Flight of the Nighthawks (19 page)

“It's a month away,” said Caleb.

“Well, she and the girls are buying things right now. I believe her husband is some governor or an important man in one of the southern provinces, and he's coming up to pay his respects to the Imperial family, or something like that. She tells me nothing, so I've had to piece that information together over the last week. They'll be here a while, so”—again he looked at the boys—“if you want to keep your heads on your shoulders give the girls room. The Trueblood have no sense of humor when it comes to their daughters' association with common boys.”

Tad and Zane glanced at one another and Tad shrugged. “We'll behave ourselves,” he said.

Caleb gripped them both by the shoulders again and said, “I'll make sure they do. Now, let's get cleaned up and have something to eat. I have a quick errand I must run, and then we can see some of the city in the evening. Tomorrow, we start working.”

Tad and Zane nodded. They knew that working had two meanings, and they were very nervous about the one that wouldn't be obvious.

 

Zane pointed. “Look at those.”

Tad nodded and they approached the vendor whose booth was set up against the southernmost boundary wall of the main bazaar in
the Hajana District of the lower city. The boys had been in Kesh a week now and were still hard-pressed not to get lost.

They had carried out the same mission each day while Caleb was off on his own business. They wandered the merchant districts of the city, paying attention to everything they saw, and then at the end of the day they told Caleb what they had witnessed. Their cover story was that they were scouting for possible items of interest to sell in the north—Krondor specifically—and that they were from the Vale of Dreams, hence their odd accents.

The newness of the Keshian city was beginning to wear off, though they were still easily distracted by some of its younger female inhabitants who passed by. Dress customs ranged from head-to-toe tribal dress that left only the eyes exposed, to the near-nudity of the Oshani lion hunters, Dingazi cattle herders, and the Truebloods themselves. The boys would often stand in mute amazement as a dark-skinned girl of alien beauty walked by, ignoring the gawking northern youths. But even that distraction was beginning to wear off as they grew accustomed to it. And from a couple of ill-timed overtures made to passing girls in the city, they had learned that outlanders were seen as barely worthy of civility, let alone friendliness. Caleb had warned them that Kesh was an empire of many nations, some of whom were bitter enemies of others, and only the iron rule of the Emperor kept them from open warfare. Civility was a function of the rule of law, not a social concern.

Zane motioned for Tad to follow him to the vendor's table, passing a hawker offering lemon-flavored cool water from an earthenware jar strapped to his back. The boys were dressed in their lightest clothes and were still not used to the heat, though they had been told that the city would get even hotter over the next few months.

The items that had caught Zane's eye were an unusual bunch of religious icons. Some of them were familiar to the boys, but others weren't. They examined them under the wary gaze of the merchant, who appeared ready in case they attempted to dash off with an item without paying for it. After a few minutes, he demanded, “Buy now or move along. I have no time for such as you.”

Tad's eyes widened. He had been repeatedly scolded to buy or
move on by merchants all week, for penniless boys held no interest for them. He said, “My master bids us find salable items to take north and sell in the Kingdom of the Isles.”

“And who might your master be, O host to a thousand fleas?”

Zane tried not to laugh. He found the usual insults of the market extremely amusing. Tad just got irritated. “Caleb, a merchant of wealth and standing in the Vale of Dreams. He trades from one end of the Bitter Sea to the other. Do you have sources that can supply curiosities such as these in quantity?”

Still appearing dubious, the merchant nevertheless modified his tone and said, “If that is true, it would be a matter of what constitutes ‘quantity.' Some of these items are of great craftsmanship and took many days to fashion.”

Zane stood examining the various icons and amulets. He held one up and stared at it even more intently. Slowly he put it back. Tad said, “Say, perhaps a dozen of each of the more common gods worshiped in the north?”

“A week, two perhaps,” said the man, smelling a possible windfall.

Zane grabbed Tad's wrist and squeezed, saying, “We will speak to our master and if he's interested, we will return tomorrow.”

Zane didn't wait for Tad to add anything more, and half steered, half pushed him away from the booth. When they were lost in the crowd and far from the merchant's view, Tad said, “What?”

“One of those icons looked like the one Caleb told us to watch for. The thing looked like a hawk.”

Tad glanced over his shoulder and then said, “We should get back to the Three Willows and tell him.”

The boys hurried off and took the shortest route back to the inn they could remember, though it still took them almost an hour to find it.

Caleb sat at a table in the corner with another man, a stocky fellow wearing a red turban, a heavy brocade vest—despite the summer's heat—over the finest linen shirt. His face was dark, like sun-tanned leather, and his darker eyes regarded the boys as they approached the table.

