The Complete Darkwar Trilogy: Flight of the Night Hawks, Into a Dark Realm, Wrath of a Mad God

The attack had been turned into a rout, and now Caleb’s only concern was getting the surviving men out of the sewers alive. He urged them past him while battling the Nighthawks at a slower pace, so that eventually only he and four others held the mouth of the tunnel at the entrance to a large junction.

Caleb knew that he needed to keep the intersection clear for at least another couple of minutes so that the rest of the Conclave’s agents could flee into the city above.

He had no doubt that other Nighthawks would be waiting in the vicinity, but he doubted that any of them would assault Caleb’s men in broad daylight. The City Watch was usually disinterested, but proved aggressive and brutal when it came to public unrest. Armed conflict in the streets of Kesh was close enough to rebellion to provoke a swift reaction, and if the fighting got out of hand the Inner Legion would answer their call. If that happened, the only options would be run, or die.

The man next to Caleb gurgled as his lungs filled with blood from a puncture wound to his chest. Caleb slashed down hard and removed the offending Nighthawk’s arm at his elbow and he fell back into the foul water screaming. Caleb stood his ground with two of Chezarul’s men at his side, and for a brief moment the Nighthawks gave them respite as they regrouped.

A scream from further down the tunnel told Caleb that another of the Conclave’s men had been slain. Caleb could only hope that the end had come swiftly, for the Nighthawks would think nothing of peeling the skin from a man inch by inch to extract whatever information he might have before finally killing him.

Caleb had lost his lantern when they had retreated. Some light filtered through a distant grating in the ceiling twenty yards to his left, otherwise the tunnel was shrouded in murk.

The three men at the junction stood fast as the Nighthawks rushed at them. The lack of light and their black clothing made it difficult for Caleb to judge how many there were until they were almost upon him.

He slashed at a man who dodged back, then thrust past the man’s retreating form to take another Nighthawk in the thigh. The assassin crumpled with a groan of pain as the man on Caleb’s right sliced at another Nighthawk who also fell down.

Then, without any verbal communication, three remaining Nighthawks stepped back. The one nearest to the wounded assassin skewered the man with the point of his sword, sinking his corpse beneath the sewage that swirled around their legs.

The Nighthawks retreated slowly, until they vanished into the gloom. After a moment, Caleb said, ‘Follow me,’ and led his men towards the sunlight streaming from the grate above.

Upon reaching the pool of light, he found the iron rungs fixed to the wall and indicated the two men with him should climb out of the sewer. When they were safely up the ladder, Caleb climbed out.

It was quiet as the three filthy, blood-splattered men emerged from the sewer in the centre of a backstreet in the warehouse district.

Caleb said, ‘Go to your appointed safe havens. If Chezarul has survived, he’ll know where to find me. If not, then whoever takes his place will know how to reach me. For now, trust no one and say nothing to anyone. Go!’

The men hurried away, and when they were safely out of sight, Caleb took off in the opposite direction.

He paused at a public fountain and leaned over, ducking his entire head under the water. He came up sputtering and shook the water from his long hair – he had lost his hat somewhere in the sewer.

Caleb glanced around and knew that he couldn’t be sure if he was being watched. He could only hope to lose whoever might be following him on his route to his safe house.

As he set off, he wondered about the boys. He had given them strict instructions to follow if he were not back by sundown. They were to walk out of the Three Willows by the route he had taught them until they came to a particular home. There, they should knock on the back door and say a particular phrase. He prayed they would do as they were told.

Caleb dodged around some crates stacked on the corner of two alleys, and a slashing blade cut deep into his left shoulder. He staggered backwards and made ready to receive the attack that would follow.

Two Nighthawks blocked his escape route. Caleb knew the men would have to die in as short a time as possible else he would lose consciousness and bleed to death from his wounds.

The Nighthawk who had caught him by surprise charged first, the other man moved to Caleb’s left, so Caleb took the one opportunity presented to him. He ducked, thrust upwards, and then with an explosive leap, yanked his sword from the stomach of the first Nighthawk, twisting himself completely around and swinging his sword in an arc. The second Nighthawk saw Caleb duck and instinctively moved his blade to his own left, assuming that Caleb would now swing at him from that side, but with the sword turned in a complete circle, the attack came from his right, and before the Nighthawk could bring his sword around to block, Caleb’s blade bit deep into his neck.

