They shook, and Diigai said, “It is time for you to return to your quarters, and time for me to resume the part of a lecherous old fool.”
Raising his voice, he shouted, “Where are my pretties?”
Instantly, the curtains began to be moved aside and the young women returned. The Emperor said, “There are worse roles to play.”
Kaspar nodded. “Indeed.”
A servant showed him out of the royal complex, and as he re-2 7 0
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turned to his own quarters, Kaspar wondered about the Emperor’s role in the performance that was unfolding. Am I a true ally? he wondered. Or is he merely playing another game with me?
Kaspar returned to his room, but found it diffi cult to sleep that night.
2 7 1
EIGHTEEN
P l a n s
The prisoner slowly opened his eyes.
A pretty girl hovered over him. Her dark hair was tied up and her dress marked her as a daughter of the Mejun people—plains nomads who followed the great antelope herds of the grasslands to the south of the Overn Deep.
She daubed at his face with a cool cloth, and whispered,
“Quiet. You’re safe for the moment.”
The man could barely speak, his face was swollen from the repeated beatings he had taken at Amafi’s hands. He had been tied to a chair for days, he’d been beaten, forced to relieve himself where he sat, denied food, and had been given the minimum amount of water needed to keep him alive.
But he had not betrayed his family.
“Can you sit up?” the girl asked, her accent further betraying her nomadic origins.
Flight of the Nighthawks
He groaned quietly as he let her pull him upright. She put a cup of liquid to his lips and said, “Drink slowly. This will revive you.”
He did and found that the bitter liquid did indeed make him feel more alert and also dulled his pain. “Who are you?” he whispered hoarsely.
“Someone who is being paid to free you. My name is Iesha.”
“Free me?”
“All I know is that I’m to get you out of this room and into the sewers below. Someone will be waiting there to take you away; I do not know who he is or where he is taking you, and I do not want to know. The men who’ve held you prisoner frighten me, I am leaving as soon as I get my gold.” She pulled on his arm. “Can you stand up?”
He did so and groaned, but kept his balance. “Come, we only have a few minutes,” Iesha said.
“Where are the guards?”
“They think you’re dying, so they are lax. A message called one away, and the other is sleeping at his post. It is only a short way, but we must be quiet.”
“Let us go.”
They were in a small room in what appeared to be an abandoned house. Iesha slipped her arm around the Nighthawk’s waist so that he could lean on her. They moved to an empty kitchen with a single table, on which rested a lantern. A man lay across the table, snoring quietly. The girl helped the prisoner move around the table and into another room, then out of a door into the street.
He looked around; it was the dead of night and only the faint noises of the city in the distance interrupted the silence. “Where are we?” he asked in a near whisper.
“The Kumhar District. We have less than half a block to travel.”
Iesha helped him to an iron grate set in the middle of the street.
She leaned down and tugged at it, but it only moved slightly. “Let me help you,” said the weakened prisoner and he almost cried out in pain as he leaned over to grab the bars. Together they moved it out of the way, and in the light from a distant lantern they could just about see the iron rungs set into the stones. “Can you climb down?” she whispered.
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“I will,” he said and with great difficulty, as he sat down in the hole and let his feet dangle. Then he turned and slowly worked his way down the iron rungs. By force of will alone he managed to make it to the bottom where two strong hands reached out to steady him.
A man dressed in rags waited for them, and when the girl reached the bottom, he said to the prisoner, “I am to take you from here.”
“I do not know you,” said the Nighthawk.
“And I do not know you, but I have been paid to take you to a place where we will meet another. Now, we must hurry before you are discovered missing.”
“Wait,” said the girl. “What about my gold?”
The ragged man said, “I have this for you.” With a sudden move he pulled a dagger from his sleeve and drove it into the girl’s stomach.
Her eyes widened and her mouth moved, but she made no noise.
Then her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell backward into the filthy water running through the sewer.
“Come,” said the ragged man.
The prisoner glanced at the dead girl and said, “That was wise.
She can’t tell anyone where she led me now.”
“I am being paid handsomely to ensure there are no loose ends.
As soon as I hand you over to your friends, I will return here and replace the grating. Now, hurry.”
The prisoner was weak, but he was revitalized by the prospect of escaping his torturers. He slogged through the sewage as the ragged man led him toward a major intersection where a further two men waited, both dressed in black. Their faces were covered so only their eyes could be seen.
The prisoner hurried, overtaking the ragged man and reaching the two black - clad assassins. “Kill him,” he said softly.
One of the Nighthawks nodded. His sword slid from his scabbard with a metallic hiss, and with a quick thrust, he brought the ragged man down. One of the two Nighthawks put his arm around the waist of the injured man and whispered, “Come, brother.”
They moved into the large tunnel and turned right. After a step, the former prisoner said, “Wait! Why are we—” His words fell away.
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Suddenly he reached up and pulled away the face covering of the man who held him. “You!” he hissed, and he stepped back.
