Flight of the Night Hawks

‘No, my friends,’ said the miller. ‘I have an announcement to make. This day, after one of the most bountiful harvests in memory, at a time when everyone seems to be doing so well, I wish to add to the joy of the moment by sharing wonderful news with you all.’

‘Out with it, then,’ shouted another voice from the crowd. ‘You’re making me thirsty!’

Throwing the speaker a black look, the miller smiled again. ‘I would like you all to know that this year my son, Grame, will be wed to Ellie Rankin.’

He motioned to where Ellie stood between the two boys, who looked as if they had just been poleaxed. Zane stood with a furrowed brow, as if he couldn’t quite understand what had just been said, and Tad stood open-mouthed, obviously unwilling to believe it.

Ellie was halfway to the wagon when the boys started after her. Caleb reached out and grabbed each by their collar and hauled them back. ‘Don’t go making a fuss now,’ he said in a low, menacing tone.

Tad threw him an angry look and Zane drew back his fist, but Caleb merely pulled upwards, lifting the boys onto their toes. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

Zane reconsidered, and let his hand fall to his side. Marie said, ‘If you stoneheads really care about Ellie, you’ll be happy for her. Now, the first one to start a fight will have to answer to me. Is that clear?’

Both lads said, ‘Yes, Ma,’ nodded and Caleb let them go.

The townsfolk had gathered to congratulate the engaged couple, while Tad and Zane continued to pout. Caleb indicated that Marie should join the throng, and said, ‘Come with me, boys. I’ve got something special for an occasion such as this.’

The boys looked like they were about to argue, but one glance from their mother caused them to nod and follow Caleb obediently.

He led them to a wagon behind the one which had carried the ale casks. Night was fast approaching and the festival was becoming more raucous. One of the teamsters sat on a buckboard, watching the town bestow its best wishes on the newly betrothed. The man was not a local, so he felt no need to join in, and remained contented with eating and drinking ale.

‘Thomas,’ said Caleb, greeting him.

‘Evening,’ said the wagoner.

‘You have that box up there?’

‘It’s under that tarp, Caleb.’

Caleb found the box and pulled it towards the rear of the wagon. Drawing out his large hunting knife, he used the stout blade to pry open the lid, exposing a dozen bottles of amber liquid. He picked one out and held it up to the lantern light.

‘What is it?’ asked Tad.

‘Something I discovered on my travels down in Kinnoch Country.’

‘Looks like brandy,’ said Zane. ‘The colour, I mean.’

‘Not brandy, but you’ve a good eye.’ Caleb turned, and sat on the back of the wagon, letting his feet dangle. ‘Brandy’s just boiled wine, this is something else.

‘In Kinnoch they have a way to distil a mash of grain, slowly cooking it over fires fed by peat, and then the brew is aged in casks. When it’s made badly, it can peel the paint off a warship’s hull, but when it’s made well—’ He bit the cork and pulled it out.

With his free hand he felt around in the box and produced a small cup of glass. ‘You can’t drink this out of clay or metal, boys. It’ll foul the taste.’

‘What is it?’ asked Tad.

‘They call it whiskey,’ said Caleb, filling the small glass to the top.

‘That’s not very much.’ Zane’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the tiny vessel which held no more than two or three ounces of liquid.

‘A little is more than enough,’ said Caleb, tipping the contents of the glass into his mouth and swallowing. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You try it.’

He produced another glass and filled them both. ‘You can learn to sip this later, boys. Just toss it back and swallow for now.’

The boys did as instructed, and an instant later both were coughing furiously, with their eyes watering. Zane said in a hoarse voice, ‘Damn me, Caleb, are you trying to poison us?’

‘It takes a little getting used to, Zane, but you’ll grow to love it.’

‘It burns like a hot coal,’ said Tad, whipping at his eyes with the sleeve of his tunic.

‘Give it a minute,’ said Caleb. ‘It’ll warm your gut.’

Zane smacked his lips. ‘Not that I think it’s good, but let me try another.’

Caleb poured again and the boys drank. This time there was no coughing, but their eyes continued to water.

‘I think I’ll stick to ale,’ said Tad.

‘I don’t know,’ said Zane. ‘There’s something about it I rather like.’

‘You’re a young man of promise, Zane Cafrrey,’ said Caleb.

