Книга - King of Foxes

King of Foxes
Raymond E. Feist


The whole of the magnificent Riftwar Cycle by bestselling author Raymond E. Feist, master of magic and adventure, now available in ebookTalon, last of the Orosini tribe, has been transformed by the Conclave of Shadows from a trusting young boy to a dashing nobleman. He is now Talwin Hawkins, Roldem’s premiere swordsman, and he has one desire – to avenge the massacre of his family.Two of the culprits are already dead by his hand, but Tal will not rest until he uncovers the reason for the murders and punishes their architect. But the Conclave demands its membership price: he must investigate Leso Varen, a magician of terrible power. To do this means service to the sorcerer’s master, Duke Kaspar of Olasko.He must swear loyalty to the very man he suspects of slaughtering his family, even if it means tracking down the Duke’s enemies – the members of the Conclave and Talon’s own friends.King of Foxes is the second book of Raymond E. Feist’s trilogy Conclave of Shadows. The third and final book in the trilogy is Exile’s Return.












RAYMOND E. FEIST

King of Foxes


Conclave of Shadows Book Two











For Jessica

With all the love it’s possible for a father to give.




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#ued573ce5-040f-5004-ae82-e9937a118d98)

Title Page (#u552a3e22-7429-5ef3-92e7-ec848adea4bc)

Maps of Midkemia (#u7f8ba6bd-7f7e-58ee-817d-92c8243e3999)

Part One: Agent (#uae4fd258-db1b-5c50-b272-2fd966036550)

Chapter One: Return (#u31382e32-beb4-5cca-b554-7f366387ba03)

Chapter Two: Reception (#ub2f5c0ed-87d6-5d9d-9373-c63c93f5e92f)

Chapter Three: Hunt (#u29c214d0-865e-5551-ad14-38d8233366e0)

Chapter Four: Choice (#uf02d4b19-5b37-585b-8746-0c4830e9aab8)

Chapter Five: Service (#u96b94e54-638b-544d-8730-f41c17430e02)

Chapter Six: Rillanon (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven: Oath (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight: Task (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine: Emissary (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten: Discovery (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven: Salador (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve: Betrayal (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Two: Soldier (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen: Prison (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen: Cook (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen: Escape (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen: Survival (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen: Mercenaries (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen: Deception (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen: Assault (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty: Resolution (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue: Retribution (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)

By The Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Maps of Midkemia (#ulink_05486704-4a13-5c1b-8f0c-7c07b78126d1)















Part One Agent (#ulink_46089386-60f6-58aa-a0df-a146abc67c7a)


‘In the service of Caesar, everything is legitimate’

Pierre Corneille, La Mart de Pompée




• Chapter One • Return (#ulink_f28d3825-2fbb-5dcb-9ff5-707fa268e651)


A BIRD SOARED OVER THE city.

Its eyes sought out a figure in the throng on the docks, one man amidst the teeming surge of humanity occupying the harbour-side during the busiest part of the day. The Port of Roldem, harbour to the capital city of the island kingdom of the same name, was one of the most crowded in the Sea of Kingdoms. Trade goods and passengers from the Empire of Great Kesh, the Kingdom of the Isles, and half a dozen lesser nations nearby came and went daily.

The man under scrutiny wore the travel clothes of a noble, all sturdy weave and easily cleaned, with fastenings which allowed him to remain comfortable in all weathers. He sported a jacket designed to be worn off the left shoulder, leaving his sword arm unencumbered. Upon his head was a black beret adorned with a silver pin and a single grey feather, and upon his feet he wore sturdy boots. His luggage was being offloaded and would be conveyed to the address he had specified. He travelled without servant, which while unusual for a noble was not unheard of – for not all nobles were wealthy.

He paused for a brief second to drink in the sights. Around him people scurried: porters, sailors, stevedores, and teamsters. Wagons loaded so high their wheels appeared on the verge of buckling rolled slowly by him, cargo heading into the city or out to the ferry barges which would load them onto outbound ships. Roldem was a busy port by any standard; not only were goods delivered here, but also transhipped, for Roldem was the trading capital of the Sea of Kingdoms.

Everywhere the young man looked he saw commerce. Men bargaining over the cost of goods to be sold in distant markets, others negotiating the price of offloading a cargo, or insuring one against pirates or loss at sea. Still others were agents of trading concerns eagerly watching for any sign that might prove an advantage to their sponsors, men who sat in coffee houses as far away as Krondor or as close as the Traders Exchange, just one street away from where the young man now stood. They would dispatch young boys with notes who would run to those men who awaited news on arriving cargo, men trying to sense a shift in a distant market before buying or selling.