The second man fell and Caleb stumbled past him, clumsily putting his sword into his scabbard as he moved in what looked like a drunken stumble. He pushed his hand against his twicewounded shoulder, to stanch the flow of blood and turned his mind to one thing: reaching the safe house before he lost consciousness. ‘Three treys,’ said Jommy, laughing as he scooped up the copper pieces. Zane groaned and threw his cards down on the table.

Tad laughed. ‘I told you not to bet.’

Jommy was about to say something when the smile suddenly faded from his face. His eyes darted around the room and he lowered his voice. ‘Heads up. It’s about to get nasty in here.’

Tad and Zane glanced around the taproom and saw that four men in matching grey cloaks had entered and now stood around the room, effectively sealing off each exit.

‘What is this?’ asked Tad.

‘Don’t know, but it’s not good,’ answered Jommy. ‘Stay close to me, lads.’ He stood up and waited until Tad and Zane did likewise. He said, ‘Get ready.’

‘For what?’ asked Zane, just as Jommy walked towards the nearest man.

The direct approach of the large red-headed boy must have confused the man, for he didn’t attempt to draw his sword until Jommy had picked up a chair and sent it crashing towards him, foiling his attempt to pull out his weapon.

While the man ducked under the first chair, Jommy picked up another and smashed it down on the man’s head, at about the same time Pablo Maguire came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what the problem was. Before he made two steps, one of the greycloaked men had pulled a small crossbow out from under his cloak and fired at the old man. Pablo ducked behind the bar and avoided being killed, and rose up with a sailor’s cutlass in his hand.

Jommy and Pablo both shouted, ‘Run!’ at the same time, and Tad and Zane ran out the door. Jommy paused only long enough to kick the downed man in the face, before he leaped through the doorway, with the two closest men following after him.

The boys had reached the boulevard and were heading into the plaza by the time the men began to overtake them. Jommy glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tad and Zane were still behind him and shouted, ‘Follow me!’

He hurried to the fountain where the usual gang of apprentices and girls were gathering and came to a grinding halt in front of Arkmet and the other Bakers’ Boys. He said, ‘You feel like hitting someone?’

‘You?’ asked Arkmet, taking a step back.

‘No,’ said Jommy as Tad and Zane caught up.

‘Them?’ said Arkmet with a grin.

‘No,’ said Jommy, pointing past the brothers at the two greycloaked assassins who had pursued them into the plaza. ‘Them.’

Arkmet shrugged. ‘Sure.’

Jommy, Tad, and Zane took off, and the two assassins moved forwards, their cloaks hiding their weapons from the city watch. The Bakers’ Boys moved to intercept the two men and Arkmet said, ‘What’s the hurry?’

One assassin, a grey-bearded man with a bald pate, threw back his cloak, revealing a sword and dagger in either hand, and said, ‘You don’t wish to know, boy.’

Seeing weapons, the Bakers’ Boys stepped away but continued to block the route Tad, Zane, and Jommy had escaped by. Putting up his hands, Arkmet also backed away, and said, ‘No one said anything about blades.’

‘No one said anything about stupid boys getting in the way, either,’ said the assassin. He made a menacing gesture with the dagger in his left hand, while his companion slipped around him to the right, and tried to see which way the three boys had fled.

‘Stupid?’ said Arkmet as the man tried to shoulder past him. ‘Stupid?’ With stunning fury, the broad-shouldered boy lashed out, catching the assassin on the left side of his face, right at the point of his jaw. The man’s eyes rolled in his head and his knees buckled. His companion turned to see what the noise was and was greeted by a brick, thrown with precision by another Bakers’ Boy. The brick caught the man on the bridge of his nose and his head snapped backwards.

Someone pushed him over and the Bakers’ Boys gathered around the two fallen men and proceeded to stomp and kick them, continuing long after they had fallen unconscious.

Tad, Zane, and Jommy hugged the wall in the darkness. They had been on the move for hours and at last were fairly sure they were not being followed. Perspiration dripped off all three of them, for the night was hot and they had not had the chance to rest for ages.

