Flight of the Nighthawks (31 page)

“What is today's agenda?” asked Pasko, for he had not been inside the palace for two days.

“The usual receptions and parties, and the first big gala of the festival.”

“With Banapis but two nights away,” said Pasko, “you fear Varen will move soon?”

Kaspar shrugged. “When he lived in my citadel, Varen ignored almost all state functions, unless I specifically asked him to join us. He seemed oblivious to the social side of things. He's probably skulking around the lowest parts of the palace, dressed as a rat catcher or the middens cleaner, setting magical devices that will destroy us in a single instant.”

“Caleb said that his father is convinced Varen is highly placed here in the palace, one able to quickly bring the nation to a crisis.”

“Pug may be wrong,” said Kaspar. “He's a powerful enough man, and a bright fellow, but I'm sure he'll be the first to tell you that he's made his share of mistakes. No, for all we know, Varen is a cook poisoning tonight's meal, and tomorrow, we could all be dead.” Kaspar tapped his chin. “Unless—”

“Unless what, m'lord?”

“Unless he requires an audience to—” He turned to Pasko. “Could it possibly be?”

“Could what be, m'lord?” said the old servant, looking confused.

“I have an idea. It's far-fetched, but Pug should hear it. Have him meet me at—” He looked at Pasko again. “Send word to Caleb that I need to see him. I'll be at his inn at midday.”

Pasko nodded and hurried into the suite of rooms. Kaspar was left alone on the balcony, considering what he realized was probably the most preposterous of theories, but the only one he could come up with that met all the criteria they had discussed about Varen's purpose here in Kesh.

He stood alone for an hour, reexamining what he knew and what he feared, and the more he pondered the question, the more he knew he was right.

 

“You're mad,” said Miranda as Kaspar finished explaining his suspicions to her, Pug, and Caleb.

“Varen's mad,” he answered. “I may be wrong. There's a difference.”

Pug said, “He would face the least amount of scrutiny of all the people in the palace, as long as he's fulfilling the functions of his office and not speaking to anyone suspicious…it is possible.”

Miranda said, “I cannot believe it. Someone would have noticed by now.”

“Maybe someone did, but there are so many twists within turns in Keshian politics that should a spy go missing or a minor minister…” Kaspar's eyes widened. “Maybe we've been making the wrong assumption about why the Keshian nobles are being murdered.”

Pug nodded. “Perhaps they are not being murdered because they support Prince Sezioti, but because they noticed something.”

Kaspar said, “I must get back to the palace and arrange to see Turgan Bey. I need to find out where those nobles were the week before each of them was killed.”

“If what you suspect turns out to be the truth,” said Miranda, “we'll have the seven lower hells' own time trying to prove it.”

“We can't prove it,” said Pug. “Those who would believe us are already in our ranks. Those who oppose us might know, but they
won't care, and those in the middle will think Kaspar is mad or a criminal.” He looked at Kaspar.

Caleb had been sitting quietly to one side, and he said, “I understand some of the logic you used to come to this conclusion, Kaspar. But how can you be so certain?”

Kaspar said, “The brothers' obvious love for each other. They may have had different mothers, but they are very close. The way they talk to each other, about each other…Warring factions are part of Keshian tradition, but the parties backing the princes seem to be ignoring the fact that neither would raise a finger in opposition if their father were to name the other as heir.

“If anyone raised a hand against Sezioti, Dangai would raise his sword to protect his brother and order the Inner Legion to join with the Imperial Guard. Sezioti may not be the warrior his younger brother is, but he would do the same for Dangai.

“No, I am convinced. Someone is weaving this rivalry out of thin air and killing those who may have suspected that something was wrong in the palace. I need to speak with Turgan Bey.”

Pug nodded. “Take Magnus with you disguised as a servant. He's in the other room with Nakor and Bek.” To Caleb he said, “I think it's time for you to send the boys back to the island. Once you've seen them safely home, return here for the festival. If, as Kaspar suspects, that's the day Varen makes his move—he'll want do it in front of as many members of the Gallery of Lords and Masters as possible.”

Caleb hesitated, and Pug said, “What?”

“Father, I want to keep the boys here.”

“Why? It's almost certain to turn bloody in a hurry.”

“I'll keep them on the edge of things, but sooner or later they will have to be tested. They've done well so far, even better than I could have hoped for, but we're going to need every sword we can muster.”

“Even Jommy?” said Pug. “I've not even met the lad.”

“He's able to look after himself. He may not have trained with a sword, but he's a brawler and keeps his wits about him. I'll make sure they know they're reserves, but I want them close.”

Pug conceded. “You've taken the responsibility as their father, Caleb. It's your decision.” He smiled. “Just be careful.”

