Flight of the Nighthawks (17 page)

Kaspar sat back. “Hawkins and I play cards, and I think he cheats. Nothing more. I thought perhaps arriving with a famous squire of the Kingdom might give me a little more credibility.”

“Or get the youngster killed before his time.” Turgan Bey chuckled. “You think for a minute I don't know that Talwin Hawkins was in your service for over two years? Or that I don't know he was key to your overthrow? But here you are, in my own keep, acting as if you're casual travelers idling the time away with meaningless card games.” He shook his head. “I can't say that I hold you in any affection, Kaspar. You've always been someone we watched because of all the mischief you caused, but as long as you confined yourself to your own little corner of the world, we didn't much care. And, to be fair, you've always honored your treaties with Kesh.

“But as you are no longer ruler of Olasko, certain political niceties need no longer be observed. And since you're attempting to enter the palace under a false identity, can we safely assume you're a spy?”

“You may,” said Kaspar with a smile. “And I have something for you.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out the black Nighthawk amulet. He slid it across the table to Turgan and waited while the old minister picked it up and examined it.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a friend of a friend, who got it from Lord Erik von Darkmoor.”

“That's a name to make a Keshian general lose sleep. He's cost us dearly a couple of times at the border.”

“Well, if your frontier commanders didn't get the urge to conquer
in the name of their emperor without instruction from your central authority, you'd have fewer problems with von Darkmoor.”

“We don't necessarily send our brightest officers to the western frontier.” Turgan Bey sighed. “We save those to build up our own factions here in the capital. Politics will be the death of me yet.” He tapped his finger on the amulet. “What do you make of this?”

“Keshian nobles are dying.”

“That happens a lot,” said Turgan Bey with a smile. “We have a lot of nobles. You can't toss a barley cake from a vendor's cart in the lower city without hitting a noble. Comes from having a vigorous breeding population for several thousand years.”

“Truebloods are dying, too.”

Turgan Bey lost his smile. “That should not have been apparent to von Darkmoor. He must have better spies than I gave him credit for. Now, this still leads me to wonder why the former Duke of Olasko has wandered into my city, into my very palace, to hand me this. Who sent you? Duke Rodoski?”

“Hardly,” said Kaspar. “My brother-in-law would just as soon see my head adorn the drawbridge leading into his citadel as he would see it across the dinner table. Only his love for my sister keeps it on my shoulders; that and staying far away from Olasko.”

“Then von Darkmoor sent you?” said Bey, his brow furrowing.

“I've only met the esteemed Knight-Marshal of Krondor once, some years ago, and then we spoke only for a moment.”

Bey's gaze narrowed. “Who sent you, Kaspar?”

“One who reminds you that not only enemies hide in shadows,” said Kaspar.

Turgan Bey stood up and said, “Come with me.”

He led Kaspar through a chamber that appeared to be a more comfortable working area with a pair of writing desks for scribes, as well as a large divan chair that could comfortably accommodate him. He motioned Kaspar to step out onto a balcony overlooking a lush garden three stories below and at last said, “Now I can be certain no one is listening.”

“You don't trust your own guards?”

“I do, but when members of the Imperial family, no matter how
distantly related they may be, start turning up dead, I don't trust anyone.” He glanced at Kaspar. “Nakor sent you?”

“Indirectly,” said Kaspar.

“My father told me the story of the first time that crazy Isalani showed up in the palace. He and the Princes Borric and Erland, as well as Lord James—he was a baronet or baron back then, I believe—kept the Empress alive and arranged it so that Diigai would sit upon the throne after her by marrying her granddaughter to him. They defended her in the very Imperial throne room! Against murderers who wished to put that fool Awari on the throne. From that day forward my father had a different attitude toward the Kingdom. And he told the story of how Nakor pulled that hawk from his bag and restored the mews here in the palace.” Leaning back, he added, “It was a remarkable day. So you can imagine my surprise the first time Nakor turned up at my father's estate up in Geansharna—I must have been about fifteen years old.” His eyes narrowed. “That crazy Isalani has been surprising me ever since. I won't ask how you came to work with him, but if he's sent you, there must be good reason.”

