kaspar. “It’ll bleed out. If you get too close it can still tear your throat out.”

  The animal tried to advance, and fell muzzle-first to the ground. It howled, scrambled up again, and tried to turn, again falling. “Bring the torch,” said Kaspar.

  “Why?”

  “Because we need to make sure it dies.”

  They followed the wolf as it tried to make its way down the hillside and into the trees, but after fifty yards it fell over and lay there, panting. The two men approached close enough to observe it in the torch light, yet far enough away to remain safe.

  At last the animal’s eyes rolled up in its head and Kaspar took one quick step forward and drove the point of his sword into the its throat. It jerked once, then lay still.

  When it was over, Flynn said, “I’ve never heard of one that big.”

  “Neither have I,” said Kaspar. “This breed doesn’t exist in Olasko, or anywhere else that I’ve heard about.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Flynn.

  Kaspar put a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “We leave the wolf here for the scavengers. Then we bury Kenner.”

  The two men turned and silently returned to camp.

  THIRTEEN

  THE PILLARS OF HEAVEN

  Kaspar grunted with the effort.

  He and Flynn had rigged up the armor so they could carry it hammocklike in a sling, with Kaspar at the head and Flynn at the feet. They had each loaded up a backpack, and now they struggled to negotiate the narrow gorge.

  Rock faces rose up on either side of them. The sense of menace was palpable. It was as if the uninvited might be crushed between two giant stone palms at any time. Even in the bright morning sun it was gloomy inside the ravine, with only a strip of blue sky showing high above them.

  “How are you holding up back there?” Kaspar asked. He was worried about Flynn. With Kenner’s death, it seemed that whatever reserve of strength Flynn had was gone. He seemed to be a man resigned to inevitable death. Kaspar had seen that expression on the faces of prisoners led away to his dungeons, men who were to be tortured or killed for one reason of state or another.

  “I’m all right,” said Flynn, his voice lacking conviction.

  “I think I see something ahead.”

  “What?”

  “The ravine is ending,” said Kaspar. As they rounded a curve in the rocks, he could see that the terrain ahead opening up. They left the gap and entered a large plateau, with a path leading straight across it. “Let’s rest.”

  Flynn didn’t argue, and they put the armor down. Each man then unshouldered his pack and put it on the ground.

  Kaspar said, “Do you see any shapes against the rocks over there?”

  Flynn squinted against the brightness. It was one of those summer days when the sky was high, the air almost alive with the heat. The light was glaring after the hours they had spent in the ravine. “I think so.”

  They rested for a few minutes, then took up their packs again, and hoisted the armor. As they walked across the plateau, the odd shapes resolved themselves. Against the mountains, a small city had been fashioned, and the plateau gave way to a plaza.

  Some buildings were cut into the rock, while others were free-standing in the plaza. Their shapes were mind-numbing, with lines and curves that confounded the eye and nagged at the senses. Hexagons, pyramids, a pentagon, a rhomboid; great obelisks jutting straight up between the buildings. These were also oddly fashioned, with a curved face, then a flat one, or a defiant-looking three-sided tower next to a spiral. “Let’s put the armor down,” said Kaspar.

  They lowered the armor and again took off their packs, and Kaspar walked to one of the obelisks. “It’s covered in runes,” he observed.

  “Can you read them?” asked Flynn.

  “No, and I doubt any living man can,” answered Kaspar.

  Flynn looked around, “This must be the City of the Dead Gods, then?”

  “Must be.” Kaspar looked around and inscribed an arc with his hand. “Look at the design. No human mind could imagine this.”

  Flynn looked around. “Who do you think built it?”

  Kaspar shrugged. “The gods, perhaps. Those still living.” He stared about. “Do you see anything other than tombs?”

  Flynn slowly turned a complete circle. “They all look like tombs to me.”

  Kaspar walked over to one and saw a word inscribed above the door.

  “Can you read that?” asked Flynn. “It’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”

  “I’ve seen it before, but I can’t read it.” Kaspar had seen runes like these on parchments in Leso Varen’s study. “It’s some sort of magical writing.”

  “Where do we go now?” Flynn asked.

  “The Father Elect said only that the Keepers abide in a bastion above the Necropolis but below the Pavilion of the Gods. We must find a way up, I suppose.”

  They moved deeper into the City of the Dead Gods.

  The plaza ended in a massive façade carved into the face of the mountains. Four words were carved on it. “What is this place?” asked Flynn.

  “The gods know, but I don’t,” said Kaspar. “The entrance looks like it goes straight back into the mountain.”

  Flynn looked around. “Kaspar, do you see any way up?”

  “No. And I don’t remember any trail splitting off, or heading upward.”

  “Kaspar, I’m tired.”

  “Let’s rest.” Kaspar set down his end of the armor and Flynn did likewise.

  “No, I don’t mean that kind of tired.” Flynn looked pale, his features drawn. “I mean…I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this.”