Laughing, Tad said, ‘Whoa. I can feel it going to my head!’

‘The Kinnoch men say it “has a kick”, and they know of what they speak.’

‘What are you going to do with it?’ said Tad, indicating the other cases.

‘I’m taking it to my father, as a gift. There’s not a lot that’s new to him, so I thought he might enjoy this.’

‘Why are you giving us this?’ asked Tad. ‘I mean, thank you, but why?’

‘To take your mind off an imagined slight,’ said Caleb. ‘If I let you drink alone two things would happen.’ He held up a finger, while he poured them another drink. ‘Firstly, you’d receive no end of teasing from the other men in town who know how you’ve been butting heads over Ellie for nearly a year. Secondly, you’d just pick a fight with Grame.’

The boys quickly drank the whiskey and seemed to be getting used to it. Caleb filled their glasses again. ‘Here, have another.’

The boys finished their fourth drink, and Tad’s eyes began to close. ‘You’re getting us drunk. I can feel it.’

Caleb filled the glasses yet again and said, ‘One more should do it.’

Zane asked, ‘Do what?’ as his speech began to slur.

Caleb jumped down from the wagon bed. ‘Get you too drunk to pick a fight.’ He pushed Tad who wobbled as he tried to compensate for being slightly off balance.

‘Come along,’ said Caleb.

‘Where?’ asked Zane.

‘Back to your ma’s, and into your beds. You’re going to pass out in five minutes and I don’t want to carry you.’

The boys had never drunk anything as potent as the whiskey before, and they followed Caleb quietly. By the time they had reached their home, both boys were unsteady on their feet.

Caleb ushered them inside and when he had seen them onto their sleeping mats, he left and returned to the festival. It took only a few minutes to find Marie and when she saw him, she said, ‘What did you do with them?’

‘Got them very drunk.’

‘As if they needed any help doing that.’ She looked around anxiously. ‘Where are they?’

‘Back at your house, sleeping it off.’

Her gaze narrowed. ‘They haven’t had enough time to get that drunk.’

He held up the whiskey bottle. It was nearly empty. ‘When they just tossed down five double portions each in fifteen minutes, they have.’

‘Well, at least they won’t be troubling Grame and Ellie,’ said Marie.

‘Or us.’ Caleb said with a smile.

She said, ‘I don’t care how drunk they are, Caleb, if they’re in the house, then you’re not.’

He grinned. ‘I already have a room at the inn. If we head over there now, no one will notice you come upstairs with me.’

She slipped her arm through his. ‘As if I care what people think. I’m not a maiden trying to catch a young suitor, Caleb. I’ll grab happiness where I can and if anyone cares, it doesn’t matter.’

Caleb pulled her close to him and said, ‘And those who do matter don’t mind.’

They skirted the edge of the crowd and made for the inn.

Their lovemaking had an urgency to it that Caleb had not experienced before, and afterward, as they lay with her head on his shoulder, he asked, ‘What troubles you?’

She knew that one of the reasons why they had been drawn to each other was his ability to read her mood so accurately. ‘Tad asked me if we were going to wed.’

Caleb was silent for a moment, then he let out a long sigh. ‘If I were the the marrying kind, Marie, it would be you.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But if you won’t stay, marry me, and be a real father to the boys, you have to take them with you.’

Caleb moved out from under her and levered himself up on his elbow. Looking down at her, he said, ‘What?’

‘You can see how it is for them, Caleb. They have no future, here. I had to sell the farm and that coin won’t last forever, even if I grow most of my food in the garden. I can make do alone, but feeding growing boys … And they have no one to teach them farming, and no guild to teach them a craft. Every other lad was apprenticed to a farmer, trader, sailor, or guild two years ago at the Choosing, but my boys stood alone at the end. Everyone likes them, and had they means to help, Tad and Zane would be apprenticed by now, but there just isn’t enough work here.

‘If you don’t take them with you, they’ll become layabouts or worse. I’d rather lose them now than see them hanged for robbers in a few years.’

Caleb was silent for a long moment. ‘What would you have me do with them, Marie?’

‘You’re a man of some stature, despite your homespun garb and leather hunting togs, or at least your father is. You’ve seen the world. Take them with you as servants, or apprentices, or take them to Krondor and find them work there.

