Flight of the Nighthawks
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Kaspar tried to imagine what would make them enemies, and failed. He could imagine them disagreeing; all brothers argued at times. He could even see them turning passionate over how the Empire should be run, but to him the answer seemed obvious: Sezioti should remain heir and the command of the army should be given to Dangai—all of the army. They could make the Master of Horses, Leader of the Imperial Charioteers, and the commanders of the Inner Legion all answer to him. Give Dangai the care of the Empire, and he would not see his brother harmed.
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What am I missing? Kaspar thought. What is here that I am not seeing?
Deciding to explore, he asked, “Prince Dangai, before my departure from Olasko, we were considering some minor trade disputes between Olasko and Kesh. Have they been resolved yet?”
Dangai broke the small bone of a game hen in two and sucked out the marrow. He pointed the bone at his brother and said, “That’s more Sezi’s area, I’m sorry to say. Military matters tend to occupy most of my time. Sezi?”
“Olasko was never the problem,” said Prince Sezioti. “It was Roldem’s insistence that all the goods from Kesh that sailed from Mallow Haven or Pointer’s Head had to tranship through Roldem on their way back to the Eastern Kingdoms.
“We could dispatch the goods to the Kingdom ports of Deep Taunton or Timons by land, but then we’d have to pay Kingdom duties. Or we could ship out of Queral and Hansulé and sail around the Peaks of the Quor, but those pirates in Roldem claimed dominion over all the shipping in the Sea of Kingdoms.”
“Except for the ships of the Isles,” said Kaspar.
Sezioti nodded and smiled ruefully. “Indeed, which is because the Kingdom has a navy that even Roldem respects. Kesh, however, is a land animal, and our navy are little better than pirates themselves.”
Dangai said, “Now you’re talking about a matter I feel strongly about, brother.” He looked at Kaspar. “We have both urged our grandfather to build a squadron of modern ships out of Pointer’s Head. Dock a dozen large warships up there, and Roldem might reconsider their demands.”
Sezioti agreed, and the conversation went on at length, covering trade and military needs, and their relationships with neighboring countries.
When the dinner was over, Kaspar left with the thought that these two men were ideally suited to ruling in partnership, whichever of them sat upon the throne. Where was the rivalry that he had heard so much about?
He pondered the question until he reached his quarters, where Pasko waited for him.
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“What news?” Kaspar asked.
Pasko beckoned him to step on to the balcony, and when they were outside he said, “Caleb has convinced Talwin that we need more intelligence before we strike. He argues that there could be two nests of Nighthawks or that perhaps one of the forbidden areas under the city conceals the sorcerer’s lair. Pug arrives tomorrow and will decide what we’ll do next.”
“Damn,” said Kaspar.
Pasko smiled. “Were you anxious for a fi ght, m’lord?”
“No,” said Kaspar. “But had I known that we weren’t going to have one tomorrow, I’d have had more to eat, and a hell of a lot more to drink.”
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NINETEEN
T r a p s
Caleb moved cautiously through the darkness.
Hours before, he had left the safe house and entered the large sewer with Tal Hawkins. They had split up, one going north, the other south, and both were being shadowed by other members of the Conclave. Knowing that their backs were covered gave both men the freedom to concentrate properly.
Caleb advanced only a few feet at a time, as he waded through knee - deep water thick with sewage. He and Tal had volunteered to scout the two unknown areas because they had both been trained at Sorcerer’s Isle in the magical arts. Even though they were not magic users, their sensi-tivity to the presence of magic gave them a better chance to survive. If experienced thieves were dying, then there was more than vigilant sentries involved.
Raymond E. Feist
Caleb knew that Tal was being equally cautious in his approach and that neither man would push beyond a safe limit. Still, there were no guarantees and both of them knew they took a great risk.
Pug and Magnus had arrived that morning, against the possibility of Varen taking direct action. The risk of detection was out-weighed by Pug’s decision that they needed to be close at hand. It was not Varen’s usual mode of attack, but he had shocked Pug when he had personally led the assault on Sorcerer’s Isle two years before.
Caleb considered his father’s likening of Varen to a cockroach to be very appropriate, as both Talwin Hawkins and Kaspar of Olasko had killed the magician in the last three years. He just wouldn’t stay dead.
Tal and Caleb had been given the scouting assignments against the possibility Varen might have wards in place specifi cally attuned to magic or magicians. Both men had been trained as much as any non - magic user could be to detect the presence of such wards, and Pug judged the two stealthy men best able to reconnoiter and return unharmed.
Something bumped against Caleb’s leg and he looked down. A dead cat floated on the water, its body stiff with rigor mortis, but then Caleb sensed something. He reached forward with his left hand and as his fingers ventured closer to the animal he felt a faint tingling sensation. Caleb paused. It hadn’t died a natural death, something had killed the cat.
Caleb closed his eyes. He tried to relax and shut out the soft noise of the sewers: the lapping water, the faint echoes of distant mill wheels, water falling, and the rumble from the street above as heavy wagons passed over it. He let his senses wander, seeking nothing . . .
until he found something!