Zane halted while Tad said, “Caleb, may we speak to you for a moment, please?”

Caleb turned to look at the boys and said, “You're back early.”

“We found something we think you might be interested in,” said Zane.

Caleb nodded as the other man stood. “Boys, this is Chezarul, a trader from the west of the Empire. He's as stingy in a bargain as he is generous with his friends.” To the man, he said, “These are my adopted sons.”

“Then I bid you welcome to the greatest city in the world. You are welcome guests in my home from now until the end of your days.” He bowed, and then shook hands with each of the boys.

Chezarul took his chair again and Tad said, “Caleb, if we could have a moment, in private…?”

Both men rose and Caleb said, “If you will excuse me?”

Chezarul bowed and said, “Bring the boys to my shop tomorrow, Caleb.”

He departed and they moved upstairs to the privacy of their room. “What is it?”

Zane quickly described what they had seen and said, “I don't know if it's the same amulet you told us to watch out for, but it could be.”

“I wish I had thought to show you the one in my father's possession,” said Caleb. “There were just too many things going on when we left.” He paused, then nodded. “I'll go with you tomorrow, and if the vendor is there, we'll purchase some of his trinkets, with a promise to buy more. That should move him to contact his supplier and we can have him followed.” He put his hand on Zane's shoulder. “You did well.”

Zane looked pleased with himself.

“I've got some errands to attend to for the next two hours. Go and do whatever you wish, but try not to find too much trouble. Be back here in two hours and we'll have supper together.”

“Yes, Caleb,” said Tad as their stepfather left the room.

“What now?” asked Tad.

“I don't know,” answered Zane. “We could just rest here for a while?”

“Too hot,” he said. “I'd just as soon keep exploring and see if
there's anywhere we might be welcome—someplace to have some fun.”

Zane grinned. “You mean someplace where the girls won't spit on us just because we have an odd accent.”

“That, too,” said Tad, returning the grin. “I hear there's a small plaza over by the eastern caravanserai gate where foreigners gather. Maybe there…?”

As Zane pulled the door wide open, he was confronted by a momentarily confusing sight. A slightly portly older woman, dressed in the fashion of the Trueblood, moved down the hall to his right, followed by two beautiful girls. Both were dressed like their mother, in linen skirts fastened with brooches at the hip and wearing decorative torques around their necks. A great deal of beadwork adorned their hair, and rings and bracelets made a racket as they moved. One of the girls caught his eye and smiled at him, while the other seemed intent upon something her mother was saying.

Zane halted suddenly and Tad bumped into him, forcing Zane to step into the hall. The girl who had turned to see who was at the door giggled and moved aside, causing her sister to also look in the boy's direction. Zane was on the verge of uttering an apology for startling them, when their mother turned to see the two somewhat disheveled boys, still covered in grime from their day in the city under the sweltering sun.

“Mamanaud!” she said, her voice rising to an angry tone, and she pointed at the boys.

Zane turned to look at Tad and said, “Mamanaud?”

Just then, two fists the size of hams gripped the boys' shoulders and the largest man they had ever seen shoved them hard, back into their room. Both lads collapsed in a heap, while in the hall, the older woman screamed what sounded vaguely like insults at them. The large man entered the room and pulled a very long, very sharp curved dagger from his belt.

Everything had taken place so quickly, the boys were not quite sure what had happened. The huge man took a menacing step toward them but suddenly a sword blade rested on his shoulder at the crook
of his neck, and a voice from behind him said, “Try not to move, my friend, unless you wish to bleed profusely.”

The huge man frowned and froze in mid-step, his face looking like a dark brown pumpkin with eyes and a tiny nose above his broad mouth. The woman shouted something unintelligible from the hall and a man's voice answered her. “I'm sure it was all just a misunderstanding, madam, and the boys meant no harm or insult.”

Still prevented from seeing anything through the door by the motionless behemoth who occupied their entire field of vision, the boys then heard the voice of Pablo Maguire saying, “What is going on here?”

A three-voiced conversation then ensued; the woman shouting in an almost hysterical pitch, while two male voices appeared to be trying to assuage her concerns.

The big man in the doorway put his dagger away slowly and backed out the door, so now the boys could see a swordsman standing behind him, his blade resting on the man's neck. “Now, I'm going to remove my sword from your neck,” he said, “and you'll go see to your mistress without any more fuss.”

The bodyguard moved forward a step and turned. Just before he could face the wielder of the blade, he found the point of the weapon at his neck once more. “Ah ah ah!” said the young man holding the sword. “That wouldn't be very wise.”