‘They have no father, Caleb. When they were little a ma was all they needed – to wipe their noses and hold them when they were scared. We did a lot of that after Zane’s folks were killed in the troll raid. But at this age they need a man to show them what to do and what not to do, to knock some sense into them if need be, and to praise them when they do well. So, if you won’t wed me and stay here, then at least take them with you.’

Caleb turned, and sat with his back against the plastered wall. ‘What you say makes sense, in a way.’

‘Then you’ll do it?’

‘I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to, but yes, I’ll take them with me. If my father doesn’t know what to do with them, I’ll take them to Krondor and see them apprenticed with a trader or placed in a guild.’

‘They’re like brothers now. It would be a crime to split them apart.’

‘I’ll keep them together. I promise.’

She nestled closer to him. ‘You’ll come back from time to time and tell me how they’re doing?’

‘Yes, Marie,’ said Caleb. ‘I’ll make them write to you often.’

‘That would be grand,’ she whispered. ‘No one has ever written to me before.’ She sighed. ‘Come to think of it, no one’s ever written to anyone I know.’

‘I’ll see that they do.’

‘That’s lovely, but you’ll have to teach them to write, of course.’

‘They don’t know their letters?’ Caleb couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

‘Who would teach them?’

‘Don’t you …?’

‘No, never learned,’ she said. ‘I can make out word-signs a bit, because I’ve heard them at the shops, but I’ve never really had a need for them.’

‘Then how will you read what they send you?’

‘I’ll find someone to read them to me, I just need to know that they’re doing well somewhere.’

‘You’re a rare woman, Marie,’ he said.

‘No, I’m just a normal mother worried about her boys.’

Caleb settled back into bed and let her return to the crook of his shoulder. Silently he wondered what he had got himself into.

• CHAPTER TWO •

Council

PUG HELD UP HIS HAND.

He was a short man who looked no more than forty years old. He was dressed, as always, in a simple black robe, and his dark eyes surveyed all the people who stood before him. His eyes were the one feature that betrayed the extent of his power. Otherwise he was, to all outward appearances, a very average looking man.

The cave on the north side of Sorcerer’s Isle had become the traditional meeting place for the Conclave’s leaders. It had a narrow entrance, with a low ceiling. It was dry, free of moss and lichen, and from time to time, it was dusted to provide a modicum of comfort for those who met there. The cave was almost bare, save for two stone shelves and a few rocks which offered the only resting places. Light was provided by a spell that Miranda employed – an enchantment which caused the walls themselves to glow faintly. Only one feature of the cave was unnatural: a bust of Sarig, the putative God of Magic rested upon a pedestal against a wall.

Over the years, Pug had slowly come to understand more about the way in which the gods ‘died’. Sarig was lost, and had been presumed dead since the Chaos Wars, yet Pug was coming to the conclusion that he still existed in some form and still had a hand in things. The bust flickered as the features of the icon shifted constantly, occasionally resembling Pug, or one of Pug’s companions. Its changing countenance illustrated the theory that all magicians were avatars of the god in one manner or another.

Pug pushed his chronic curiosity over that artefact away, as he looked from face to face, seeing his most trusted advisors. All but two of them were former students. Those two – Miranda and Nakor – stood quietly to one side. Magnus, Pug and Miranda’s son who had recently returned from the world of Kelewan, stood behind his mother. Pug caught a glimpse of resemblance between them in the faint light and smiled slightly. Magnus and Caleb were unmistakably brothers, save for their skin tone and hair colour – Magnus was pale with white hair while Caleb’s skin was tanned and his hair dark brown – but neither looked especially like their parents. There were hints and glimpses of similarities from time to time, but Pug had wondered more than once whether the boys might carry the look of one of their paternal grandparents, neither of whom was known to him.

Miranda had not changed since Pug had first met her over fifty years before. Her dark hair held only a fleck of grey and her eyes changed colour with her mood – dark grey, to green, to brown-flecked hazel, to dark brown. She had high cheekbones and a determined set to her mouth that at times could undermine her regal beauty.

To Pug, she was always beautiful, even when he was angry enough to strangle her. It was her strength and passion that made him love her. Katala, his first wife, had possessed the same qualities in her youth. Pug’s eyes locked with his wife’s for a moment and they exchanged the silent communication they had shared for years.