The young man resumed his walk, and avoided a gang of urchins dashing past with determined boyish purpose. He forced himself not to pat his purse, for he knew it was still where it was supposed to be, but there was always the possibility the boys were sent by a gang of pickpockets on the look-out for a fat purse to rob. The young man kept his eyes moving, seeking out any potential threat. He saw only bakers and street vendors, travellers and a pair of guardsmen. It was exactly who he would have expected to see in the crowd on Roldem’s docks.

Looking down from above, the soaring bird saw in the press of the crowd that another man moved along a parallel course and at the same pace as the young noble.

The bird circled and observed the second man, a tall traveller with dark hair who moved like a predator, easily keeping his eye upon the other man, but using passers-by as cover, dodging effortlessly through the crowd, never falling behind, but never getting close enough to be discovered.

The young noble was fair-skinned, but sun-browned, his blue eyes squinting against the day’s glare. It was late summer in Roldem and the dawn mists and fog had fled, burned off by mid-morning to a brilliant sunny sky, made tolerable by a light wind off the sea. Trudging up the hill from the harbour, the noble whistled a nameless tune as he sought out his old quarters, a three-bedroomed flat above a moneylender’s home. He knew he was being followed, for he was as adept a hunter as any man living.

Talon of the Silver Hawk, last of the Orosini, servant of the Conclave of Shadows, had returned to Roldem. Here he was Talwin Hawkins – distant cousin to Lord Seljan Hawkins, Baron of the Prince’s Court in Krondor. His title was Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake – estates producing almost no income – and he was vassal to the Baron of Ylith; a former Bannerette Knight Lieutenant under the command of the Duke of Yabon, Tal Hawkins was a young man of some rank and little wealth.

For almost two years he had been absent from the scene of his most significant public triumph, winning the tournament at the Masters’ Court, thus earning the title of World’s Greatest Swordsman. Cynical despite his youth, he tried to keep the illusion of superiority in perspective – he had been the best of the several hundred entrants who had come to Roldem for the contest, but that hardly convinced him he was the best in the world. He had no doubt there was some soldier on a distant battlement, or mercenary riding guard-duty somewhere who could cut him up for fish-bait given the chance; but fortunately they hadn’t entered the contest.

For a brief instant, Tal wondered if fate would allow him to return to Roldem in three years’ time to defend that championship. He was but twenty-three years of age, so it would only be circumstance that would prevent him from returning to Roldem. Should he do so, he hoped the contest would be less eventful than the last. Two men had died by his sword during the matches – a very rare and usually regrettable outcome. Nevertheless Tal had felt no regret, since one of the men had been among those responsible for the destruction of his nation, and the other had been an assassin sent to kill him. Memories of assassins turned his mind to the man following him. The other man had also boarded at Salador, yet had managed to avoid direct contact with him aboard the small ship for the duration of the voyage, despite their being nearly two weeks at sea.

The bird wheeled overhead, then pulled up, wings flapping as it hovered, legs extended downward and tail fanned, as if watching prey. With its telltale cry, the predator announced its presence.

Hearing the familiar screech, Tal looked up, then hesitated for a moment, for the bird above the throng was a silver hawk. It was his spirit guide and had given him his naming vision. For an instant Tal imagined he could see the creature’s eyes and hear a greeting. Then the bird wheeled and flew away.

‘Did you see that?’ asked a porter nearby. ‘Never seen a bird do that.’

Tal said, ‘Just a hawk.’

‘Never seen a hawk that colour, leastways not around here,’ answered the porter who took one look at where the bird had hovered then returned to lugging his bundle. Tal nodded, then moved back into the throng. The silver hawk was native to his homeland far to the north, across the vast Sea of Kingdoms, and as far as he knew, none inhabited the island kingdom of Roldem. He felt troubled, and now by more than the presence of the man who had followed him from Salador. He had been subsumed so long in the role of Tal Hawkins that he had forgotten his true identity. Perhaps the bird had been a warning.

With a mental shrug he considered that the bird’s appearance might have been nothing more than a coincidence. While still an Orosini at heart, in all ways he had been forced to abandon the practices and beliefs of his people. He still owned a core being – Talon of the Silver Hawk – a boy forged in the crucible of a nation’s history and culture; but he had been shaped and alloyed by fate and the teachings of outlanders so that at times the Orosini boy was no more than a distant memory.

He wended his way through the press of the city. Shops displayed colourful fashions as he entered a more prosperous part of the city. He lived at just the right level to convince everyone he was a noble of modest means. He was charming enough and successful enough as Champion of the Masters’ Court to warrant invitations to the very best Roldemish society had to offer, but had as yet to host his own gala.

