Tad did as Zane said and pulled out Caleb’s huge hunting knife, using it to cut bandages from the man’s filthy shirt. Zane hurried to inspect the other two corpses and returned with two more swords and a small purse. “They must have robbed before,” said Zane.
Throwing an impatient look at Zane, Tad said, “You think?”
“I mean recently,” said Zane, holding up the purse. “It’s got some coins in it.”
“Well, we had better get Caleb into the wagon, because I don’t know how long he’s going to make it without help.”
Both boys picked up the injured man and deposited him in the back of the wagon. Tad said, “You stay back there with him. I’ll drive.”
Neither boy was an experienced teamster, but both had spelled Caleb on their journey, and Zane admitted Tad was a better driver.
The horses reluctantly left their forage and headed down the road.
“How far did he say that village was?” asked Tad.
“I don’t remember,” said Zane. “But hurry. I don’t think we have much time.” Tad pulled to the right and got the horses pointed down the road, and with a flick of the reins and a shout got them moving.
With another flick and a louder shout, he got them up to a brisk trot, the fastest he could manage in the darkness without running themselves off the dark road.
Caleb lay motionless, his head resting on a bundle of empty sacks, as Zane tried his best to halt the bleeding. Softly, Zane whispered,
“Don’t die!”
Tad silently echoed his foster brother’s request as he urged the horses down the dark and foreboding road.
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Flight of the Nighthawks
The ride through the forest seemed to take forever. The boys alternated between an almost panic - stricken terror and a determined optimism that everything would turn out for the best.
They had no sense of time, as the minutes passed by and the road passed under the hooves of the horses. The animals had not been rested for hours before the ambush, and they were panting. The one on the left seemed to be favoring his left hind leg, but Tad ignored it; he’d kill both horses in their traces if it would save Caleb.
Both boys liked the tall, quiet hunter, as they thought of him.
They knew he was related to the owners of Stardock, though the exact nature of the relationship was vague to them. They also knew that their mother was in love with Caleb and that he cared deeply for her. Resentful of his attentions at first, they had both come to appreciate how happy his visits made her. Tad’s deepest fear was having to return to Stardock and see the look on his mother’s face should he have to tell her of Caleb’s death.
Suddenly they were in the village. Tad realized that he had been so focused on what he would have to tell his mother and that Zane had been tending Caleb so closely, neither had noticed they had left the forest and were passing by farms for some time now. The large moon was up and in the shimmering light of its refl ected glow they could see the village of Yar- rin. A few huts lined the roadway into the village square, and three large buildings dominated. One was the mill, on the far side of square, and the other two appeared to be a shop or some sort, and an inn. The inn showed a sign with a sleeping rooster ignoring a sunrise. Remembering Caleb’s instructions, Tad pulled up before the inn and went to bang hard on the bolted door.
After a minute a voice from above sounded as a window was thrown open. “What is it?” shouted an angry landlord as he thrust his head out the window.
“Are you McGrudder? We need help!” shouted Tad.
“Wait a minute,” said the man as he withdrew his head.
A moment later the door opened and a large man in a nightshirt appeared in the doorway holding a lantern. “Now, who’s ‘we’ and 6 5
Raymond E. Feist
what sort of ‘ help’—” His question died on his lips as he saw Zane kneeling next to the prone figure in the wagon bed. He held the lantern close and said, “Gods of mercy!”
Looking at the two boys, both obviously exhausted and fi lthy, he said, “Help me get him inside.”
Tad jumped up next to Zane and they both got one of Caleb’s arms over their shoulder, then got him upright. The innkeeper came to the end of the wagon and said, “Give him to me.”
They allowed Caleb to fall slowly over the large man’s shoulder, and ignoring the blood that was soaking into his nightshirt, the landlord took the wounded man inside. “Elizabeth!” he shouted as he entered the inn. “Get up, woman!”
A few moments later a plump but still attractive older woman appeared on the stairs, as the landlord put Caleb on a table. “It’s Caleb,”
said the man.
“Are you McGrudder?” asked Tad.
“That I am, and this is my inn, the Sleeping Rooster. And who might you two be, and how did my friend come to this sorry state?”
The woman quickly began examining the wounds and said, “He’s lost a lot of blood, Henry.”
“I can see that, woman. Do what you can.”
“Tad and I are from Stardock,” said Zane, and he quickly outlined the tale of their ambush.
“Damn road agents,” said McGrudder. “Had a Keshian patrol from Yadom out looking for them a couple of weeks back.”
“Well, they’re all dead now,” said Tad.
“All of them?”
“Five men,” said Zane. “Tad and I killed two of them, Caleb the other three.”
“You killed two?” asked McGrudder, then he fell silent as the boys nodded.
When he said nothing for a few moments, Tad offered, “We were lucky.”
“Indeed,” said McGrudder.
The woman called Elizabeth said, “Henry, I don’t think I can do anything to save him. He’s too far gone.”
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Flight of the Nighthawks
“Damn,” said the innkeeper. “Margaret!” he roared.
Within a minute a young girl, about the same age as the boys, appeared from a door in the rear of the common room. “Get dressed and hurry down to the witch’s hut.”