He opened his eyes and searched the murk, knowing that it was almost impossible to see anything, even if there were decent light.
The only illumination came from where the sunlight fi ltered through oddly spaced gratings in the road above him. Caleb’s eyes were used to the shadows, but he knew that the wards he detected were probably invisible.
He took two steps forward and the hair on the back of his neck 2 84
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stood up. He knew he was close, but also knew he could go no farther in safety.
Caleb waited for almost an hour. According to the map that Nakor had provided, if there were any Nighthawks in this area of the city, he should be able to hear something: a faint whisper, a footfall on stone, or the movement of a chair or the clink of a cup.
He continued to wait.
After the second hour had passed, Caleb was convinced that there was no one there.
He stepped backward and took out his dagger, then he quietly made a mark in a stone on the right - hand wall of the sewer tunnel.
Then Caleb turned and hurried back to where his father waited for him.
Pug considered what he had been told. Talwin had returned with an almost identical report. He hadn’t encountered any dead cats, but he had felt the same discomfort and had reached the point where the hair on his neck and arms had stood up. Then he had also retreated to watch and wait.
And again there had been nothing.
Tal had realized that unlike every other area of the sewers, there were no signs of rats around this place. He found no indication of their presence. At last he had come to the same conclusion as Caleb, and had marked the tunnel wall and returned.
Pug asked, “What do we know of the city above those locations?”
Chezarul said, “The area Caleb visited is far to the south, near the tanneries, slaughterhouses, dyers, and other businesses that require large amounts of water and smell bad.”
“So, it is a place people only go when they must,” said Pug.
“The other is a very poor part of the city in the north, containing hundreds of shacks, tiny inns, and businesses of all stripes, all crowded closely together.”
“A place wh
ere few people will notice the comings and goings of strangers.”
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“Just so,” said the Keshian. “Like many poor quarters of the city the area is a hotbed of crime. You’ll find anything you desire, for a price, no matter how illicit.”
Pug weighed his options. “Both appear well suited as places to hide, albeit for different reasons. Both have quick access to the streets above and the surrounding sewers.”
Magnus said, “Do we send agents to those locations and try to reach them from above?”
“Those wards will certainly guard against that,” said Pug. He sighed. “I think there’s no way around this, I must go down and examine the wards personally.” He looked down at the hem of the long robe he wore—the same type of black robe that he had worn since returning from Kelewan a lifetime ago—and said, “This is one time I would prefer to be wearing trousers and boots rather than a robe and sandals.”
Magnus said softly, “We can always find a change of clothing at home, Father.”
“You know what we must do?”
“You take the north and I the south.”
Pug nodded. “Caleb, you will come with me. Magnus will ac-company Talwin.”
Chezarul said, “What of the others? We’ve had men in place for over two hours now. The longer we wait, the more chance there is of someone stumbling across them.” His frustration was evident. He had arrived that morning ready for a full assault on the Nighthawks, but instead he was being told to keep the men on a short leash.
“Wait a while longer,” said Pug. “If all this comes to naught, they can return home in ones and twos. If we attack Varen prematurely, many of them might lose their lives needlessly.”
The trader nodded, but his expression didn’t change.
The two magicians followed Tal and Caleb, then split up at the large tunnel. Pug waved a silent farewell to Talwin and his elder son as he followed Caleb into the darkness.
They moved as quietly as possible, stopping many times to ensure that they were not being followed or walking into a trap set after Caleb’s last visit.
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When they reached the place where Caleb had marked the tunnel wall, Pug whispered, “I can feel it.”
He patted his son on the shoulder and said, “Move back to the last corner and make sure no one surprises me. This may take some time.”
Caleb moved where he had been told to and waited, watching his father from a distance. In all the years since he had started working for his father, this was the first opportunity Caleb had had to observe him utilize his powers properly, rather than performing demonstrations to students on the island. He could be confronting a dangerous enemy, an enemy perhaps more treacherous than any he had ever known, and Caleb was visited by a feeling he had never known before: concern for his father’s safety.
Magnus said, “Move back.”
“How far?” asked Tal, as he began backing down the tunnel.
“If you can see me, there may still be some risk,” said the white -
haired magician.
Tal said, “Very well. I’ll wait around the corner.”
Tal retreated around a corner and waited. He kept his eyes moving, trying to apprehend any hint of approaching danger in the gloom, keeping his ears tuned to the rhythms and ambient sounds of the sewer. His training as a hunter served him well as a sentry, for there were few men alive stealthy enough to sneak up on the Orosini.
His mind turned to how his improbable journey had begun, back to his youth in the mountains the Orosini called home, and how Kaspar’s mad ambitions had led to the utter destruction of his people.
Kaspar. He could still kill him with his bare hands if he needed to, yet his contact with Kaspar, the former Duke of Olasko, had infl uenced and shaped his life more than anything else. Yes, Pasko, Caleb, and others had been his teachers, but they had used his desire for revenge against Kaspar to force him to change into something far beyond what he had dreamed possible as a boy.