The big man stepped away, threw a nasty glance at the two boys, and turned and vanished into the room at the end of the hall.

The man with the sword walked over to the door and said, “You boys all right?”

Tad and Zane both nodded. Tad said, “We are in your debt.”

“Not really,” said the man, putting his sword into its scabbard. He had dark hair and blue eyes, and his movements were cat-quick. He smiled and looked younger than he had a moment before. “I followed them up the stairs, and when I saw the confusion ahead of me, I thought it best to keep that mountain of a man—assuming he is human and not some troll they've shaved—from gutting you two.” He glanced around. “Actually, I was looking for a man named Caleb.”

“That's our stepfather,” said Zane. “He's going to be gone for a while.”

“Ah,” said the swordsman. “Well, I guess I need to come back later. How long might he be?”

“He said two hours,” answered Tad. “We were going to do some more exploring over by the eastern caravanserai.”

He nodded. “I think I shall wait here for a few more minutes.” He indicated the end of the hall with a lift of his chin. “Just to make sure you're not followed. I don't think Caleb would appreciate me letting you get turned into chopped meat any time soon.”

“I'm Tad, and this is Zane.”

The man bowed, and the boys could see he was finely dressed. “I'm Talwin Hawkins, an old friend of Caleb's.” He winked at the boys. “Go on, then; see if you can find yourselves some fun that doesn't involve bloodshed.”

He stood aside as the boys left the room and then followed them into the hall and down the stairs. Reaching the common room, Tal said, “I have a message for Caleb, when you see him.”

“Sir?” asked Tad.

“Tell him the usual time, same place, tomorrow night. Got it?”

Tad repeated the message back to him.

“I need to be off, just in case.”

“Just in case, sir?” asked Zane.

“Yes, exactly,” said Tal, moving toward the door. “If I were you, I would head outside and keep yourselves busy until Caleb returns. That bodyguard up there could eat you both for lunch and still have room for an ox.” He disappeared out the door.

Tad looked at Zane. “Well, we still have some daylight. Let's wander around the bazaar.”

Seeing no reasonable alternative, the boys returned outside and decided to use the last hours of sunlight for something more enjoyable than being thrashed by Mamanaud.

N
akor looked around.

“What exactly are we looking for?”

Pug motioned around himself, swinging his arm in a wide arc ahead of them. “Since Leso Varen fled Olasko, we've been trying to find the range of his ‘death rifts,' for lack of a better term.”

“That much I know,” said Nakor, walking though knee-high grass.

They were standing with Ralan Bek in the middle of a wide grassland that swept down from the mountains to the east, approximately three days' ride from the border between the Kingdom of the Isles and the Duchy of Maladon and Semrick. Had they traveled by horseback from the nearest city, Maladon, it would have taken another four days.

Bek stood watching the two men wandering through the grass in front of him and laughed. “Are we going to be walking around in circles all day?”

Pug glanced at the troubling young man and nodded. “If need be. Over a year ago we found evidence of some very powerful, very dark magic, and without boring you further, let's just say that there is a relationship between that magic and a great deal of trouble yet to come.

“It would help us if we could find…the track, if you will, between the place this magic originated—in Olakso's capital, Opardum—and somewhere else. Our best calculations indicate that we should find a place where we can pick up that trail somewhere near here, if that makes sense.”

Bek shook his head and laughed. “You name places I've never heard of. One moment it's mid-winter, and the next it's summer. You speak with a strange tongue, yet I can still understand most of what you say.

“Besides,” he added with another laugh. “I was not given the choice about being here or not. So, here I am.” He narrowed his gaze at Pug. “And none of it makes sense.”

Pointing to a stand of trees a hundred yards to the north, he added, “But I think you'll find what you're looking for over there.”

Pug raised his eyebrows as he looked at Nakor, who shrugged. The two men turned toward the trees and Nakor said, “I don't sense anything.”

“Varen worked hard to disguise his work. Look how long it took us to trace the link this far.”

Turning to Bek, Nakor said, “Stay here so we can mark this spot if we find nothing in the trees.”

Bek took off the black hat he had taken from the man he had killed at the Talnoys' cave and feigned a courtly bow. “Your wish is my command, Nakor.”

The two old friends walked toward the trees and Pug said, “Have you thought about what we should do with him?”

Nakor said, “The simple solution is to kill him.”

“We've murdered for our cause, but only when we judged that
there was no other way.” Pug glanced back at Bek who stood quietly where they had told him to wait. “And had you thought that there was no other way, I am certain you would never have brought him to Sorcerer's Isle.”