Nakor settled down on a rocky ledge, and Pug wondered again if he would ever truly understand the strange little man. Nakor refused to accept the traditional concept of magic, always insisting that it was just tricks, the deft manipulation of some kind of mystical stuff that underpinned all things. There were moments when the bandy-legged little man drove Pug to distraction with his abstract musings on the nature of things, but at other times Nakor could provide insights into and had a grasp of magic that stunned Pug. The Isalani was also, to Pug’s mind, potentially the most dangerous magician in the world.

The newcomers to the Conclave’s inner circle sat waiting for Pug to speak. They were: Rosenvar, a middle-aged magician from Salmater and Uskavan, a mindmaster from the world of Salavan.

Uskavan looked human but his skin had a decidedly magenta hue if you were close enough to notice. Pug had made contact with his homeworld a decade before, via the Hall of Worlds, and had agreed to let him study with the Conclave in exchange for sharing knowledge of his mind-magic. Uskavan could produce illusions so vivid in the mind of a subject, that they could cause physical reactions – he could conjure phantom blades that could cut, or imaginary flames that could burn. Pug also found his alien perspective useful.

Uskavan had taken the place of Robert de Lyse, one of Pug’s best students and a valuable servant of the Conclave of Shadows. Robert had died peacefully in his sleep the year before, though he had been less than seventy years old.

Pug began, ‘I have spoken to each of you separately and now want to share some intelligence, so I’ve asked you to join me today to sum up what we know regarding two issues of great importance.

‘The first is the matter of the Talnoy.’ He glanced at Magnus, who stepped out from behind his mother.

Magnus’ face was set in a concerned expression. ‘The Tsurani magicians are as baffled as we are by the nature of the magic used to create these things.’

The Talnoy were artefacts from another circle of reality, created by a race called the Dasati and were extremely dangerous. They were suits of armour powered by the imprisoned souls, or spirits, of the Dasati, and as such they were almost impervious to damage, immune to pain, and mindless in their obedience. According to what Kaspar of Olasko had told the Conclave about when he had brought the first Talnoy to their attention, ‘Talnoy’ was Dasati for ‘very hard to kill’.

Magnus continued, ‘They agree that any major incursion into our level of reality, for lack of a better term, would be catastrophic. As such, they are endeavouring to discover as much as possible about the wards we disturbed when we first discovered the Talnoy repository in the cave.’

He glanced at Nakor who said, ‘Nothing new to report, I’m sorry to say.’ The self-proclaimed gambler who refused to admit that he was a magician, paused as he considered his words. Finally, he continued, ‘Our girls and boys’ – he referred to all the younger magicians on Sorcerer’s Island as girls and boys – ‘are trying very hard to understand these things.

‘The one good thing,’ he said with a grin, ‘is that I think we have found a way to ensure that only we can command them should it come to a confrontation with the Dasati.’

Pug said, ‘That’s something at least. Ten thousand Talnoy under our command is nothing to be taken lightly.’ He ignored the impulse to add that against the hundreds of thousands of Talnoy controlled by the Dasati, that number would amount to very little. ‘But I think our interests are best served if we can discover how they remained hidden for so long. In other words, if we can stay hidden from the Dasati, then we will have accomplished the most important task we have before us.

‘Our other task is hunting down Leso Varen.’

Miranda said, ‘Have we any idea to where he might have fled?’

‘I have agents keeping alert for anything out of the ordinary concerning magic.’

Miranda’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘He’s gone to ground for years at a time.’

Pug said, ‘But this time I think he will be anxious to re-establish his presence. He knows something important is out there, even if he has no idea what the Talnoy represent or how he might use them to his advantage. If nothing else, he will want to deny us something that powerful.

‘His attack on the island and Elvandar last year proved that he has grown bolder, and whatever tendency he had for stealth is gone. He re-manifested his powers quickly after his host was killed by Talwin Hawkins. I think it’s safe to assume we’ll hear from him again, and soon.’

Rosenvar said, ‘Pug, what is it you’ve not told us?’

Pug smiled. He had chosen Rosenvar to join the inner circle because the man had keen insight and an almost intuitive ability to glean answers from very scant information. ‘It is nothing specific, really. Just some troubling dreams, and bad feelings.’