  “We’ll do it for as long as it takes,” Kaspar said. “We have no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” said Flynn. “I can just wait to die.”

  Kaspar had seen that look before. It wasn’t the same resignation he had seen after Kenner’s death, the look he had seen in the faces of prisoners doomed to die. This was the look of a hunted animal when it had stopped struggling and lay back with a glazed expression, waiting for death to take it.

  Kaspar took a step forward and with as much strength as he could muster slapped Flynn across the face. The smaller man reeled, then fell back, landing on his backside.

  Eyes wide and filling with tears from the slap, Flynn looked up in astonishment as Kaspar came to stand over him. Pointing his finger at Flynn, Kaspar said, “You’ll not die until I tell you it’s time to die. Do you understand?”

  Flynn sat stunned, then suddenly he laughed. He kept laughing until Kaspar realized he was verging on hysteria. Kaspar reached down, offering Flynn his hand, and pulled the other man to his feet. “Get a hold of yourself,” he commanded, and Flynn’s laughter ceased.

  Flynn shook his head. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

  “I do. It’s despair. More men have died from that than all the wars in the world combined.”

  Flynn said, “I guess there’s no getting around it. If we’re to
find these Keepers, we need to go in there.”

  They picked up their burden and moved toward the cavernous opening. They climbed low broad steps into a large doorway and entered.

  They stopped in the center of the vast hall. A gray light infused the interior as if sunlight had been filtered through overcast skies. The walls, floors, and ceilings all seemed to glow with a soft amber hue. The hall was empty, save for four huge stone thrones, two on either side of the hall. Kaspar looked at the closest one and said, “There’s writing on the base of the throne. It’s in many languages. I can read the word Drusala.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps the name of the being who is supposed to sit on that throne. Or perhaps it’s the name of a place whose ruler is supposed to rest here.”

  The only other feature of the hall was that the wall opposite gave way to a vast cavern, leading off into darkness.

  “I suppose that’s the way we must go,” said Kaspar.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” came a voice from behind. “Unless you know exactly where you’re going.”

  Both Kaspar and Flynn tried to turn, getting caught up in the rope harness they had rigged. By the time Kaspar had dropped his end of the armor and turned, the stranger was standing almost within touching distance.

  It was a woman of middle years, her head covered in a shawl, but enough of her hair showed to reveal some gray in the black. Her eyes were dark and her skin fair, but Kaspar suspected if she ever saw any sun she would be darker than she looked.

  There was something unworldly about her, but Kaspar couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Perhaps it was simply the atmosphere of the place, and the fact that she had managed to approach undetected.

  “Stay your hand, Kaspar of Olasko. I am no threat to you.”

  Flynn appeared to be close to hysteria again. “Who are you?”

  She seemed mildly amused by the question. “Who am I?” She paused then said, “I am…Call me Hildy.”

  Kaspar approached warily, his sword not entirely lowered. “Forgive my trepidation, lady, for you must understand that lately my friend and I have been visited by more strange occurrences and ill events than most men experience in a lifetime. Since we are hundreds of miles from what passes for civilization in these parts, and since there is apparently only one way into this hall, it’s troubling to find anyone else here, no matter how unthreatening your demeanor. So please be forbearing if I am less than trusting at this time.”

  “I understand.”

  “Now, how do you know me?”

  “I know a great deal, Kaspar, son of Konstantine and Merianna, hereditary duke of Olasko, brother to Talia. I could recount your life from the moment of your birth until this minute, but we don’t have the time.”

  “You’re a witch!” cried Flynn, making a sign to ward off evil.

  “And you’re a fool, Jerome Flynn, but after what you’ve been through, it’s a surprise you’re even sane.” She ignored Kaspar’s sword and walked past him to stand next to Flynn. Touching him, she said, “Your suffering will be over soon, I promise.”

  Flynn appeared like a man reborn. One instant he had looked on the verge of total collapse, and in a the next he was a man refreshed, filled with joy and resolve. Unable to control the smile on his face, he said, “How did you do that?”

  “A one-time acquaintance of mine refers to them as ‘tricks.’ I have more than a few.” She turned to look at Kaspar. “As for who I am, you could not understand. Let’s say that I am but an echo of the being I was in ages past, but contrary to the opinion of some, I’m not yet completely dead. I am here to help you, Kaspar; you and Jerome.”

  Kaspar turned to his companion. “You know, I never knew your name was Jerome. I’ve just called you Flynn all these months. You never said.”

  “You never asked,” said Flynn. “And you never told me you were the Duke of Olasko!” He laughed. “I don’t know why, but suddenly I feel wonderful.”

  “Magic,” said Kaspar. He nodded toward Hildy.

  “Only a little. I don’t have much to spare, unfortunately.”

  “How did you know we were here?” asked Kaspar.

