The Complete Conclave of Shadows Trilogy: Talon of the Silver Hawk, King of Foxes, Exile’s Return

Magnus nodded. ‘Let me ask you, if I could bring either girl here this instant, who would you wish to see?’

Talon stood silently, holding his fishing pole. ‘I don’t know,’ he answered at last. ‘I thought I loved Lela … I do love her. But there’s something about the way Meggie … moves. She’s … ardent. That’s the word isn’t it?’

Magnus fell silent for a moment, then he said, ‘The ways of the heart are complex.’ He looked out at the ocean again. ‘The waves churn and break upon the rocks, Talon. So do human feelings. Passion can be a man’s undoing. With passion must come wisdom, otherwise your enemies have a weapon to use against you.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Most men are passionate about something, at some time in their lives. It may be about a woman he loves, or his calling or craft, or it may be about an ideal.’

‘An ideal?’

Magnus nodded. ‘There are men who would willingly give their lives for an ideal. Men who put the greater good ahead of their own personal gain.’ He looked at Talon. ‘Then there are the dark passions: ambition, greed, lust, a hunger for power.

‘What you feel for Lela and Meggie is somewhere between those extremes, between the ideal and the dark. At its worst, what you feel is blind lust, without regard for the complexities of the women you pursue. At its most ideal, you will fall under the spell of women too easily, thinking each worthy of selfless adoration.

‘Either extreme is a mistake.’

Talon nodded his understanding.

‘You are young. There will be many women in your life if you want them. But circumstances may place you in such a position where you must discern the truth quickly, as to whether it is mere lust or if there is some deeper love involved.

‘Both young women you have known are good women, for the most part. At least they had no evil designs upon you. They cared for you in their way, and you for them. But I also remember what it was like to be your age, to gaze into a pair of green eyes and be swept away by feelings so intense I thought my heart would stop, only to have the feelings repeated just a few short days later when gazing into brown eyes.

‘That is the heart of a young man, Talon. It must be tamed and reined in, like a fractious colt. It must be made to follow the mind, for you will learn that love is a difficult thing.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve answered my question.’

‘I don’t know if you’ve understood what it was you were asking.’ Magnus picked up his pole, reeled in the line and cast it out in the surf again. ‘We’ll speak more about this, soon. And before too long there will be others you can ask about such things. Others who are more able than me to address your concerns.’

‘Thank you, Magnus.’

‘Think nothing of it. You will have many more questions for me before our time on this island is over.’

‘How much longer will I be staying here?’

‘As long as it takes.’

‘As long as what takes?’

‘Whatever it is we are to accomplish,’ answered Magnus.

Talon started to ask another question, then thought better of it.

The afternoon wore on and Talon grew hungry. ‘Are we likely to catch any dinner here?’

‘Getting hungry?’

‘Yes, actually.’

‘Do you know how to cook fish?’

Talon had prepared a number of fish dishes with Leo. ‘I do, but you have only the kettle and spit to cook upon. I suppose I could fashion a chowder …’

‘No,’ said Magnus. ‘I was thinking about something a bit more refined. We’ve been eating soups and roasts for a month or more. Let us have some fine dining tonight.’

‘How shall I prepare such a meal?’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Magnus. ‘First we must find you a proper main course.’ He closed his eyes and then opened them again, and Talon thought he saw a faint sheen of light upon them. Magnus held out his hand, palm up, then slowly raised it. From out of the sea came a fish, something close to four foot long. Magnus motioned and the creature floated through the air and dropped at Talon’s feet. The fish flopped and writhed upon the sand.

‘Be careful, those fins can actually cut you if you grab it too firmly.’

Talon looked at Magnus. ‘I’m to carry it up to the hut?’

‘How else will you get it there?’ asked the magician.

Talon attempted to pick up the thrashing creature, but found it both slippery and heavy. ‘Is there something I can hit it with, to stun it?’ he asked after several exasperating attempts to subdue the fish.