‘What now?’ asked Zane.

‘We go where Caleb told us to go if something went wrong,’ Tad replied. ‘Four men trying to kill us is most certainly something wrong, don’t you think?’

‘You’ll get no argument from me, mate,’ said Jommy. ‘Where did he say we were supposed to go?’

Tad said, ‘Follow me.’

He led his two companions through the streets of the city, getting lost twice but eventually finding his way to the appropriate home. As instructed, he did not approach the house directly, but from a narrow alleyway, and through a broken board in the back fence, which let the three boys into a small garden behind a modest building. At the kitchen door, he knocked and waited.

‘Who’s there?’ demanded a man’s voice.

‘Those who seek shelter in the shadows,’ Tad replied.

The door opened quickly and a broad-shouldered man in a simple tunic and trousers urged them inside. ‘Come in, quickly!’

He said nothing but moved towards the centre of the room and rolled back a carpet. Under it lay a trap door and he motioned for Zane and Jommy to pull it open. A narrow flight of stairs led down into the gloom. The man lit a lantern from a taper thrust into the fire in the kitchen, then led the boys down. ‘I’ll close that when I come back up,’ he said at the bottom of the stairs.

The stairs gave way to a narrow tunnel which headed away from the house in the direction they had come. A deserted shed had stood on the opposite side of the alley, and Tad judged they were now somewhere beneath it.

The man paused at a door and knocked twice, paused again, and then repeated the knock. Then he opened the door.

They entered a small chamber with barely enough space to hold them. Within the room sat a single bed, a chair and a tiny table. Obviously this hide-out had been meant for one person. The man turned and said, ‘You’ll wait here until tomorrow night, then we shall move you.’

As he moved past the three boys, Zane and the others finally realised that a figure already lay on the bed, unconscious. At the door, the man turned and said, ‘We’ve done all we can. He had lost a lot of blood before he got here.’ He closed the door.

The boys looked down. ‘Caleb,’ Tad whispered, regarding the still form on the bed. His bandages were soaked in blood.

Zane slowly sat on the one chair, and Jommy and Tad settled on the floor to wait.

• CHAPTER FIFTEEN •

Deception

TAL CONSIDERED HIS CARDS.

He sat back slightly and glanced to his right, where Amafi stood motionless against the opposite wall. The former assassin-turned-servant had his right hand folded over his left. His eyes scanned the huge hall, which was unlike any gambling establishment in the north. Most gaming up in Roldem and the Kingdom of the Isles was done in well appointed salons or common taverns and inns. The Mistress of Luck was Kesh’s finest gambling establishment, without rival in any other nation.

Here, the normal venue appeared to be palaces, or as close to a palace as a commoner could find. This particular building had once belonged to a wealthy merchant, but in years past had become a haven for card players and gamblers of every stripe. It was located at the end of a long boulevard, on top of a hill, with a view straight up to the plateau and Imperial Citadel, and a rear vista of the lower city and the Overn Deep.

Tal sat in the middle of what must have been the grand hall where the merchant had entertained his guests, for instead of a wall, behind Tal stood columns of carved marble forming a colonnade that provided a panorama of the beautifully maintained gardens and the city below. The weather in Kesh was either hot or really hot, so the night air rarely invited a chill. Tal’s immediate concern however, was not for the décor, but for his safety, as his back was exposed to the garden, and lately people had been dying at inopportune times.

Tal had used his celebrity to gain admission to several galas, receptions and parties, as well as gambling establishments, and since arriving in Kesh he had wasted hours listening to idle gossip. But he had finally heard something that had led him to this place, and now he waited.

If what he had overheard two nights earlier was true, an imperial prince would be present in the hall tonight – incognito – ostensibly to relax and enjoy a night on the town. From what Chezarul’s agents had heard, there was a fair chance there would be an attempt on this Prince’s life soon. Tal was there to ensure that it did not happen tonight.

Earlier, Amafi had noticed that a pair of young nobles had been using a fairly obvious set of signals to communicate their respective hands, and that whoever was the weaker bid upped the pot and helped the other win more money.