Amafi lashed out quickly and cut the prisoner’s throat with his dagger. The man fell back with blood fountaining from his neck, and he landed in the sewage.
Tal undid his own mask and said, “Now we know.”
“Yes, Magnificence,” said Amafi. “Now we know for certain.”
They moved back to the ragged man and Tal said, “You can get up now.”
Chezarul sat up in the slop and shook his head. “The things we do for our cause,” he said.
Tal laughed. “I completely understand.”
The three men then went over to where the girl lay sprawled, and Tal said, “Lela, has anyone ever told you that you die beautifully?”
The girl sat up and said, “Thank you, Tal.”
He extended his hand and helped her to her feet. “You both did very well.”
Chezarul said, “So are you certain of your information, now?”
“As much as I will ever be,” said Tal. “There were but two places left that could serve as the Nighthawks’ nest, and when our friend objected to going south, it meant that their hiding place is most likely to be in the north. He would die before he spoke, so this was the only way.”
Amafi said, “Magnificence, when do we strike?”
“Tomorrow, at noon,” said Tal. “They are creatures of the night, so we shall catch them at their weakest. Tell Caleb to gather everyone,” he instructed Chezarul, “and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Chezarul nodded and set off upstream through the sewer. Amafi said, “I shall go and see to those who are still at the safe house, Magnificence, and I shall carry word to Pasko at the palace, so that Kaspar is aware of what we will do.”
“Be careful,” said Tal. “They are still looking for us.”
“I was hiding in the shadows before these curs were born, Magnificence.” He clim
bed up the ladder.
“What next for you?” Tal asked Lela. He smiled warmly at her, although his features were masked in the dim light from the street above. Lela had been his first lover, years before, when he had still 2 7 5
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been Talon of the Silver Hawk, the Orosini boy just beginning his education with the Conclave.
“I am going back to Krondor and my position as tavern wench, where I listen to a great deal of nonsense. I catch a nugget of useful information from time to time.” She stepped closer to him and put her hand on his cheek. “I wish I could stay a little longer. It’s going to get exciting, and I must say I have thought of you from time to time over the last few years.”
Tal laughed. “I’m married, Lela.”
She laughed with him. “That makes little difference to many men, Tal, and truth to tell, I don’t care, either.”
He hugged her. “Would that it were possible, but now you must be on your way. The farther away you are from this city the better it will be for you. When next we meet, let’s hope it’s under happier circumstances.”
Looking at her filthy dress and hands, she said, “Cleaner, too.
Very well.” She kissed him on the cheek and started to climb the rungs. He waited for a while, and then followed her.
Once aboveground, Lela scampered off into the darkness, while Tal replaced the grating into the street. He looked around, ensuring they were unobserved, knowing that in a few minutes he would be back to the safe house for a bath, a change of clothes, and then some rest, for tomorrow would bring bloody work and he knew that many good men were likely to die.
Tal couldn’t rid himself of the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that made him wonder if they were missing something. As he continued to scan the area, to see if he was being observed, he took a small orb out of his black tunic and held it to his lips. “Noon, tomorrow,” he spoke into it, then he depressed a button on top of the device. Tal held out his hand so that it rested upon his open palm; he had no desire to discover what would happen if he clutched it in his fist. After a few seconds, the orb began to vibrate, and then suddenly it vanished.
Putting aside his never- ending wonder over the devices created by the magicians on Sorcerer’s Isle, he pulled off his black tunic and headdress and stuffed them between the rungs of the grating, 2 7 6
Flight of the Nighthawks
letting them fall into the sewer below. Then without hesitation he turned away from the grate. He had a great deal to do before noon tomorrow.
Caleb asked, “Are you certain?”
“No,” answered Tal, “but I’m as sure as I can be. The Magistrate of the Ragged Brotherhood told us that the Nighthawks had to be secreted away in one of two locations. We took the prisoner to a major sewer tunnel that led directly to both of these possible sites. I knew that if we went in the right direction, he’d say nothing, but if we went in the wrong direction, he’d make some objection. He did, and that was as much as we were ever going to get out of him.”
Pasko and Amafi were in Tal’s room at the fourth inn he had frequented since the attack at the Mistress of Luck. Kaspar was currently dining with the two royal princes, Sezioti and Dangai.
“And you have sent word of the attack to Father?”
“Yes,” said Tal.
Caleb said, “One thing still troubles me.”
“What?”
“If the Nighthawks are secreted in the area of the sewers to the south of the city, what is killing the thieves who venture near that other location in the north?”
“You’re thinking there may be two nests?”
Caleb shrugged. “It isn’t likely, but would Varen have his quarters near the Nighthawks? I understand that they work for him, but not as servants.”
“You think Varen also has a hideout in the sewers?”
“You saw his quarters in Opardum, I didn’t. Would there be a better place to hide the sort of thing he does than under the slaughterhouses?”
Tal said nothing for a moment. “That location is not that far from where we held our meeting with the Magistrate.”
“What if the prisoner wasn’t concerned that you were leading him away from his family’s roost? What if he was fearful that you were taking him somewhere else to be punished?”