Reaching the door to the moneylender’s home, he reflected wryly that he might crowd half a dozen close friends into his modest apartment, but he could hardly entertain those to whom he owed a social debt. He knocked lightly upon the door and then entered.

The office of Kostas Zenvanose consisted of little more than a tiny counter and there was barely enough room to stand before it. A clever hinge allowed the counter to be raised at night and put out of the way. Three feet behind the counter a curtain divided the room. Tal knew that behind the curtain lay the Zenvanose family living-room. Beyond that lay the kitchen, bedrooms, and exit to the back courtyard.

A pretty girl appeared and her face brightened with a smile. ‘Squire! It’s wonderful to see you again.’

Sveta Zenvanose had been a charming girl of seventeen when Tal had last seen her. The passing two years had done nothing but turn a pretty lass into a burgeoning beauty. She had lilywhite skin with a hint of rose on her high cheekbones and eyes the colour of cornflowers, all topped off with hair so black it shone with blue and violet highlights when struck by the sun. Her previously slender figure had also ripened, Tal noted as he quickly returned her smile.

‘My lady,’ he said with a slight bow. She began to flush, as she always had when confronted by the notorious Tal Hawkins. Tal kept the flirtation to a minimum, just enough to amuse the girl, but not enough to pose any serious issues between himself and the girl’s father. While the father posed no threat to him directly, he had money, and money could buy a lot of threats. The father appeared a moment later, and as always Tal wondered how he could have sired a girl as pretty as Sveta. Kostas was gaunt to the point of looking unhealthy, which Tal knew was misleading, for he was lively and moved quickly. He also had a keen eye and a canny knack for business.

He moved swiftly between his daughter and his tenant, and smiled. ‘Greetings, Squire. Your rooms have been readied, as you requested, and I believe everything is in order.’

‘Thank you.’ Tal smiled. ‘Has my man put in an appearance?’

‘I believe he has, otherwise you have an intruder above who has been banging around all day yesterday and this morning. I assume it’s Pasko moving the furniture to dust and clean, and not a thief.’

Tal nodded. ‘Am I current with our accounts?’

As if by magic, the moneylender produced an account ledger and consulted it, with one bony finger running down the page. With a nod and an ‘ah’ he said, ‘You are most certainly current. Your rent is paid for another three months.’

Tal had left the island nation almost two years previously, and had deposited a sum of gold with the moneylender to keep the apartment against his return. He had judged that if he didn’t return within two years, he’d be dead, and Kostas would be free to rent out the rooms to someone else.

‘Good,’ said Tal. ‘Then I will leave you to your business and retire. I expect to be here for a while, so at the end of the three months, remind me and I’ll advance more funds against the rent.’

‘Very well, Squire.’

Sveta batted her lashes. ‘Good to see you home, Squire.’

Tal returned the obvious flirtation with a slight bow and smile, and fought down a sudden urge to laugh. The rooms above were no more his home than was the palace of the King. He had no home, at least he hadn’t since the Duke of Olasko had sent mercenaries to destroy the land of the Orosini. As far as Tal could judge, he was the sole surviving member of his people.

Tal left the office. One quick glance around the street told him that the man who had followed him from the ship was out of sight, so he mounted the stairs next to the door, climbing quickly to the entrance to his rooms. He tested the door and found it unlocked. Stepping in he was confronted by a dour-looking man with a droopy moustache and large brown eyes.

‘Master! There you are!’ Pasko said. ‘Weren’t you in on the morning tide?’

‘Indeed,’ replied Tal, handing his jacket and travel bag to his manservant. ‘But as such things are wont to be, the order of landing was dictated by factors of which I am ignorant.’

‘In other words, the ship’s owner didn’t bribe the harbourmaster enough to get you in early.’

‘Most likely.’ Tal sat down on a divan. ‘So expect the luggage to arrive later today.’

Pasko nodded. ‘The rooms are safe, master.’ Even in private, Pasko observed the formalities of their relationship: he the servant, Tal the master, despite the fact that he had been one of Tal’s instructors over the years.

‘Good.’ Tal knew that meant Pasko had employed various wards against scrying magic, just as he would have inspected the premises against more mundane observation. The chances of their enemies knowing that Tal was an agent of the Conclave of Shadows were small, but not out of the question. And they had sufficient resources to match the Conclave in dealing with opponents.