It wasn’t a foolproof system, because the better hand still needed to beat everyone else at the table, but they won more often than not, and the pots here were much higher than average, so by the end of the evening, they usually found themselves ahead. Tal would have liked to teach them a lesson, but he had other concerns this night.

The son of a tribal leader, thrown into the intrigues of the Conclave of Shadows at a young age, one of the many useful things Tal had learned whilst growing up was how to cheat at cards. His skills had been both tested and sharpened playing four-handed poker with Nakor, Kaspar and Amafi – all skilled cheaters. One game had disintegrated into a cheating contest, with each hand becoming more outrageous than the last as large quantities of wine had been consumed, and ending only when three extra kings and two extra sevens appeared in the deck.

Tal played indifferently tonight, winning just enough to break even, but losing enough to keep attention away from himself. He excused himself from the table, saying, ‘I need a bit of air,’ and motioned for his servant to join him.

They went to the gardens, ostensibly to stretch their legs, but Tal wanted another quick inspection of their surroundings. When they were alone, Amafi said, ‘Something troubles you, Magnificence?’ He spoke Roldemish, to lessen the likelihood of being overheard.

‘Many things trouble me, Amafi.’

‘Not those two boys, certainly?’

‘No. Someone will teach them a lesson, but I’m afraid it won’t be me.’ Tal looked around the garden. ‘So far we’ve learned that our enemies are taking great care in deciding who they kill and where. But why are we now seeing them—’ he looked around the garden, and with a wave of his hand included the building behind them ‘—here, in this palace?’ He stared at the city below them, and said, ‘There must be twenty or more private rooms upstairs, so we don’t even know where the prince is going to be.’ He looked at Amafi. ‘This used to be your stock-in-trade. Would you attempt to kill a royal here?’

Amafi said, ‘No, but then I always preferred shadows to confusion.’

‘I’m not sure I follow,’ said Tal.

The former assassin took his master by the elbow and slowly turned him around to face the building. Tal saw a tableau that looked like a theatre stage, for from the garden, the ground floor of the house could be seen. Save for the entrances to kitchens and garderobes, it was simply one vast enclosure.

Amafi said, ‘Everyone is in plain sight, and that is good. Should someone wish to go upstairs, they must enter there.’ He pointed to the main entrance. ‘There is but one access to the upper rooms, that stairway against the right wall. I have not surveyed this monument to conspicuous greed completely, Magnificence, but I see no other exits. There may be a bolt hole to the street from a basement, but that’s immaterial, for anyone wishing to use it would first have to go through this room.’

‘So it is a good choice?’

Amafi shrugged. ‘When you kill, you must leave immediately. There can be no hesitation or you will stand a good chance of being caught. I prefer shadows. I prefer to be far from my victims before they are cold, let alone found. Others prefer chaos to cover their tracks.’ Amafi looked around the garden. ‘Were I forced to kill a man in there, I would be hiding somewhere … here, in the garden. In the confusion that followed upon the death of someone in there, I would be leaving from out here.’

Tal tried not to look obvious as he again turned to take in their surroundings. The garden was rectangular in shape, with a single rectangular pool at its centre. Low hedges lined the sides of the garden, and narrow paths took amblers to where they could look out over the city and down to the shores of the Overn Deep. A few benches and torch holders were also scattered around.

‘Crossbow?’

‘Too inaccurate,’ said Amafi. ‘But if no other alternative presented itself, perhaps. You, of course, could use a bow with great efficiency. I, on the other hand, would choose a dart.’

‘Dart?’

‘Tipped with poison.’ Caught up in the plan, Amafi glanced around. ‘I would conceal a blowpipe under my cloak. Or, if the night was warm, secrete it beneath my tunic, or up a sleeve. It needn’t be a long one, no more than thus,’ he held his hands about a foot apart – ‘and the dart would be hidden in a tiny pouch, strong enough to prevent me from being pricked and killed by my own weapon.

‘I would stalk my quarry until he made his intentions clear to me – he might sit at a gaming table here, go upstairs, or come into the garden. The skill lies in being ready in a moment; to have the blowpipe out and the dart inserted in seconds, then to strike the target and run before you see them fall to the floor.’

‘How can you be certain?’