“There is. I had in my employ, or so I thought, a magician by the name of Leso Varen. It turns out he was partially to blame for some of my excesses over the last few years before I was exiled.”

Bey began to speak, thought better of it, and Kaspar continued. “If at some point you'd care to listen to a detailed appraisal of what I did and why, I'll burden you with it, but for now suffice it to say that Varen may be at the center of your current troubles, and if that is true, then there is more at risk than merely a bloodier-than-usual game of Keshian politics.

“If what Nakor thinks is true, then the entire region may become destabilized and we might see a lot of needless warfare.”

Bey stood motionless for a moment, then said, “Who else knows you are here?”

“Hawkins, of course,” said Kaspar. “Nakor, the men with us, and a few other agents of the Conclave up in the north, but no one here in Kesh besides yourself.” He thought better of revealing Caleb's role in this; it was always better to have a few things held back against the risk of being compromised.

“This is going to be a problem,” said Turgan Bey. “Several of my agents know, and while I like to think they are all above suspicion, history teaches otherwise. So, how do we take this situation and turn it to our advantage?”

“Political asylum?”

Bey was silent for a while, then he said, “That may serve. Then we could not only not worry about your forged documents—and I assume they're the best?”

“Impeccable.”

“No one will bother examining them. We can say this all was a ruse to get you safely away from…well, make up a list, Kaspar. There are a lot of people who would love to see you dead.”

“As much as it pains me,” said Kaspar, “I'm forced to concede that is true.”

“So, we need a few details to embellish the tale, but let's say this: despite your brother-in-law's promises to your sister to spare you, his agents are out and about, seeking to bring you to a quick demise. Fleeing Olasko, you have come to the one place left to you where you might find safe harbor, Great Kesh. Is that about right?”

“It will bear scrutiny,” Kaspar conceded. “Rodoski is a man of his word, but few will bother to remember that, and I did promise to leave Olasko.”

“I'll find someone to sponsor you, Kaspar. It can't be me. The Master of the Keep is the last vestige of protection the throne has, and if what I suspect is true, that throne is soon to be under attack.

“The Emperor uses magic to prolong his life, and is now over one hundred years of age. A number of those in the Gallery of Lords and Masters long to see a change. The Emperor's sons are dead and his daughters are long past bearing new heirs.”

“Who stands to inherit?”

“Sezioti, the eldest son of the Emperor's eldest son, but he's not a charismatic leader. His younger brother, Dangai, is very popular. He's a brilliant hunter—and you know as well as any how important that is to the Trueblood—and has been a warrior, and he now oversees the Inner Legion, which is a very powerful position in the Empire.

“Sezioti is a scholar, and while he's well liked, he's not seen as a
natural leader. But he has the support of the Master of Horses, Lord Semalcar, and the Leader of the Royal Charioteers, Lord Rawa, which is more than a match in influence to the Inner Legion.”

“In short, you once more have a divided Gallery of Lords and Masters and a wholesale civil war is not out of the question.”

“I'm sorry to say that is a possibility,” said Turgan Bey.

“I think we have common cause,” said Kaspar.

“Apparently we do,” said Bey. “I'll have quarters made up for you and see about finding someone who can sponsor you to see the Emperor. Trust me, it will be pro forma by the time you appear before His Majesty.” He paused. “But what do we do about Hawkins?”

“Leave him about his business for the time being. Just do what you would have done had he arrived without me.”

“Well enough,” said Bey. “I'll have your servant sent for, and in a day or two we'll start to see what good you can be to us.”

“More than the safety of the Empire rests on this, I should remind you,” said Kaspar. “I may not be welcome in Olasko, but I love my nation and my sister, whom I cherish beyond anyone on this world, and her family are there. A war down here that spills over the borders brings threat to them. Civil war in Kesh can easily breed regional instability.”

Kaspar thought it best not to mention the Talnoy and the risk from the Dasati. Bey had enough on his mind already.

Bey nodded. “I long for simpler times, Kasper, when all I had to worry about were fractious rebels in the south or ambitious Kingdom generals to the north.” He waved Kaspar away and added, “Border wars are so much less complex than all this magic, intrigue, and secret alliances. Rest well. We'll speak again soon.”