‘Oh.’ said Magnus. With a flick of his hand, the fish fell quiet. ‘It’s still alive, so it will be fresh when you fillet it. This creature is called a tuna, and you can grill it lightly, with a variety of different spices. A lightly seasoned rice and an assortment of steamed vegetables would complement it nicely. And some chilled white wine – perhaps an off-dry from Ravensburgh.’

Talon picked up the huge fish and looked at the steep path up to the bluff. ‘Anything else?’

‘If I think of anything, I’ll let you know.’

Talon trekked slowly back up the trail, and by the time he reached the hut he was in considerable pain. His arms and shoulders were in knots and his knees shook. The fish must weigh almost as much as he did, he was certain. He wondered what he was supposed to do with it. He could gut it on the table, but it would be messy. Perhaps on the ground outside, then he could wash way the offal with well water. That should get the dirt off it. And if the fillets were large enough, he could spit and roast them.

But where was he going to find rice, or spices? The food so far at Magnus’s hut had been plain, to put it kindly.

He put the fish down, relieved to do so, and stood up, his back rewarding him with a spasm of pain to remind him not to attempt such a foolish thing again. He rubbed at it with the knuckles of his left hand while opening the door with his right.

He stepped inside the hut and almost fell over in shock. Instead of the small interior he had come to know so well, he was standing in a large kitchen. Larger than the hut. He glanced backwards out of the door, and saw the familiar landscape in front of the hut, but the inside of the hut was still quite different.

He took in a large preparation table with a pump where he could clean the fish, and beyond it a stone stove. Next to the stove, a fire burned beneath a metal grill. He saw shelves on the distant back wall and had no doubt there would be spices and rice there. And he was certain that the door would lead to a wine cellar where he’d find just the right chilled white wine to serve with dinner.

‘How did he do this?’ Talon murmured softly to himself.

• CHAPTER NINE •

Confusion

TALON BLINKED.

He was reading another Kingdom language book, this one a chronicle of the life and times of a merchant of Krondor, named Rupert Avery. The merchant before his death had commissioned the tale and had it published, a paean to his own vanity, from Talon’s point of view. The story was badly written and improbable to say the least, for if the tale as told by Avery was to be believed, he was instrumental in Kingdom history, almost single-handedly defeating the agents of chaos attempting to conquer his nation.

Talon judged it a story fit for a talker around the campfire, but only if more attention was paid to the warriors and magicians in the tale and less to a boy who grew rich. He tilted the chair he was sitting on back against the wall. He was beginning to understand the concept of wealth. Other people seemed to delight in amassing it. He was Orosini, and from his point of view anything you couldn’t eat, wear, or use was a luxury. And collecting luxuries after a certain point was a waste of time and energy.

Yet with his understanding of the concept of wealth, he was beginning to understand the concept of power. For reasons alien to him, there were those who lusted after power as much as this Avery had lusted after wealth. Men like the Duke of Olasko who wanted nothing so much as to wear a crown and be called King, though from what Caleb and Magnus had told him, he might just as well be called King in the lands of Olasko and Aranor right now.

Talon rocked his chair forward again and put the book on the table. He had been alone for three days because Magnus was off on one of his mysterious journeys. Talon had been given a set of tasks by the magician, some reading – which Talon enjoyed now that he had been reading for over a year – practising a strange series of moves, almost like dance, which the magician had taught him. Magnus claimed that the dance was a form of open-handed fighting, called Isalani, if Talon had it right, and that years of studying it would make him more proficient in other areas of combat. He also had to keep the hut clean and feed himself.

It filled most of his day, but what time he had left he used to explore, though Magnus had instructed him to stay on the north shore of the island. To the south a ridge of hills rose up, perhaps half a day’s easy walk, and Magnus had instructed him not to climb those hills or pass along the beach south of them. Magnus didn’t explain why he should not go south, or what would happen if he ignored the instruction, but Talon was not inclined to challenge the magician.

A great deal of Talon’s life was now centred around waiting. He was waiting to discover what he was being trained to do, for now he was certain Robert and the others had a purpose for him.