The girl’s eyes got wide. “The witch!”
“Do it!” the landlord shouted. “We’ve got a dying man here.”
The girl’s face went pale, and she vanished back through the door.
A few minutes later she reappeared wearing a simple gray homespun dress and a pair of leather shoes. Turning to Zane, McGrudder said,
“Take the lantern and go with her. The old witch won’t talk to strangers, but she knows Margaret.” To Margaret, he said, “She’ll not want to come, but when she tells you to be away, say this and no more,
‘McGrudder says it’s time to repay a debt.’ She’ll come then.”
Zane followed the obviously agitated girl out the door and across the small village square. This side of the village was upslope from a small stream and devoid of farms. The few huts bordering on the square were quickly left behind and they plunged into a thick copse of trees.
Zane hurried to keep up with the girl, who seemed determined to get this over as quickly as possible. After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, “My name is Zane.”
“Shut up!” said the girl.
Zane felt his cheeks burn but said nothing. He had no idea why she was being rude to him, but decided that was something best explored when things weren’t so confused.
They came to a small game path and followed it, until they came near the edge of the stream. A flat clearing jutted into the stream, forming a small bend in the stream. The surface was rock covered by recently dried mud. Zane wondered why the hut that sat snug in the middle of the clearing hadn’t been washed away by the recent fl ooding.
The hut was constructed of sticks covered with mud, with a thatch roof and a rude stone chimney in back. It looked barely large enough to contain one person. A leather curtain served as a door and what looked to be a small opening high up on the left appeared to be the only window.
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Raymond E. Feist
&nbs
p; The girl stopped a few yards from the hut and shouted, “Hello, old woman!”
Instantly a voice answered, “What do you want, girl?”
“I’m Margaret, from McGrudder’s,” she answered.
Zane heard the reply in a cross tone: “I know who you are, you stupid girl. Why do you trouble my sleep?”
“McGrudder says you have to come. There’s a man in need of aid at the tavern.”
“In need of aid,” said the voice from within. “And why should I give aid to any who pass through this village?”
“McGrudder says it’s time to repay a debt.”
There was a moment of silence, then the leather curtain was pushed away as the old woman stepped through. Zane had never seen a smaller person in his life. She looked barely more than four and a half feet tall. He had met a dwarf once, who was traveling through Stardock on his way to the dwarven stronghold near Dorgin, and even he had been a good four or five inches taller than this old woman.
Her hair was white and her skin so sun - browned, like ancient leather, he couldn’t tell if she had once been fair or dark as a girl. Her stoop made her even shorter.
But even in the dark Zane could see her eyes, alight as if glowing from within. In the dim moonlight he could see they were a startling and vivid blue.
Toothless, she slurred her words slightly as she spoke. “Then come to McGrudder’s I shall, for I let no man hold debt over me.”
She didn’t wait for either Margaret or Zane, but marched past them purposefully, muttering to herself.
Zane and the girl easily kept pace, and when they reached the inn and went inside, Zane was amazed that the little woman looked even more frail and tiny than before.
She marched up to McGrudder and said, “So, what debt do I owe you, McGrudder, that you’d call it in?”
“Not me, old woman,” said the innkeeper. “Him.”
The woman looked at the prone figure on the table and said,
“Caleb!” She hurried to his side and said, “Get this tunic off so I may look at his wounds.”
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Flight of the Nighthawks
McGrudder began to pull Caleb upright to attempt to pull his jacket and tunic off, and the woman nearly screeched as she said,
“Cut them off, you fool. Do you want to kill him?”
Tad had been keeping Caleb’s hunting knife; he pulled it out and reversed it, handing the hilt first to the innkeeper. McGrudder set to with practiced efficiency and cut away the jacket, then the tunic.
The old woman looked at the wounds and said, “He’s near to death. Boil bandages, and fetch me a cup of wine. Hurry.”
The woman carried a small leather pouch on a strap she wore over one shoulder. She moved to stand next to the table and rum-maged around in the pouch, finding what she sought. She removed a folded parchment and, when the wine was produced, she unfolded it, letting a fine powder fall into the wine. To Zane, she said, “You, boy, hold his head up and don’t let him choke as I give him the wine to drink.”
Zane did as she instructed and Caleb’s lips moved slightly as she administered the potion. Then she went to the fire to check the cauldron. When the water began to roil, she put the bandages that had been cut from some spare bedding into it, and said, “You, girl, fetch me soap and cold water.”
Margaret brought a bucket of cold water and the soap. The tiny woman ladled some hot water out of the cauldron into the bucket to warm the water then told Tad to put the bandages into the water.
She set to with surprising vigor and washed Caleb’s wounds. She instructed McGrudder to use the metal ladle to fish out the bandages and let them drip on the floor, holding them before the fire so they would dry. When she was satisfied they were dry enough, she bound Caleb’s wounds and said, “Now, carry him up to a room and let him sleep.”
McGrudder picked up Caleb as a man might a child and lugged him up the stairs. Zane asked, “Will he live?”