Yet during his time with Kaspar—when he had infi ltrated the Duke’s household, then later as Kaspar carried the warning of the 2 8 7
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Talnoy and Dasati to the Conclave—he had discovered several things that he found troubling. Foremost among these was that he had genuinely come to like the man. He had discovered that Kaspar was a charming, educated, and witty companion. He was also an accomplished hunter, only surpassed by Talwin’s and Caleb’s skill. And as a swordsman he was second only to Tal among the Conclave. Away from Leso Varen’s influence, he seemed like a remorseful man who sought to atone for his actions by serving the very people who had brought him to ruin.
Yes, it could be argued that Kaspar had brought it upon himself, and that the Conclave had been more interested in removing Leso Varen from the picture than Kaspar of Olasko’s petty ambitions, but it had been Talwin, aided by the Conclave, Great Kesh, and the Kingdom of the Isles, who had crushed Kaspar’s nation in one blindingly swift attack and it was he who had exiled the former ruler to a year of misery on the other side of the world.
Tal smiled. If the stories that Kaspar had related over the last two years were accurate, he had faced some pretty humbling tasks during that time, but the one that always caused Tal to chuckle was the image of Kaspar hauling the Talnoy halfway up the Pavilion of the Gods on his back without knowing that all he needed to do was slip on the ring in his pocket and order the thing to carry him!
Tal chucked, trying to keep silent.
Then the tunnel exploded.
Pug felt the spasm in the magic he was confronting before the sound and shock reached him. He automatically erected a barrier across the tunnel inches away from the energy wall he was exploring.
It was, as he had suspected, a death trap for anyone who walked through the passage without the proper key. He knew the artifi cers on Sorcerer’s Island could duplicate the spells needed to pass through unharmed, but he didn’t have time for that, and was attempting to counter the magic with his own when the sewers rocked from the distant boom.
He had barely raised his shield before the defensive spell across the tunnel erupted with a brilliant white light. Pug instantly knew 2 8 8
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what had happened; his older son had grown impatient and had decided to destroy the guardian spell rather than neutralize it.
It was the sound of lightning striking close at hand. Then, an ac-tinic smell overpowered the sewer’s usual stench for a few moments, followed by a sudden compression of the air in the tunnels that heralded a huge thunderclap.
Caleb covered his eyes and then with his ears ringing turned to see what his father was doing.
Pug motioned for his youngest son to join him and Caleb asked,
“What was that, Father?”
“Your brother.” Pug looked over his shoulder and said, “The two barriers were linked, and when Magnus got impatient . . . well, I expect they’re both down now.”
Pug closed his eyes for a moment, then said, “Come.”
He had signaled for the rest of the men to leave their places of concealment and follow both magicians into the supposed Nighthawks lairs.
Pug started walking toward their destination, which had been shielded by deadly magic only a moment before. “What did Magnus do?” asked Caleb.
“Lord James, the former Duke of Krondor, was a thief in his youth known as Jimmy the Hand,” said Pug.
“I know, Father. You’ve told me enough stories about him.”
“Well, Jimmy once observed that there were two ways to get past a tricky lock without a key.” He looked at his son as they reached a long dark passageway and held up his hand and a light sprang up around it. As he walked, he held his glowing hand aloft as if it were a torch. “One way was to pick it.”
“What was the other?” asked Caleb.
Pug smiled ruefully and said, “Get a really big hammer.”
“Subtlety, as well. Much like your mother, I’m sorry to admit.”
“Don’t blame Mother,” said Caleb. “Personally, I blame Nakor for being such a bad influence on him.”
Pug chuckled. “Those years you spent with the elves have given you dark humor in the face of danger.”
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They saw a light at the far end of the tunnel and Pug extinguished his own light. When they reached the end, they felt the fl oor steep-ening, as if it were a ramp. At the far end of this long tunnel, a large grate admitted a fair amount of light from above. Before them lay a large wooden door.
Pug said, “I think the time for subtlety has passed.” Caleb nodded, and Pug said, “Shield your eyes.”
Caleb turned away. A sizzling sound filled the air and he felt a momentary flash of heat.
“You can look now,” said Pug.
Caleb looked at the door that was now a smoldering bit of char-coal, as he heard voices approaching from behind. A company of thirty men, all loyal to the Conclave and under the direction of Chezarul, were catching them up. Pug looked through the smoke now rising through the grating, and said, “Just as I suspected.”
“What?”
Pug motioned for his son to walk through the doorway with him, and once inside, Caleb saw they were in a vast basement, and that it was completely empty.
As the armed men arrived, Caleb said, “Father, there’s no one here.”
“No, and I suspect there hasn’t been for quite a while.”
Chezarul said, “Fled?”
Pug shook his head. “They are days gone.” He looked at Caleb.
“I suspect they left right after your first attack, son. I think they left these wards in place so we would do exactly what we’ve done. Waste our time.”
“Then where is Varen? Where are the Nighthawks?” asked Caleb, frustration clearly marking his words.