Pug looked at Kaspar as he readied to leave. “I hope you're right in your suspicions, for then we will have this over in two days, but I pray you are not, for so much will weigh on our ability to convince a palace of angry Keshian nobles we are protecting their nation. I will be close and you have the amulet. If I judge Varen correctly, he'll be waiting for me to appear, but he may not be ready for all of us. If we can provoke him into revealing himself before the entire court, we may yet save this nation, and this entire world.”

Kaspar said nothing as he left, but the grim expression he wore mirrored how Caleb, Miranda, and Pug felt.

Caleb stood up and said, “I'll go and ready the boys.”

As he made to leave, both his parents hugged him, and Miranda said, “I wish you'd reconsider and take the boys to the island, and you'd make me happy if you stayed with them.”

“Why?”

“You've a wife, now—”

“And three stepsons, apparently,” said his father.

Caleb smiled. “Jommy will grow on you. He's a good boy. But you need swords with you, Father, and with Tal injured, I should be at your side. What was it Nakor used to say about magicians in battle? ‘One magician throw spell. Second magician counter spell. First magician throw second spell, second magician try to stop him. Soldier walk up and chop up first magician while he's trying to think of what to throw next.'”

Pug laughed. “It was something like that, but don't let him hear you imitating him like that, you'll hurt his feelings.

“Kaspar will be there,” said Pug. “And it won't be one magician facing Varen, but three of us.”

“And Nakor,” said Miranda, “and that odd boy he has following him around.”

Caleb said, “If you order me to stay at the island I will, Father, but I would rather be here.”

Pug stayed silent for a long moment, before he said, “I want you
to stay on the island.” He hugged Caleb again. “But you're right; I need you here.”

Pug said, “Miranda, keep an eye on things until I return, will you?”

“Where are you going?”

“To the island for a while. I think I may have an idea that might help us.”

Miranda kissed her husband, then he produced an orb and vanished. She motioned for her son and they left the room to fetch the three boys.

Final good-byes were said, and Kaspar and Magnus left for the palace, stopping along the way to buy Magnus his disguise. Nakor bade the boys and Caleb good luck, and after they and everyone had departed, he said to Miranda, “Now?”

Pulling out a chair and sitting down, Miranda said, “Now we order something to eat, and we wait.”

Ralan Bek looked at her and said, “Is there something I can do?”

Nakor walked around the lad and put his hands on his shoulders. “Soon, my young friend. Soon.”

K
aspar scanned the crowd.

The gala would be the centerpiece of the great Midsummer Festival of Banapis, the oldest known holiday in the world. Its origins were lost in antiquity, going back before the oldest recorded history. It was a day belonging to neither the past nor the coming year. According to legend, Banapis, known by other names in other nations, was celebrated over the entire world of Midkemia.

Kaspar had discovered that today the Midwinter Festival would be celebrated down in Novindus, and when it was midwinter here in Kesh and the other northern nations, it would be midsummer down there. He idly wondered if the extra Midsummer Day that he experienced the year before in Novindus really counted, and whether it truly made him an extra year older.

Both Pasko and Amafi were in attendance, as with Caleb elsewhere, Amafi had no further duties, and Kaspar had decided he could use an extra pair of eyes in the crowd. He knew that Magnus had secreted himself somewhere in the assembly, and that Pug and Miranda were able to arrive at a moment's notice. He wished that Hawkins were recovered, for he knew his sword was irreplaceable. And where Nakor had got to was anybody's guess.

“This is the intimate celebration, Magnificence?” asked Amafi.

“It is if you're the Emperor of Kesh,” responded Pasko. “Only his closest friends and dearest relatives are here.”

“All ten thousand of them,” said Kaspar dryly.

The plaza that marked the lowest edge of the upper plateau at the end of the palace proper was as big as the entire inner bailey of the citadel at Opardum. Kaspar's entire army could have assembled here without two soldiers rubbing elbows.

The plaza itself was divided into three levels. The Imperial family would sit upon the highest—a relatively small platform that could be reached from within the palace itself. There would be approximately five hundred personages of significant rank there with them. Had Kaspar still held the title of duke, he would be up there today. However, as a lowly suppliant he was relegated to the second platform, where the majority of guests would stand.

Along the entire edge of the second level a flight of six stone steps descended to the third level, but even without guards or barriers, those on the lowest level knew their place. The lack of guards was the Keshian gesture to the idea that during Banapis, rank held no meaning. In the Kingdom of Isles and Roldem the king might mix with the commoners in the street upon this day, but in Great Kesh, it was simply the absence of a thousand white-clad Imperial Household Guards that signaled the equality of this myth.