Kaspar followed a servant to his new quarters and was pleased to see they were fit for royalty. Seven rooms comprised his apartment, complete with servants—some of whom were astonishingly lovely young women, all wearing the traditional Trueblood garb, the same linen kilt and bare chest affected by the men, with a torque of rank around their throats.

When Pasko arrived, he found Kaspar sitting on a divan, nibbling at a platter of fruit, while two beautiful young women stood by await
ing his instructions. The former teacher of Talon of the Silver Hawk and longtime agent for the Conclave said, “Did all go as planned?”

“As we expected,” said Kaspar. “Lord Bey is everything we were told he would be.”

Both men looked around at their opulent surroundings. Kaspar glanced at one of the girls, who smiled back at him warmly. He then looked at Pasko and said, “Had I thought it would turn out like this, I would have asked for political asylum long ago.”

R
alan Bek was gone.

Nakor sat up, looked around, and saw no sign of the young man. Then something moved just over the top of a small rise to the east of the cave. As he stood, Bek hove into view carrying a large bundle of wooden sticks.

“You're up,” said the young man with a grin, adding, “Obviously.”

“Yes,” said Nakor with a smile. “I am.”

“I noticed the fire burning low and thought I'd get more wood.” Again he added, “Obviously.”

Nakor nodded. “You hungry?”

“Always,” said the young man, putting the firewood down and sitting close to where Nakor fumbled through his rucksack. “No more oranges, I hope. I'm getting the flux.”

Nakor shook his head. “Travel food.” He took out a packet wrapped in oiled paper and said, “Here.”

Bek opened the paper and found half a loaf of bread, some hard cheese, and dried beef. “Not the worst I've eaten,” he said, shoveling the first bite into his mouth.

As they ate, Nakor studied the young man. There was something about him that Nakor almost understood, but he had to look hard, as if somehow it would just take a bit more will to perceive it.

“What?”

“What?”

“You're staring at me. It's…odd.”

Nakor grinned. “You and I have had similar beginnings. My father used to beat me when I wandered off as a boy.” Nakor went on to tell Bek about his own youth, being a gambler, and running into Pug and the other magicians.

“So that explains why the big man in white and gold was here.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I don't understand half of what you're saying, Nakor, but I do understand that these are very important people you're talking about, and important people have powerful allies. And I suppose those things in the cave are important and powerful, too.”

“You sneaked in there?”

Grinning, Bek said, “You know I did. You were awake, I know you were.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I wouldn't have slept if I had thought that someone might try to take advantage of me.”

“Why didn't you?” asked Nakor, then he took another bite of food.

“Because I'm not stupid, even though sometimes things don't make sense to me.”

“So that's why you didn't try to attack me or flee on the first night?”

Bek shrugged. “I have nowhere else to be, and those things in there are as interesting as anything I've seen in a while. And I know not to take stupid chances.”

“And leaving or attacking me would have been stupid?”

Bek nodded. “I've met your type before, Nakor. You act silly and harmless, but you know what you're doing. You wouldn't have stayed here alone with me unless you were confident that you could keep me from hurting you, or you knew you could hurt me.”

Nakor shrugged, and Bek pointed an accusing figure at him. “You're some kind of magic user, right?”

Nakor shrugged again. “I know some tricks.”

Nodding as he chewed, Bek said, “I thought so.”

“What are your plans, Ralan?”

Bek shrugged. “I don't think like that. I just go out and find some lads, find a fight, find a woman, whatever. I don't see the point in making plans. It's not as if I have anything anyone wants; I mean, I can't mill or plow, or do anything that people want to pay you to do. All I can do is fight and ride.”

“There are many places where a man who can fight like you can earn a living.”

“Soldiering!” He spat. “Wear a uniform and take orders—yes sir, no m'lord—and all that? Never. I tried being a mercenary once, but that was boring. I just need—” He stared off into space for a moment, then his dark eyes regarded Nakor. “I'm not sure what I need, but something drives me.”

Nakor nodded. “I think I understand.”

“If you do, then you're the first.” Then he stood up and drew his sword from his scabbard. Nakor's eyes widened slightly but he didn't move. “Trouble's coming,” said Bek.