His education was proceeding at a fast pace: languages – he was now almost fluent in the King’s Tongue, (as the main language of the Kingdom of the Isles was known), spoke almost flawless Roldemish, and was starting to learn dialects from the Empire of Great Kesh – geography, history and he had studied music.

Music was what he enjoyed the most. Magnus had a spell he used to conjure up performances by musicians whom he had encountered over the years. Some of the simpler music sounded almost familiar to Talon; but more sophisticated music, played for nobles by accomplished musicians, was just as compelling. To aid in his understanding of music, Magnus had told Talon he would learn to play instruments, and had started him off with a simple pipe, which now lay on the table – a long wooden tube, with six holes cut in it. It was very much like one his father had played and Talon had quickly mastered playing some simple melodies on it.

Talon rubbed his face with one hand. His eyes felt gritty and his back hurt. He stood up and glanced out of the window. The afternoon sun was setting. Talon realized he had been studying the book all afternoon.

He glanced at the hearth where a large cauldron sat half-filled with a stew he had prepared two days before. It was still edible, but he had tired of the same fare. He judged that he had maybe an hour in which to hunt or hurry to the shore and fish.

Sundown was a good time for either activity. The island had a large pond a short distance away from the hut where game would gather to drink at sunrise and sunset, and the fish beyond the breakers seemed to be more active at sundown.

He wrestled with the choice for just a moment, then decided that fishing was more to his liking. The stalking of game required too much concentration and right now he was in the mood to stand upon the sand, with the wind in his face and his eyes focused on something farther away than the end of his arms.

Talon grabbed his pole and creel and headed out of the door.

The sun had set by the time Talon started back up the hill. In a few short minutes he had managed to catch two large jack smelts, more than enough for his supper. He would cook them over the wood fire in the hearth, upon a metal grill, and add some spices Magnus kept in a small chest. He wished he had some rice to cook with it, and realized how much luxury he had been exposed to by Leo in the kitchen at Kendrick’s. His mother often prepared fish, and served it with whatever roots or berries the women had gathered. Sometimes a corncake, hand-rolled and cooked by the fire, made with honey, berries or nuts, would be served along with the game. But Talon now appreciated food far more than his mother would ever have imagined. It was amusing to think he was probably the best cook in the history of his people.

As he rounded a small bend in the trail near the summit of the bluff, he stopped. The sky was still light with the just-set sun, but darkness was quickly descending. He sensed something.

He listened. The woods near the hut were silent. There should have been noises, the scurrying of the day animals seeking out their lairs as the night predators made their presence known. Night birds should have been flitting about, seeking insects.

Instead, there was a stillness that could only mean one thing: men were nearby.

For an instant Talon wondered if Magnus had returned, but somehow he knew this wasn’t the case. It just felt wrong.

Talon suspected there might be others on this island, people living south of the ridge whom Magnus didn’t want him to meet, at least not right now, but Talon didn’t think it likely they’d come calling unexpectedly. He put down the fishing rod and creel, then realized he had left his weapons in the hut.

He pulled a scaling knife out of the creel, a poor weapon, but better than nothing, and advanced slowly towards the hut, his every sense extended. He listened, he looked, he sniffed the air.

There seemed to be a presence near the hut, something unfamiliar, outside his experience. He had thought it might be someone at or in the hut, but now he considered it to be some thing.

A figure stepped out of the door, almost too quickly for his eye to have caught the motion, but in that instant he recognized a human-like form, but one devoid of features. Detailless black from head to toe it was a silhouette that flickered past his consciousness into the darkness of night.

He halted, keeping his breath as shallow as possible, using every sense to determine where the creature had gone. A slight shift in the air behind him alerted him to someone moving rapidly and silently at his back, and he dropped to his knees. Without hesitation, he struck backwards with the scaling knife, a slash that would have taken any man somewhere between knee and groin.

An inhuman warbling cry erupted through the night as the blade struck something, and Talon was knocked over by a tremendous blow to the right shoulder, as if a large body had fallen into him.