Kaspar knew that to mount those steps to the second level without permission would instantly reveal where the guards were hiding, and to try to reach the upper platform where the Emperor sat would invite certain death. And at some point, Kaspar reasoned,
he
would be the one attempting to reach that highest platform. He glanced to either side of the raised area. Unlike the lower two sections, the Impe
rial platform was high enough above the second level to effectively be a giant balcony, with a suitably impossible wall to climb. Easy access was only possible via the steps on either side, or by retreating into the palace proper, navigating up to that level, then somehow getting through the royal apartments or the Gallery of Lords and Masters.

The steps were guarded by a dozen white-clad Imperial Household Guards, and nothing short of a squad of trained soldiers would win past them. Kaspar turned to Amafi and Pasko and said, “Seems to me if we're gong to get up there, we'd best seek the back entrance.”

Amafi smiled. “I know the route, Magnificence.”

“Let me guess,” Pasko offered dryly. “You've assassinated a Keshian prince before?”

“Not quite,” said the former killer in his self-effacing way just as revelers started to hurry past them. “I once was commissioned to remove a young courtier who was becoming a problem to a minor functionary here in the palace. The courtier was Trueblood, the functionary wasn't, and his wife was indiscreet. Sadly, the courtier choked on an olive pit during the celebration, up on that very plaza.” Amafi smiled. “Truly one of my more subtle undertakings.”

Kaspar said, “Well, the sun is setting and chaos will arrive shortly, so let's take advantage of it. I have noticed over the years that for the most part people do not bother you when you look as if you know what you're doing, so let us appear so.” He motioned for the two servants to lead on, and followed them as more and more people arrived in the middle plaza.

It took longer than he had anticipated to reach the entrance to the palace, and as he had said, merely by looking as if they had a purpose to their movements, the guards at the main entrance let them pass without question.

“How long has it been?” asked Kaspar, already knowing the answer.

“Three hours, m'lord,” said Pasko. “Almost three hours to the minute.”

“If we're late, he may not tarry.”

“If he won't spare you five extra minutes,” said Amafi, “you didn't impress upon him the importance of the meeting sufficiently.”

“He has duties,” said Kaspar, picking up the pace. “We're late.”

They arrived at a doorway in a hall, guarded by two members of the Household Guard. As they hurried forward, Kaspar said, “I'll have your hide if we are late, Amafi!”

For a brief instant the guard on the right of the door hesitated as an important-looking foreign nobleman and his two servants rushed through the portal. By the time he glanced at his companion, they had gone. The second guard shrugged ever so slightly, as if to say now it was someone else's problem.

Once they were inside the perimeter of the Imperial apartment complex, no one challenged their right to be there. They circumvented the Great Hall and the Gallery of Lords and Masters, as those areas would be filling with the luminaries of the Empire and special guests who would fill the upper plaza as the nighttime celebration commenced. Even now, jugglers, dancers, musicians, and all manner of entertainers were performing for the assembled crowd. A great boulevard that separated the lower city from the palace itself was cordoned off. It would provide the route for a great parade, with elements from the Legion, the great chariot companies and the Cavalry all marching by, followed by exotic animals, and, finally, a great stage on which a theatrical tribute to the Emperor would be performed.

Kaspar reached Turgan Bey's office as the Imperial Master of the Keep was rising from his chair of office. “There you are,” he said as he saw Kaspar. “I thought the message madness, for I wondered how you were going to get here.”

“Looks like you know what you're doing,” Kaspar said, motioning for Amafi to keep a lookout at the door, while Pasko went to the open terrace.

Kaspar came to stand next to Bey and whispered in his ear. “I know where Varen is, and I think I know what is to happen next. Whom do you trust?”

“Right now, damn few people.”

“Who among the Inner Legion, the Masters of the Chariots, and the Imperial Horse?”

“Even fewer. Why?”

“Whom do you trust to save your Empire?”

“Kaspar, what is this about? Is our Emperor in danger?”

“Worse,” said Kaspar. “I think the entire Imperial family is at risk.”

“Tell me quickly,” said Bey.

Kaspar outlined the idea he had shared with Pug earlier, and as he spoke, Bey's face drained of color. When Kaspar was done, Turgan Bey said, “Kaspar, I don't want to believe it. But what you suggest explains many things that up to now seemed without reason.” He sat back and was silent a moment, then asked, “If you're correct, is there anything we can do?”

“I need you to get to as many of those you can trust and let them know that when things turn ugly, the best thing they can do is to keep their swords sheathed, unless they see a direct threat to someone close by. Get a lot of drunken nobles running around with their swords out and people are going to die needlessly.

“The thing to remember is that we only need a few men close to the princes. They must be men you can trust, and impress on them…well, you know what to say. But I'll repeat this one thing. The Nighthawks did not flee the city; they are here in the palace, and tonight they plan to bring the Empire to its knees.”

“Kaspar, if you're right, you'll be made a prince of Kesh.” Then he looked him in the eyes. “And if you're wrong, or if you've completely lost your sanity, we'll both be fed to the crocodiles.”