Then Nakor heard horses on the trail. He stood as Bek crested the rise and started down the track. Nakor hurried to the top of the rise so he could see the vista below.

A hundred yards down the trail he saw two riders approaching Bek. Both reined in and stood their ground when the armed man approached them on foot. As one of them began to speak, Bek leapt an amazing distance, covering the ground between himself and the first rider. Before either horseman could react, Bek swung as hard as he could, and removed the first man's arm at his shoulder.

The other man was momentarily stunned, and then started to
turn his horse to flee. Bek reached back and hurled his sword, launching it like a javelin, and the blade speared the man through the back. He fell from his horse and hit the ground before Nakor could take two steps.

By the time Nakor reached the scene of the carnage, Bek had retrieved his sword and was cleaning the blade on the tunic of one of the two men. “What happened?” asked Nakor.

“You wanted to keep this place a secret.” Bek reached down and took a hat from one of the dead men: a broad-brimmed, black felt thing with a low crown wrapped with a leather hatband and decorated with glass beadwork. “I like this hat,” he said, putting it on his head to see if it fit. He adjusted it, and said, “Nice hat.”

“But—”

Bek shrugged. “Got any more to eat?”

Nakor watched as Ralan Bek calmly marched over the rise. He followed him and found the young man sitting exactly where he had been moments before, and eating what was left on the oiled paper. “Got one of those oranges left?”

Nakor reached in and got one and tossed it to him. “Why did you kill those men? Why not just send them away?”

“Because they would only assume that there was something here and inevitably come back, and maybe bring more men with them. I thought I'd save a lot of needless talking and took care of the problem swiftly. It was either kill two men now, or many more later.” His eyes narrowed as he asked, “Is there something wrong with that?”

Nakor shook his head. “It's murder.”

Bek shrugged. “If they could have killed me, they would have.”

Nakor's voice rose. “In self-defense! I've seen you fight. You tested Tomas, and the only mortal man who could come close to doing that was Talwin Hawkins, and he was a Champion of the Masters' Court! They never stood a chance!”

“Never heard of him.”

“You wouldn't have, down here.” Nakor studied Bek while the young man finished his food. Bek leaned back, looked at Nakor, and said, “Now what are we going to do?”

Nakor said, “We wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For another to come and study those things, so that I can go about some other business.”

“Perhaps I may go with you?” said Bek, flashing a grin.

“Perhaps you should,” said Nakor. “You have an impulsive nature and a complete lack of concern for any consequences.”

“Why should I worry about consequences?” asked Bek. “Someday I'll die; but before that I want to have things, and anyone who stands in my way will suffer for it.” He smiled. “And I enjoy making them suffer if it comes to that. If someone is strong enough to kill me, then it will be over.”

“You don't worry about what will happen when you arise in Lims-Kragma's Hall, to face your judgment?”

Bek shrugged. “Why should I? I am as the gods made me, aren't I? If one of them has a problem with my behavior, then let them act. I can't stand against a god, so if I'm wrong, why hasn't one of them…turned me into a bug yet?” he asked with a laugh. “Because I don't think the gods care what I do. I don't think the gods care what anyone does.” He nodded, as if he had given this a lot of thought. “I guess you could get into trouble if you sacked a temple, or killed a priest for no reason, but if you leave the gods alone, then they leave you alone. That's how I see it.”

Nakor said, “What about friends? Family?”

Bek looked at Nakor. “Do you have friends and family?”

Nakor said, “Family, no. I had a wife once, but that was a very long time ago. But friends? Yes, I have many friends, the most and best I've ever had, right now. People whom I trust and who trust me.”

“Then you're lucky, I suppose.” Bek looked off into the distance as if he were seeing something in the air.

“Sometimes I think that there's something about me that scares people. I never find I have much in common with most of them.” He looked at Nakor. “Mostly I find young bravos to ride with, looking for a good time, trouble, or quick gold. From time to time I meet a few I like; usually lads who really enjoy a brawl. There was this one lad, Casamir, he liked to drink and fight. It didn't matter if there was
no reason for it; he just would find somebody, hit them, and start one. He really enjoyed pain.” Bek's eyes shone as he talked. “I enjoyed watching him beat up people, until a guardsman down in Kiptak broke his head with the butt of a sword. I finished off the guardsman but had to flee Kiptak. So now I travel with whoever I find who's looking for fun, but there's nobody I'd call a true friend.”