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“So,” said Tal, “I could easily rush off in the wrong direction and get everyone killed.”
Caleb shrugged.
Tal said, “I liked it better when I was a student and you were my teacher, Caleb. Then you had to make all the tough decisions.”
Caleb shrugged again, but this time with a smile. “It is sort of like deciding to venture into a cave to hunt a bear, isn’t it?”
Talk nodded. “It’s far safer to get him to come out, than to go in after him,” said Tal.
At the same moment, both men got a wide - eyed expression.
Caleb nodded as Tal asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“We don’t go in after them; we flush them out.”
Turning to Pasko and Amafi, Tal said, “Pass the word. Everyone is to stay where they are until further notice. We’ve got some more planning to do.”
Amafi said, “Magnificence,” and moved to the door.
Pasko spoke in the low rumbling tones that signaled the importance of his words. “You’d better hurry, Banapis is only one week away, and the first round of minor festivities begin tomorrow. By this time next week there will be chaos on every corner, at every hour.”
Caleb nodded, and stood. “I need to find that beggar boy and get word to the Magistrate. We need to know just how close we can get to those two areas of the sewers.”
“Let’s hope his information is good. I’d hate to be the one to fi nd out that he was just a little off,” Tal said, holding his forefi nger and thumb close together.
“We’ll find a safe way to lure them out,” said Caleb. “Father arrives early tomorrow in preparation for the attack, and I think he’ll be able to come up with a trick or two.”
“Speaking of tricks,” said Tal. “We could probably use Nakor down here, too. There’s no sneakier bastard in this world.”
“I’ll ask Father,” said Caleb. “Now, find Shabeer and I’ll start making plans for tomorrow.”
As he reached the door, Tal said, “What about Kaspar?”
“I’ll send Pasko back to him before he retires for the night.” Tal left and Caleb turned his mind to the task at hand: how to get the 2 7 8
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Nighthawks to swarm out of their nest without getting killed in the process.
Kaspar had discovered that in Kesh, even an informal dinner with the two claimants to the throne involved a dozen other luminaries of the Empire, a score of table servants, another two dozen servants to fetch and carry from the kitchen, musicians, jugglers, a high number of very attractive women, fine food, and plenty of good wine.
Kaspar had been ceded a spot of honor on the left of Prince Dangai, who sat at one end of the long table across from his elder brother, Prince Sezioti. The seat at the end of the table was purposely left empty, indicating that no one of higher rank was present, and preventing any conflict should either brother presume.
Kaspar had received the “informal” invitation—a handwritten note perfectly scribed by a royal secretary held on a velvet cushion carried by one servant—earlier that day. His plans to meet with Caleb and Tal had to be put off, for no one could say no to the royal princes.
Kaspar assumed the abrupt invitation was a direct result of his dining with the Emperor the night before. He suspected his surmise to Amafi had been correct, and now both princes wished to see if Kaspar was in the other’s faction.
The meal had been perfectly prepared but Kaspar had eaten sparingly. He expected to be in a fight for his life in less than fi fteen hours.
Prince Dangai said, “Is the food and wine not to your liking, m’lord Kaspar?”
“It’s just that you seem to be eating very little and drinking less.”
Kaspar regarded the younger claimant to the throne. He was a man of middle years, perhaps only a few years older than Kaspar, but he was still battlefield - fit. His shoulders and arms were heavily muscled, and there seemed to be little fat on him. His head was clean shaven, but he wore a mustache and a beard. Like his grandfather and brother, his skin was the color of dark walnut and in the heat of the 2 7 9
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evening his face shone. Kaspar wished he had the temperament to take off the traditional Olaskan garb and don a Keshian kilt, for they had to be far more comfortable.
“My stomach is a little off tonight, Highness, and I wish to ensure that I am well enough to enjoy all the festivities of the coming week.”
“It’s quite a show,” said Prince Sezioti, from across the table.
“Every year the Master of Ceremonies attempts to put on a festival grander than the year before.”
Dangai snorted. “How many elephants on parade or monkeys riding zebras do you need?” He laughed. “A few of them are entertaining, but after the first half an hour they’re . . .” He shrugged.
“Still, the populace seems to love it.”
Sezioti laughed. “As did you, little brother, when you were six.
You’d shout ‘Hold me higher, Sezi!’ until I thought my arms were about to fall off.”
Dangai nodded. “I remember, brother. I remember.”
Kaspar compared the two men. The family resemblance was obvious, but Sezioti was less muscled than his brother. He had killed his lion, like all of the Trueblood, but that incident may have been the last hunting he had done, and that probably occurred thirty - fi ve years earlier. He looked more like a man given to study, and he had a thinner face than Dangai.
One thing still troubled Kaspar: the two brothers genuinely seemed to enjoy one another’s company. There was a fi lial ease between them, a familiar banter that came from decades of being together. Kaspar had been an only child, as was his daughter, but even a blind man couldn’t miss that these brothers were close.
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