“True. Potentially, he may be the most dangerous man we have ever encountered.” Nakor reached into his bag, pulled out an orange, and offered it to Pug who shook his head. The little gambler started to peel it. “As powerful as he is at twenty summers old, can you imagine what he might become in a hundred years, two hundred?”

“Will he survive that long?” asked Pug as they reached the edge of the trees.

“Look at you, me, and Miranda,” said Nakor as they stepped between the boles. The white and brown peeling bark confused their vision for a moment, as did the sudden shadow after standing out in the midday sun. “You and Miranda have powerful magic to keep you young, but me, I only have my tricks.”

Pug nodded, smiling indulgently. “Call it what you will, Nakor. I'll concede that your talent has no logic or system to it, but you may still be the most adept practitioner of magic on this world.”

Nakor shrugged. “I don't think so, but that's not the point.” He lowered his voice, as if there were a remote chance Bek could overhear them. “I have something inside me, Pug. I don't know what it is, but I know it's been here”—he tapped his chest—“since I was a boy.

“I am like Bek in some ways. But I think that whatever it is inside of me, it is not a piece of the Nameless One. But it is similar. I think that's why I can do all my tricks.”

Pug nodded. “We've drunk many a cup of wine before the fire while discussing this sort of thing, Nakor.”

“But this is not a theory any more, Pug. He is real.” He pointed in Bek's direction. “And when I touched that thing within him, there was no doubt about what I found. No doubt at all.”

Pug nodded, saying nothing.

“One of our favorite discussions is about the nature of the gods.”

“Many times,” said Pug.

“I once told you that I suspected that there is an ultimate god. A
being that is connected to everything—I mean everything, Pug. And everything below him, her, or it is also connected.”

“I remember. It's as good an explanation for how the universe hangs together as any I've heard. Your theory is that the Greater Gods, the Lesser Gods, and all other beings were this ultimate god's attempt to understand himself.”

“I've said that he's like a baby before—pushing things off a table to watch them fall, over and over and over. Watching and trying to understand what is happening. But we are talking about a time scale of millions of years, billions, perhaps. This supreme being has all the time in the world, more—it has all the time there ever was or will be.

“Would it then not make sense that the gods beneath this one might also somehow reach down and touch lesser beings, so they might, too, come to understand their place in the universe?”

“So the Nameless One placed a tiny piece of himself inside Bek in order to learn about his place in the universe?”

“No,” said Nakor. “It's possible, but I don't think that is his intention.

“I think the Nameless One has had many agents like Varen working on his behalf over the years.” Nakor looked at Pug. “Tell me about him.”

“You've heard all I know already.”

“Tell me about the time you first encountered him.”

“When I got word of him, he was already an accomplished practitioner of the dark arts. Arutha was the prince in Krondor then, and Duke James his principal agent, a young baron at the time; he, my son, and one of my most able students confronted a magician named Sidi, who I now believe was Varen in a different body.”

“I remember that story about the amulet,” said Nakor. “No one's ever found it, have they?”

Pug shook his head. “It's still out there somewhere. Until the assault on Elvandar and our island last year, seizing the Tear of the Gods was Varen's last overt attempt at bringing chaos to our world.

“Between those events he was content to work in quiet, out-of-the-way places.”

“Like Kaspar of Olasko's Citadel?” asked Nakor with a grin.

“Hardly an out-of-the way place, I'll grant you, but how many people knew he was there? It was a very well kept secret outside Kaspar's household,” Pug said. “His necromancy has given him the power to move from body to body. My research indicates that somewhere there is a vessel in which his true
soul
—for lack of a better term—resides. This allows his mind to capture bodies and use them at will.

“He will not stop until he destroys the Conclave or any other opposition to his mission, which is simply to propagate evil at every hand. So, he is a problem.” Pug pointed in Bek's direction. “And now, from what you say, we have another one right over there.”

“But I don't think he's like Varen,” said Nakor, tossing aside the orange peel. “Varen was recruited, or seduced, or trapped, conned, or whatever term you like, either with the promise of power or eternal life or something. No sane man gives himself over willingly to evil.”

“There is nothing sane about Leso Varen.”

“But he may have been at one time,” said Nakor, “merely a luckless man who blundered into the wrong place at the wrong time. That amulet you spoke of can take over a weak-willed man and drive him mad. And sanity is all that stands between good and evil.

“There is no possibility that this young man will be remotely sane in a few more years. He's already lost any sense of morality; he is driven by impulse and little else.”

“What possible use can we have for a man with no morality, no moral compunctions against doing evil?”

“We found a use for Kaspar, didn't we?” asked Nakor.