The old woman fi xed him with a skeptical eye and said, “Probably not. But he’ll linger, and that’s important.”
“Why?” asked Tad.
The old woman gave him a faint smile and said, “Wait.”
McGrudder returned and asked, “What more can we do?”
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Raymond E. Feist
“You know what you must do,” and she turned to leave.
“Wait?” said Zane. “That’s all? A cup of wine and bandages?”
“My potion is more than a cup of wine, boy. It’ll keep him alive long enough for McGrudder to fetch more help, and that help will save Caleb, son of Pug.”
“What help?” asked McGrudder.
“Don’t dissemble with me, you old fraud,” said the woman. “I know who your true master is, and I know if an emergency warrants you can send word in haste.” She hiked a thumb toward the stairs and said, “His son lies dying, and if that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.”
McGrudder looked hard at the old woman and said, “For a simple woman who claims to practice only herbs and root lore, you know a great deal more.”
“Live a long time and you learn things,” she said as she reached the door. “But Caleb did me a favor, and his father did one years ago, and there was another, a friend of his father’s who did me a great service, as well, so that in the end, there is a great debt still. But to you and your masters I owe nothing; let us not be confused on that matter, McGrudder. The next time you disturb my sleep, you do so at risk.”
Saying nothing more, she left the inn, and Tad and Zane exchanged glances. McGrudder saw the look and said, “You boys can sleep in the room with Caleb, the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. He’s in the only bed, but there’s a large mat rolled up under the bed you can share.” He glanced at the girl and said, “Get yourself back to bed, girl, we have a long day tomorrow.” He then motioned to his wife, who had been quietly washing the blood off the table and floors, and said, “I’ll help you in a moment, Elizabeth.”
She nodded. “I know. You need to send that message.”
He returned the nod and left the common room through the door in the rear. The innkeeper’s wife looked at the boys and said,
“Go up and get what rest you may. It is only three hours until sunrise, and there will be work for all tomorrow.” She indicated a candle on the bar.
Zane picked up the candleholder and the boys mounted the stairs 7 0
Flight of the Nighthawks
without a word and paused a moment before the door, then entered.
Caleb lay in his bed, a heavy down comforter pulled up to his chin, his face pale and drawn.
Tad knelt and pulled out the rolled - up mat, and the boys lay on it.
“What do we do now?” whispered Zane after a while.
7 1
FOUR
D a r k G o d d e s s
Tad came awake suddenly.
Someone was opening the door and he nudged Zane awake as it swung aside. It was near sunrise; the sky outside the window displayed a slightly rose - tinged gray light, but it was still too dark in the room to make out the features of the man who stood there.
“Huh?” said the half - asleep Zane as Tad fumbled to where he had put the candle.
“You won’t need that,” said the figure in the doorway as he held up his hand. Suddenly light filled the room, an unnatural white glow that held a hint of blue. Zane blinked and Tad stood up as the figure entered the room.
He matched Caleb in height and resembled the hunter, but his skin was fair and his hair was white. He had eyes of the palest blue, but their set and expression were exactly Flight of the Nighthawks
like Caleb’s. As he entered the room, another fi gure, McGrudder, stepped into the doorway.
Zane scrambled to get out of the way as the stranger knelt to examine Caleb. After only a moment, the man said, “You did well to contact me. His breathing is shallow, his heartbeat is weak, and he burns with fever. If nothing is done, he’ll be dead by noon.”
&nb
sp; The man looked at Tad and said, “Who are you?”
“Tad,” he answered. “That’s Zane. We were traveling with Caleb.”
“What are you to my brother?”
Zane exchanged glances with Tad, then he said, “I suppose you would say Caleb was taking us to be apprentices.”
The pale man frowned and said, “I wouldn’t say. What you are to him will be sorted out later, now I must take him with me to save him. You stay here.”
“Wait a minute, Magnus,” said McGrudder, coming into the room. “You know they can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” asked Magnus, standing up. “You know I can’t take them with me.”
“But you must,” said McGrudder. “They’ve seen you, and even a chance remark to the wrong person . . .” He inclined his head toward the boys. “You know.”
“Put them to work,” suggested Magnus.
“I can’t. You know your father will move all of us out of here in a day or two. Those men might have been bandits, as the boys told me, or they may have been more than that. Either way, Pug will move us, just in case, and there will be another innkeeper and his family. They’ll say that they’re distant relatives, or that this place was purchased, or some story.” He glanced around, as if already regretting the need to leave this cozy little inn. “The villagers know better than to say anything to strangers, but the old witch already knows too much and no one can keep her from doing whatever she wishes to; these boys just add two more potential problems if you leave them here. If they were followed, and if they were known to have traveled with Caleb . . . it’s best if all of us were gone from here as soon as possible.
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“Besides, if Caleb was apprenticing them, as they say, you know what that means.”
Magnus glanced at the two boys and said, “He sees something in them. Very well.” To the boys he said, “Stand close to me after I pick up my brother.”
He reached down, and even though Caleb was equal in size and weight, Magnus picked him up as effortlessly as if he were a child.
Flight of the Nighthawks Page 8