  “Oh, I’ve been keeping track of you for some time, really,” said Hildy, her dark eyes fixed upon Kaspar. “It started quite by accident, really. You came to my attention when you entertained an old adversary of mine. He resided in your citadel and caused a great deal of trouble.”

  “Leso Varen.”

  She nodded. “It’s one of many names he’s had over the years.” She turned and looked at Flynn. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said.

  Flynn quietly sat down on the floor, then slumped over and fell asleep.

  “I haven’t much time. Even keeping up this…appearance is difficult for long periods. I know you have questions, but for the most part they must go begging. Here’s what you need to know, Kaspar.

  “Circumstances have brought you to a crossroads in the fate of nations and worlds, and even the tiniest choice may have consequences beyond imagining. You were, by any measure, a cold-hearted, mean bastard, Kaspar—a murderous, ambitious, unforgiving monster.”

  Kaspar said nothing. No one in his life had ever spoken to him in this way, and yet he was forced to admit that every word was true.

  “But you have a chance given to few men in their lifetime, a chance to change, to do something selfless and heroic, not because anyone will know, or even appreciate what you’ve done, but because it will restore some rightness to a world you’ve done your best to make wrong. It may mean the difference when you go before Lims-Kragma and are measured for your next life on the Wheel; you’ve spent mere weeks being a peasant farmer, so imagine what a lifetime of that would entail. Redeem yourself, and you may escape that fate.” With a slight smile she added, “Though I doubt anything you could do would gain you another life of power and privilege.

  “In a few minutes, Flynn will recover, and then you must enter the cavern. Therein is a path that runs beside a river. It is a difficult path to find, but if you search to the left hand side you will find it. You must not cross that river, for on the other bank is the land of the dead.

  “Stay on the path and you will find your way to the bastion on the mountain. There you will meet the Keepers. They will not want to speak to you. When they attempt to turn you away, give them this.” She held out her hand and Kaspar took a token from her. He examined it. It was a simple copper disk, with a rune on one side and the face of a woman on the other.

  “This looks like you.”

  “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” She waved away further questions. “Time grows short. The Keepers will not give you much satisfaction, but you still must go there and learn what they have to teach you. Understand this: they will tell you the truth, but it is only the truth as they know it. Their perspective is limited. When you are finished there, you will understand where you must go next.

  “But above all else, there is one thing you must believe. The fate of this world hangs by a thread. It has since an age before man, back in the time of the Chaos Wars. There are forces loose which are relentless: worse, they are clandestine and almost impossible to detect. You were the unwitting tool of these forces.”

  “Leso Varen,” said Kaspar, not surprised. “He used me.”

  “As he has used others and will again.”

  “He’s dead,” said Kaspar. “Talwin Hawkins broke his neck.”

  “He’s been dead before,” said Hildy. “You will discover should you cross paths with him again that he’s like a cockroach. You just think you’ve stamped him out.”

  “If I see him again, I’ll happily test the theory with a sword’s point.”

  “You may not recognize him. He has the facility to change his appearance. He’s an annoyance to me, but a deadly risk to you. If you ever face him again, you’ll need powerful allies.”

  “Where shall I find them?”

  “You will find them when you get rid of that,” she
said, indicating the armor.

  “What is that?”

  “Something left over from a time before man. You’ll learn some of the truth from the Keepers.

  “Now, I must depart. Wake Flynn and take him to the river, then follow the road. And remember, I have picked you, not Flynn. At the end, you will be alone.”

  She stepped back.

  “Wait!” he said, “What do you mean ‘alone’?”

  But she was gone.

  Kaspar stood motionless for a moment, the sensations of contentment and pleasure he had experienced in her presence slipping away. When he turned, he found Flynn reviving.

  “Where is she?” Flynn asked, getting to his feet.

  “Gone,” said Kaspar

  As he watched the color again drained from Flynn’s face. Whatever good the woman had done had departed with her.

  “Come on,” said Kaspar. “We’ve got a trip to take. At least now I know where we’re going.” He studied his companion’s face and knew Flynn was again in the grip of despair. Trying to force him to a better frame of mind, he said, “It’s not far.” He was lying, but he was concerned over Hildy’s warning. “And we can put this bloody thing down and get some hot food!”

  Flynn said nothing as he picked up the rope harness again and put it around his shoulders, then took up his backpack. Kaspar did likewise and when the armor was once more slung between the two men they set off.

  It seemed only a short walk to the entrance to the cavern, but it took a few minutes to reach it. If the hall was bathed in a soft amber glow, the cavern ahead defined gloom. There was a faint hint of light in the distance, so Kaspar felt no need to find material for torches. He doubted there would be any to find close by. He paused for an instant at the threshold, then entered.

  It seemed the faint light ahead kept retreating as they walked through the gloom of the cavern. At one point Flynn said, “Where are we?”

  Kaspar replied, “I never asked.” He judged it would be unwise to tell Flynn they were approaching the banks of the River of Death.