‘There are several lethal venoms and plant extracts, Magnificence, that merely have to prick the skin to cause quick and certain death. They are very dangerous to handle, but if you are trained—’ He shrugged. ‘Not my first choice, but I know the art.

‘I would have already planned a way out of this garden,’ said Amafi, pointing to the rear wall, ‘I would have tied a rope to a statue hidden in a hedge, and I would climb down into the rear garden of the house below this one while the women up here began to scream and call for the guards, in short, I would be hidden by chaos.’

‘What would you use if not a blowpipe and poison?’

‘An expertly-thrown dagger could suffice, but that would increase the risk of being seen.’

‘I should think so.’

‘You would be amazed at what people do not see, Magnificence. They watch the body fall, they see the blood, they hear the women scream and the men curse, then they glance around to see if they are in danger, and they do not notice the unremarkable man in unremarkable garb no longer standing at the edge of the crowd. It is better if there’s a lot of running and screaming.

‘No, killing a man is fairly easy. It is killing him and not getting caught that makes it difficult.’

‘So, assuming the prince appears tonight, how would you kill him?’

‘Magnificence, I would never undertake such a contract. Killing rich merchants and even the minor nobility is one thing – there is a chance of retribution, but not a large one. Sooner or later the sons inherit their father’s estates and whatever is being paid to the local constabulary to hunt down the murderer is seen as an unnecessary expense; after all, it will not bring back their departed, no matter how beloved and missed.’

‘You are a cynical bastard, Amafi. Did anyone ever tell you that?’

‘More than once, Magnificence, but then, consider my trade.’ He smiled and shrugged. ‘No, to kill royals you’d have to employ fanatics. Those willing to give up their lives to see a son of the imperial house dead. A professional would never undertake such a contract.’

‘What about the Nighthawks?’

Amafi took Tal by the elbow and steered him to the farthest corner of the garden. ‘Among my calling, they are legendary. Being legends, there are equal measures of truth and myth to their story.’

‘Go on.’

‘It is believed that they were once a family, a large family of men and women who took the occupation of killing to a higher level, making it an art form. For generations they plied their trade quietly and without notice, save by those in need of such skills. Then, a hundred years ago something happened to them, they became a cult and their numbers multiplied. Then they were nearly obliterated by the soldiers of the Kingdom.

‘Since then, there have been rumours of their return.’

‘More than rumours,’ said Tal. He glanced around. ‘Find us a fast way out of here.’

Amafi nodded and Tal returned to the game. He played indifferently for another hour, waiting for some sign that royalty had arrived. He estimated it was roughly three hours past sunset and that by now anyone setting out for a night in the city would be arriving at their destination. Tal picked up his winnings and went looking for his servant.

Amafi stood quietly by a column on the left side of the room, just in front of the broad steps which led down into the garden. When Tal reached him, Amafi said, ‘It is done. I have discovered two possible exits that do not require using the front door.

‘The first is a rope ladder used by the gardeners to assist in the trimming of the border-hedges surrounding the garden. It is long enough to reach the rooftop of the villa directly below; on the other side of the garden lies a rocky path – it is steép, but it can be used to descend the hillside to a place where one may jump to a road below without fear of injury. Either would suffice as a quick departure.’

‘You did well.’

‘I serve at your whim, Magnificence.’

Tal resisted the temptation to point out that Amafi had also tried to kill him on at least two previous occasions when it had suited him, and said, ‘Now, tell me, again. If you were to ambush a prince of the royal house of Kesh, how would you do it from here?’

‘I would not,’ said Amafi. ‘I would pick my spot and ensure someone brought him to me.’

‘That would require an agent inside the royal party.’

Amafi shrugged. ‘And that is not possible?’

Tal considered. ‘Very possible.’ He stood lost in thought for a while. Then he said, ‘But if a royal prince doesn’t appear tonight, it’s our information that’s at fault, and this has been a pointless exercise.

‘We wait for another hour, and if no one has arrived, we shall return to our quarters.’

‘Yes, Magnificence,’ Amafi replied with an inclination of his head. ‘You will return to the cards?’

‘No,’ said Tal. ‘I’m not in the mood. I think I’ll stroll the floor for a while and see who’s come in since I left the table.’