Kaspar's eyes reflected a hint of doubt. “It's a risk, but we have no choice.”

“Where will you be?”

“I have to be on the dais, close to the Imperial family.”

Bey went to his desk and pulled open a drawer. He took out a small staff of ivory, with a single golden circlet around it. “This is as good as an armed escort, Kaspar. No guard will question what you are doing if you're holding this.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, what next?”

“We wait,” said Kaspar. “We can prove nothing until the Nighthawks make a move. And when they do, we will have to act quickly.”

Turgan Bey looked at Kaspar and said, “May the gods protect Kesh.”

“And us all,” said Kaspar, as the Master of the Keep left his office.

Amafi said, “Magnificence, what now?”

“We wait,” said Kaspar, sitting in Turgan Bey's chair.

 

Nakor led Bek through the throng. “Nakor,” said the large youth. “This is wonderful! I've never seen so many people!”

Nakor nodded. “Kesh is the largest city in the world, Ralan.”

“They are having fun, aren't they?”

“Yes, and so far managing to do so without hurting each other,” said the little gambler as he wended his way through the crowd.

“This is good?”

“Yes,” said Nakor. Every chance he got he had been trying to inculcate Ralan with the concept of good, and while he knew he could never change the young man's nature, he thought he might alter his perspective a little.

A pair of burly City Watchmen pushed through the crowd, shouting for the pedestrians to clear the route. Nakor grabbed Bek's arm and led him to the far side of the boulevard. “Many years ago I came here with two men: Guda and Borric. They were fine fellows. We did the same thing then that we are going to do now.”

“What's that?” said Bek.

With a sly grin, Nakor said, “Crash a party. Follow me.”

Bek shrugged, but the idea of arriving uninvited appealed to him, so he kept the little gambler's back in sight as they made their way through the crowd and headed to one of the many entrances to the palace.

 

Magnus stood quietly in deep shadow, hidden by a colonnade from those nearby. From across the large boulevard, he had a direct view of the upper plaza, and he knew he could be there in seconds. He looked in vain for Kaspar or Nakor, and seeing neither, he felt a stab
of apprehension. If Kaspar was correct in his surmise, this could be the pivotal moment in the short history of the Conclave of Shadows, for with a single misstep, their four most powerful practitioners of magic could be obliterated.

 

Pug and Miranda waited. Everything that could be done had been done and they could only sit and linger until the signal came, then they would act. Pug looked out of the window of the nearly empty house and thought how odd it was that he was never visited by a sense of home any more.

“What are you thinking?” asked his wife, softly, as the distant sounds of revelry reached them through the night air.

“Crydee, and being a boy,” he said softly. “Sorcerer's Isle is home, but…”

“Home is where you were a child.”

He looked at her. In so many ways he felt incomplete when she was not near, and yet if they lived another hundred years together, he knew he would still never fully understand Miranda. “Is that how our boys feel?” he said.

She smiled. “When this is over, ask them.”

He looked thoughtful. “I will. When this is over.” Then he stared out of the window again, waiting.

 

Kaspar quickly made his way through the press of the royal family, trying hard to get the attention of either prince. He caught Dangai's eye, and the Prince crossed over to greet him. He wore his formal attire as Leader of the Inner Legion—black gartered sandals, a black kilt, black jacket and chest plate, and a massive helm that completely covered his head and was topped by a splendid horsehair plume, also dyed black. “Kaspar. I didn't realize you'd be joining us.”

“I wasn't on the Master of Ceremonies' list, I'm afraid.”

The Prince regarded Kaspar for a moment, then smiled. “Well, it's not a formal state function, and everyone here is half-drunk already, so I doubt anyone will mind.”

Kaspar lowered his voice. “How many units of your Legion are close by?”

Dangai's eyes narrowed with suspicion as he asked, “Why?”

“Because I believe there will be an attempt to take your brother's or your life tonight, possibly both of you.”

“Why was I not warned before this? And why must I hear it from a foreign noble?”

“Because your entire Imperial Intelligence Corps has been subverted,” said Kaspar frankly. After conferring with the Magistrate in the morning, Pug and Kaspar had pieced together a picture that could mean only one thing: the reason their first attack on the Nighthawks had failed, and the reason that the Nighthawks had gone when they finally uncovered their nest, was that the assassins had been aided by Keshian spies.

Kaspar had taken the Emperor's warning about everyone having spies to heart. The Magistrate had openly admitted that, prior to his current accommodation with the members of the Conclave, he had sold information on the whereabouts of various foreigners to men he knew to be Imperial agents. It was the only explanation. The Conclave had been watched from the moment they had arrived in the city, and the only reason they were not all dead was because Varen saw an advantage in having Conclave agents in Kesh, fomenting trouble. Implicate them, and Kesh would go to war.