Nakor was silent as he considered what he knew about this young man, which was very little, and what he suspected, which was a great deal. Finally he said, “When did you start hearing voices?”

Bek stared at Nakor for a long minute then said, “When I was about eight or nine years old. How do you know about the voices?”

“Because I heard them when I was that age, too.”

“What did they say to you?” asked Bek, looking eagerly at Nakor as he waited for an answer.

“That I…needed to be somewhere else.”

Bek's face lit up as he smiled. “That's what I hear, too.” Then he lost the smile. “That and other things.”

“What other things?” asked Nakor.

“I don't know.” Bek shrugged and looked down. “Sometimes they're not really voices, but…feelings that I need to do something. Hurt someone. Take something. Go somewhere.” He looked back at the cave. “That's how I felt when I heard about this cave. Some of the boys with me didn't want to bother, but I knew I had to come here.”

Nakor nodded. “When did the dreams start?”

Bek closed his eyes, as if something suddenly pained him. “I don't remember not having them.” He opened his eyes and again stared into space. “They're—”

After a moment of silence, Nakor said gently, “They are what?”

Bek looked at Nakor. “It's like I'm looking through a window or standing on a tower looking down. I see things…places…people doing things.” He looked away again. “Violent things, Nakor. I see battles, rapes, burning cities…Sometimes it can be too much for me. It's like when you meet a girl who likes to be slapped when you're coupling, and so you slap her. And then you reach the point where she wants you to stop…and you're there, with your hand
held back and you know that she's not enjoying it any more, but you also know that hitting her just one more time will feel so good. She gets frightened and starts crying, but that only makes you feel even better. But if you hit her now, she'll stop being afraid because she'll be unconscious—”

“Or dead,” said Nakor softly.

Bek shrugged. “Or dead. It's that place in the middle, it's being on the edge of it, knowing that in an instant everything could change. It's like jumping your horse over something that may just be a little too high, or the feeling of running through a door, knowing that just inside the room someone's waiting to kill you.” His eyes were wide now and he stared at Nakor with a manic expression. “I always wake with a sense of dread and as if I'm waiting for something to happen.”

“Constant anticipation?”

“Yes! Anticipation, as if those scenes are…just out of reach…you know?” He lost his frenzied expression and his face resolved into a mask of thoughtfulness.

“Yes,” said Nakor softly. “I know.”

Bek's features distorted once again. “But if I do the things—” He held his hand open and looked at his palm. “If I hit the girl. Hard. Really hard. Or if I ride the horse over the jump—even if it guts itself on the fence or breaks a leg landing—or if I run through the door and kill whoever's there—”

“The dreams stop for a while,” finished Nakor.

“Yes!” said Bek, standing up. “You do understand! How do you know?”

“Because many years ago I had dreams, too.”

“Did they make you do things?”

Nakor shrugged. “If I acted on them they did stop for a while, yes. I became a gambler, and if I cheated someone out of a lot of money, then the dreams would stop for a few days. I became a confidence trickster, and if I swindled someone, they would stop for a week or so. The greater the harm I did by cheating, lying, and stealing, the longer I went without the dreams.”

Bek shook his head. “If I start a fight, or get someone to do something—”

“Bad?”

Bek shrugged. “I don't understand bad or good, I just know what I want to do. If I force someone to do something they don't want to do—”

“Such as?”

Bek said, “About two years ago Drago and me were in a town near Lanada. Drago was this man I met at a whorehouse down there. We were both drunk and we took these two girls upstairs—I don't know whose idea that was, his or mine.” Bek's eyes grew distant once more, as if he were seeing what he remembered. “One of the whores liked being slapped around—I always ask for those. This one was a tiger. She'd whoop and holler and scratch and bite.” He fell silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Anyway, somewhere along the way it got rougher than she liked, I suppose, because she went from whooping and hollering to crying and screaming. Drago grabbed my arm and told me to stop, so I killed him. Then both girls were screaming, so I killed them, too.” Bek looked at Nakor. “I really don't know how things got so out of hand, but they did.”