Since his victory over Raven and his mercenaries, avenging his own people’s slaughter, Tal had lived on Sorcerer’s Isle, recovering from wounds – both mental and physical – learning more of the politics of the Eastern Kingdoms, and simply resting. His teaching had continued in various areas, for Pug and his wife, Miranda, had occasionally instructed him in areas of magic that might concern him. Nakor the Isalani, the self-proclaimed gambler who was far more than that, instructed him in what only could be termed ‘dodgy business’, how to cheat at cards and spot others cheating, how to pick locks and pockets, as well as other nefarious skills. With his old friend Caleb he would go hunting. It had been the best time he had known since the destruction of his people.

During that period he had been allowed to glimpse some of the dealings of the Conclave on a level far above his station; and had thus gained the sense that the Conclave had agents numbering in the hundreds, perhaps thousands, or at least had links to thousands of well-positioned individuals. He knew the organization’s influences reached down into the heart of the Empire of Great Kesh, and across the sea to the lands of Novindus, as well as through the rift to the Tsurani home world, Kelewan. He could tell that enormous wealth was at their disposal, for whatever they needed always appeared somehow. The false patent of nobility that Tal carried in his personal portfolio had cost a small fortune, he was sure, for there were ‘originals’ in the Royal Archives on Rillanon. Even his ‘distant cousin’ Lord Seljan Hawkins had been delighted to discover a long-lost relative who had been victorious in the Masters’ Court, according to Nakor. Tal didn’t feel emboldened enough to ever visit the capital of the Kingdom of the Isles, because while the elderly Baron might believe that some distant cousin had fathered a lad who had some versatility with the sword, the possibility of Tal failing to be convincing when it came to small-talk about this or that family member made such a visit too risky to contemplate.

Still, it was reassuring to know that these resources lay at his disposal should he need them. For he was ready to embark upon the most difficult and dangerous portion of his personal mission to avenge his people: he had to find a way to destroy Duke Kaspar of Olasko, the man ultimately responsible for the obliteration of the Orosini nation. And Duke Kaspar happened to be the most dangerous man in the world, according to many sources.

‘What news?’ asked Pasko.

‘Nothing new, really. Reports from the north say that Olasko is again causing trouble in the Borderlands, and may be once more seeking to isolate the Orodon. They still send patrols through my former homeland to discourage anyone who might think to claim Orosini lands.’ Then he asked, ‘What is the news in Roldem?’

‘The usual court intrigues, master, and quite a few rumours of this lady and that lord and their dalliances. In short, with little of note to comment upon, the nobles, gentry and wealthy commoners turn their attention to gossip.’

‘Let’s confine ourselves to matters of importance. Any sign of Olasko’s agents here in Roldem?’

‘Always. But nothing out of the ordinary, or at least nothing we can see that’s out of the ordinary. He builds alliances, seeks to do favours in exchange for social debts, loans gold, and insinuates himself in the good graces of others.’

Tal was silent for a long moment. Then he asked, ‘To what ends?’

‘Pardon?’

Tal leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees. ‘He’s the most powerful man in the Eastern Kingdoms. He has blood ties to the throne of Roldem – he’s, what? Sixth in line of succession?’

‘Seventh,’ replied Pasko.

‘So why does he need to curry favour with Roldemish nobility?’

‘Indeed.’

‘He doesn’t need to,’ said Tal, ‘which means he wants to. But why?’

‘Lord Olasko is a man with many irons in the fire, master. Perhaps he has interests here in Roldem which might require a vote of the House of Lords?’

‘Perhaps. They ratify treaties enacted by the Crown, and verify succession. What else do they do?’

‘Not much else, save argue over taxes and land.’ Pasko nodded. ‘Given that Roldem is an island, master, land is of great importance.’ He grinned. ‘Until someone discovers how to build dirt.’

Tal grinned back. ‘I’m sure we know a few magicians who could increase the size of the island if they felt the need.’

Pasko said, ‘So, what are we doing back in Roldem, master?’

Tal sat back and sighed. ‘Playing the role of bored noble looking to find a better station in life. In short, I must convince Kaspar of Olasko I’m ready to take service with him by creating a muddle here that only he can get me out of.’

‘Such as?’

‘Picking a fight with a royal seems a good choice.’

‘What? You’re going to smack Prince Constantine and provoke a duel? The boy’s only fifteen years of age!’

‘I was thinking of his cousin, Prince Matthew.’

Pasko nodded. Matthew was the King’s cousin. He was considered the ‘difficult’ member of the royal family; more arrogant, demanding and condescending than any other member of the King’s family, he was also a womanizer, a drunk and he cheated at gambling. Rumour had it that the King had bailed him out of very difficult straits on a number of occasions. ‘Good choice. Kill him and the King will privately thank you … while his executioner is lopping off your head.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of killing him, just … creating enough of a fuss that the King would be unhappy with me remaining in his country.’