Pug was silent for a moment, then said, “Point taken, but he was under Varen's influence. This lad is directly touched by the Nameless One. Isn't that a difference?”

“I don't know, Pug, but I know we either have to kill him soon, before he becomes too dangerous, or try to change him somehow.”

“I can understand your reluctance to kill him outright, Nakor, but why the desire to change him?”

“Because what if my surmise is correct, that the gods put tiny pieces of themselves in us to learn?”

“Fair enough, but you said you doubted the Nameless One was motivated by such.”

“Yes,” said Nakor with another grin. “But there are often unintended consequences of our acts. What if we can send back this tiny message that without a balance, and without good, evil cannot exist?”

“From what you've surmised, would it make any difference?”

“It must, for it is the nature of reality. Consider the ancient symbol of the ying and yang, the circle contains both black and white, but within the white is a spot of black, and within the black a spot of white! Opposing forces, but each with a touch of the other within. While he may be mad, the Nameless One must recognize it as a fundamental truth.”

Pug laughed ruefully. “We may never know, and that is fine, for the gods have given us limited scope in our powers and knowledge. I'm content with that. But I must put those things I can understand and control ahead of your theories, no matter how wondrous they may be.

“In the end, should Bek prove a threat to the Conclave, I will destroy him as I would step on a cockroach. Without hesitation. Are we clear on this?”

“Very,” said Nakor, losing his grin. “But I think we need to study this youngster for a while longer before destroying him.”

“Agreed, but I want you to consult with others back at the island. And before that, I want you back in Novindus with the Talnoy. They are a real and immediate threat. We need to find a way to control them without using that ring.”

Nakor nodded in agreement. The ring that controlled the Talnoy had the unfortunate side effect of driving the wearer mad.

Pug looked around. “Now, let's see if we can find that trail.”

“It's over there,” said Nakor, pointing to a tiny shimmering fragment hanging about five feet in the air, among some brush. “I noticed it while we were talking.”

Pug hurried over to the tiny fragment of energy, less than eighteen inches long, floating in the air, between two branches of a bush. “We could have been out here for years,” said Pug. “How do you think the boy knew?”

Nakor shrugged. “This is a very evil thing, and given his nature…?”

“You think he's somehow attuned?”

“Apparently,” replied Nakor. He studied the tiny energy fragment. “Do you have any idea how this thing works?”

“When I fought against the magic of Murmandamus, under the city of Sethanon, I encountered something like this, but far less subtle. It was the brute force approach to the problem. This is delicate, almost…artistic.”

“Given the carnage we found in that abattoir Varen lived in at Kaspar's citadel, this is unexpected,” Nakor observed.

“Varen might be a murderous madman, but he's not stupid. In fact, were he sane, he might have been a valuable asset to us.”

“Were he sane, there might not be any ‘us,' Pug.”

“Not the Conclave, perhaps, but there would have been some group of us or another working together.”

Nakor studied it and said, “Where does this go?” He pointed to the tiny thread of energy, a shimmering silver-green light that was no more than a foot long.

Pug pointed to the end that was closest to himself. “This comes from the last place it manifested. There's a quality about it that is the same.” He pointed to the east. “About a hundred or so miles that way.”

“Did it look like this?”

“No,” said Pug softly. “There it was a sphere, about the size of a grape. And it was somehow anchored in place by energy that tethered it to the ground. It was invisible to the eye and without substance, so you could walk through it and never notice. It took a particularly adept spell to reveal it to us. This appears to be…” He looked back along the line of the energy, as if seeing something. “I don't know how he did this. It looks as if…” Then his eyes widened. “He's found a way to make this energy jump, Nakor!”

“What do you mean by ‘jump'?”

“This end here,” Pug said, pointing, “is not a hundred miles from the sphere. It's connected to it.” He stood silent a moment, then said, “It's akin to the Tsurani spheres we use to transport ourselves from place to place.”

“But those are devices,” said Nakor.

“Miranda doesn't need a sphere,” said Pug softly. “She can will herself from place to place if she knows where she's going.”

“But no one else can.”

Pug smiled. “So I thought, but you forgot to use one when you left the cave on the island the last time we met.”

Nakor shrugged. “It's a trick.”

Pug nodded. “She's been trying to teach Magnus and me the trick, then; we still haven't gotten it, but then we've only been working on it twenty years or so.”

“If that end attaches to the sphere,” said Nakor, “where does the other end attach?”

Pug squinted at it, as if he might see where it led. After a few minutes of almost motionless study, his eyes grew round. “Nakor,” he whispered, as if afraid to raise his voice.