Talon used the momentum of his fall to tuck and roll back up to his feet, and as a gust of air went past him, he knew he had somehow dodged a blow from another unseen assailant. By instinct alone, he sensed that two attackers were behind him, and he leapt forward, towards the hut. If he had any hope of surviving this attack, he had to reach his sword.

The hair on the back of his neck rose up as he neared the door of the hut, and without looking back he dived through the door, landing hard upon the floor as something invisible cut through the air where his chest should have been.

He slid on his stomach under the table and turned, coming up quickly with his sword. He cast aside the scabbard and kicked the table towards the door, to slow whoever might be coming through.

The table struck something just inside the door and Talon saw the darkness in the doorway move. A figure appeared framed in the door, one he could see only because of what it blocked out behind, for light from the early evening sky still illuminated the branches and leaves, but the silhouetted form blotted out all detail.

Then the thing was in the hut. Talon saw only a man-shape of featureless black as if light was not reflected off its surface. He knew there was another, still outside, so he retreated to the hearth and impulsively grabbed a burning brand from out of the fire, holding it aloft in his left hand.

The creature’s hand lashed towards him and Talon ducked to his right. Pain erupted across his left shoulder. The creature’s hand retracted and for a brief instant Talon thought he saw a faint movement in the air, as if a lash was being drawn back. Talon didn’t have to look to know he had been cut by some invisible weapon. He could feel burning on his shoulder and feel dampness spreading as blood seeped from the wound.

There came a flicker near the door and Talon knew that another of his unseen assassins had entered the room. Another flicker out of the corner of his eye warned him and he fell to the right. More pain shot down his arm, but he knew that had he not moved, it would have been his throat bleeding instead of his arm.

He fell hard against the wing-arm holding the kettle as he hit the floor, rolling away from where he assumed the assassin to be. The kettle swung back hard into the fireplace and overturned, dumping the remaining stew upon the blazing fire, and the room erupted in steam and soot.

Suddenly Talon could see a leg before him, outlined in the air. Without hesitation, he lashed out with his sword at the creature’s leg, and the same warble of pain he had heard outside was repeated inside, at greater volume.

The hut filled with smoke and now Talon could see three figures clearly outlined. They were man-shaped, and they seemed unarmed, yet he knew that to be a false impression. Talon scooted back against the wall.

The others seemed to be casting about, as if unable to see him. Talon gripped his sword, ignoring the fire in his left shoulder, and pushed himself upright, his back against the wall. He was partially hidden by a floor-to-ceiling shelf that Magnus had made him install in which to house the books he studied.

The two creatures who had come in through the door stepped forward, one blocking the door, the other coming towards him. The one nearest the door was limping visibly, and Talon knew instinctively that was the one he had cut with the scaling knife.

Now that he had his sword, Talon felt too confined to fight. He needed to be outside, but only just outside, blocking the door so the creatures could come at him only one at a time. The figure nearest him reached back, as if about to attack with its flail again, and he leapt out, striking with his sword, seeking to drive the thing back. He jumped the fallen table, lowering his uninjured shoulder and slamming into the midsection of the one waiting before the door.

Pain exploded along his back and ran down his left hip. He gasped in agony. The creature to his left had managed to get in a strike, and Talon felt his knees go weak.

As he fell to the ground, he lashed down with his sword and was rewarded with a deep, meaty bite and an inhuman shriek that ended abruptly.

Rolling away, he tried to come to his feet as something flickered through the door. There was a third assailant! He swiped backhanded with his sword in the general direction of the door, and had made it almost to an upright position when pain seared down his left cheek, shoulder and chest.

Shortness of breath, a soaking tunic, and shaking knees meant he was losing too much blood, too fast. His heart pounded and Talon knew that unless he somehow killed the remaining two creatures he was doomed.

There was another flicker at the door and Talon knew that both of them were now outside with him. He blinked and turned his head this way and that, trying to see something of their dark shapes in the night, but to all intents and purposes, they were invisible.