Uskavan’s black eyes were wide as he said, ‘Never ignore dreams, Pug. My people believe that parts of our minds are always at work, always seeking to understand things. Dreams are often the means by which some parts of the mind communicate what is about to become conscious thought; especially when the emotions are strong. Our races are not that different; when it comes to the workings of our minds we have much in common.’

Magnus glanced at the alien magician and Pug could almost read his son’s thoughts: few humans, including Pug, Miranda and Magnus, could even begin to approach the mind-discipline of a novice of Uskavan’s order. Salavan minds were far more complex than human ones, despite Uskavan’s insistence this was only because the Salavans were an older race and had been practising mental arts for thousands of years.

Pug nodded, a slight expression of resignation on his face. ‘Indeed. I fear my dreams may be portends of coming disaster. Or, they may simply be a manifestation of my concerns over the Dasati.’

Magnus said, ‘Father, we must prepare as if they are coming.’

‘I know.’ Pug looked at each member of the inner circle of the Conclave. ‘Send word to our agents who are placed in all the royal courts. I want to know about every ambition, plot or intrigue, and any situation that could be turned to our advantage. If we must, we shall bribe and threaten to secure help in such a conflict.’

Pug fell silent for a minute. He remembered the Riftwar; for twelve years, while the Tsurani had fallen upon the Kingdom and the Free Cities, Queg, Great Kesh and the lesser kingdoms to the east had watched with keen anticipation, seeking any opportunity to advance their own cause at the Kingdom’s expense. ‘Should the Dasati come, we must have friends in high places who will argue that every nation needs to respond quickly, no matter where the invasion strikes.’

Magnus said, ‘Father, that is all well and good should an attack happen in Triagia – all the monarchs on this continent have some sense of vulnerability – should aliens set foot on close by soil they would be equally vulnerable and will unite, but what if the beachhead is some deserted shore of the Sunset Islands, or down in the grasslands of Novindus, or the high plateau of Wynet?’

‘A more difficult task, then,’ said Pug. He looked at his council, pausing a moment to study each face. Miranda seemed as enigmatic as a stranger. She often kept her own counsel and took matters into her own hands. They had fought more than once over the years about her putting agents into the field without consulting him or giving orders that he disagreed with. He smiled slightly. As long as his wife was involved, Pug could never be accused of ruling the council of the Conclave of Shadows. She nodded slightly and returned his smile, and he knew this time she was in full agreement.

Rosenvar’s lined face looked as if it was fashioned from sunburnt leather. His reddish hue was accentuated by a shock of unruly blond hair, now rapidly turning white. ‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that we might be well served if we started leaking a rumour or two.’

Pug was silent for a moment. ‘To what end?’

The magician from Salmater smiled and Pug recalled the first time he had met him, sitting in the corner of an ale house, dispensing sage advice, minor charms and outright lies with equal abandon to anyone who’d stand him the price of a drink. Since coming to the island, he had stayed relatively sober, and his drinking bouts were few and far between.

‘Rumours are wonderful things, when employed correctly,’ said Rosenvar. His voice tended to rumble as if it started somewhere deep within his bowels and slowly worked its way up through his throat. ‘I’ve seen entire cities turned on their collective ear by the right rumour, Pug. Rulers distrust official reports and credible witnesses, but a juicy rumour … ah, that’ll set them running around like turkeys in a storm, heads turned upwards with mouths agape, trying to drown themselves in the downpour.’

Pug chuckled. He enjoyed Rosenvar’s turns of phrase. ‘Very well, but what rumours?’

Rosenvar lost his smile. ‘Word is Duke Erik is ill, perhaps dying, in Krondor.’

Pug nodded. ‘So I have heard.’

Miranda said, ‘He is the last.’

Pug knew what she meant. He was the last survivor of Calis’ company of ‘Desperate Men’, those prisoners given their freedom in exchange for making the journey down to Novindus at the start of the Serpentwar, and the only man of rank still serving who had survived the conflict. Erik knew what distant dangers could mean. ‘Then we start in Krondor?’

‘It seems wise,’ said Rosenvar. ‘There are a couple of rumourmongers who have various highly placed officials of the Western Realm among their clients. If we start something vague enough to not cause an immediate response, but something familiar enough to Lord Erik that he’ll feel obliged to warn the Prince of Krondor … well, it’s a start.’