He had a sense of motion to his right and so fell to his left. He had meant to catch himself and come upright, but his left leg failed to obey him, and he crashed to the ground. A searing pain ripped down his right leg. He lost his grip on his sword; and as much as his mind willed his body to roll away, to put distance between himself and the two creatures, he could not force it to do so.

There was another searing line of fire across his right shoulder and Talon screamed out. He was about to die.

His people would go unavenged, and he would never know who his murderers were or why he had been chosen to die.

His final thoughts were of dark despair and deep regret as a blinding white light exploded around him, and he fell into oblivion.

Talon was adrift in a sea of pain. Fire burned his skin and he was bathed in torment. Yet he couldn’t move. Voices and images came and went, a few familiar, most alien.

‘… too much blood. I don’t know …’

Blackness folded over him and then more pain.

‘… survived is beyond my understanding …’

A strange sound rang in his ear for what seemed to be the longest time, then suddenly it resolved itself into music. Someone nearby was playing a flute.

Then more darkness.

Time passed in fits and starts, vaguely remembered images, sounds, smells, and textures. A woman’s face appeared before him repeatedly. Her features were lovely, but her expression was stern, even harsh. She spoke to others nearby, but often he couldn’t hear or understand the words.

Fever dreams gripped him in which creatures of nightmare appeared. A blue being with silver horns hovered over him for a time, speaking in a language of hoots and whistles. Other faces came and went, some clearly human, others with subtle differences, an ear too long, an eyebrow of feathers, or a nose with a small thorn at the end.

Other dreams came, dreams of his childhood at the village of Kulaam. He saw the face of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, her honey-coloured eyes looking down on him with sadness. He saw his grandfather, Laughter in his Eyes, living up to his name, smiling at him with amusement. He saw his mother and sister, and the other women going about their chores.

He saw himself coming down the mountain, exhausted yet running as fast as he had ever run.

He saw smoke, and death, and fire. And he saw a man on a black horse.

‘Raven!’ he shouted as he sat up.

A woman gripped his shoulders and said, ‘Calmly. Relax. You’re going to be fine.’

Talon realized that he was drenched with perspiration. He felt light-headed. His bandaged body shook with a sudden chill as bumps rose on his arms. He looked around the room.

The room he was in was white with several finely made pieces of furniture, and through a large window he could see a blue sky, a warm day. A scented breeze blew through the window and he could hear voices in the distance.

‘Where am I?’

The woman stood up. ‘You’re among friends. I will get Magnus.’

Talon fell back against a trio of heavy pillows stuffed with soft down. He rested naked between sheets of fine white cloth, unlike anything he had seen before. The sheets were drenched, and he knew he had just broken a fever. Bandages covered his shoulder, back, his ribs on the left side, both thighs, and his right calf.

A few minutes later, Magnus appeared with the woman a step behind him. ‘How are you feeling?’ asked the white-haired magician.

Lying back on the pillows, Talon said, ‘I couldn’t fight a kitten.’

Magnus sat on the side of the bed and put his hand on Talon’s forehead. ‘Fever’s gone.’ He put his thumb on the top of Talon’s left eyelid and lifted it slightly. ‘So is the jaundice.’

‘What happened?’ Talon asked.

Magnus said, ‘It’s a long tale. The short version is that someone sent three death-dancers to kill me. They found you instead.’

‘Death-dancers?’

‘I’ll explain it all, at length, but for now you need to rest. Are you hungry?’

Talon nodded. ‘I could eat.’

The woman said, ‘I’ll get some broth,’ and left the room.

‘How long have I been like this?’ asked Talon.

‘Ten days.’

‘I’ve been here ten days?’

Magnus nodded. ‘You almost died, Talon. Had you been just about anywhere other than this island, you almost certainly would have done. Perhaps a powerful temple priest might have saved you, but few apart from those living here would have possessed the skills to keep you alive.

‘The death-dancer’s touch is poison, so even if the kill isn’t clean, the victim rarely survives.’