‘You’d have to kill him,’ said Pasko dryly. ‘As Champion of the Masters’ Court you could probably sleep with the Queen and the King would pass it off as a boyish prank. Why do you need all this bother? Olasko offered you a position when you won the tourney.’

‘Because I wish to appear the reluctant petitioner. I would have undergone close scrutiny had I accepted his offer immediately after the tourney two years ago. If I were to appear suddenly requesting that position today, I would undergo an even closer examination. But if I’m merely forced by circumstances to seek out his patronage, then my motives are obvious – at least I hope they are.

‘While at Sorcerer’s Isle, I was … prepared, to withstand a great deal of examination.’

Pasko nodded. He understood what was being said. Tal had been conditioned by Pug and the other magicians to deal with any magic that might uncover his true allegiance.

‘But the circumstances of my seeking service with Kaspar must also be credible. Being in his debt for my life seems an obvious motive.’

‘Assuming he can keep you off the headsman’s block.’ Pasko rubbed his throat. ‘I’ve always thought beheading a barbaric choice. Now, the Kingdom hangs its felons. A short drop –’ he snapped his fingers ‘– and the neck is broken, and it’s over. No mess, no fuss, no bother.

‘In Great Kesh, I’ve been told, they have many different choices of execution, depending on the location and nature of the crime: decapitation, burning at the stake, being buried up to your neck next to an anthill, drowning, exposure, being pulled apart by camels, being buried alive, defenestration –’

‘What?’

‘That’s throwing someone off a very high place onto the rocks below. My personal favourite is castration, then being fed to the crocodiles in the Overn Deep after having watched them first consume your manhood.’

Tal stood up. ‘Have I ever mentioned that you have a seriously morbid streak? Rather than contemplate the means of my demise, I’ll spend my energies on staying alive.’

‘Then, to a practical concern?’

Tal nodded.

‘While I suspect Duke Kaspar would intervene on your behalf in such a circumstance – the humiliation of Prince Matthew, I mean, not the feeding to crocodiles thing …’

Tal smiled.

‘… isn’t it going to be difficult for him to do so from across the seas?’

Tal’s smile broadened. ‘Nakor had intelligence from the north just as I left Salador; Duke Kaspar arrives within the week for a state visit.’

Pasko shrugged. ‘In aid of what?’

‘A little hand-holding for his distant cousin, I imagine, prior to doing something that might otherwise earn the King’s displeasure.’

‘Such as?’

‘We have no idea, but the north is constantly on a low roil, and Kaspar only has to raise the heat in one place or another for a kettle to boil over somewhere. That’s one of the many things I wish to find out.’

Pasko nodded. ‘Shall I draw you a bath?’

‘I think I’ll take a walk to Remarga’s and indulge in a long massage and tub there. Bring suitable clothing for an evening in town.’

‘Where will you be dining, master?’

‘I don’t know. Somewhere public.’

‘Dawson’s?’ The former inn was now exclusively a dining establishment for the noble and the rich, and had spawned a dozen imitators. ‘Dining out’ had become something of a pastime for those in the capital city.

‘Perhaps that new establishment, the Metropol. It’s considered the place to be seen, I have been told.’

‘It’s a private club, master.’

‘Then get me an invitation while I bathe, Pasko.’

With a wry expression, Pasko said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘I must be seen in public so word will spread I’m back in the city, but I need to be alone tonight when I finish supper and return to these quarters.’

‘Why, master?’

‘So I can find out who’s been following me since I left Salador, and what’s on his mind.’

‘A spy?’

With a stretch and a yawn, Tal said, ‘Probably an assassin.’

Sighing, Pasko said, ‘So it begins.’

Nodding as he headed for the door, Tal said, ‘Yes. So it begins.’



Fog shrouded the city. Mist hung so thick it was impossible to see more than three feet ahead. The bright lamps at each corner of the merchants’ quarter were reduced to dim yellow spots in the distance, and even the occasional lantern beside a tavern door became just a faint pool of light across the street. There were places on long streets where no light was visible, and the senses were confounded, distances were meaningless and the entirety of the universe was murk.

Even sound was muted. The taverns he passed offered just a murmur of voices rather than the raucous cacophony normally heard. Footfalls were a soft grinding of heel on caked mud rather than a clatter of leather on stone.

Even so, Tal Hawkins knew he was being stalked. He had known that the instant he had departed Lady Gavorkin’s home. He had lingered over dinner at the Metropol – it had taken only minutes for Pasko to gain an invitation on behalf of the owner of the establishment for the Champion of the Masters’ Court to dine as his guest – and Tal had left with a free membership in the club. He had been impressed with the decor, the ambiance and the service. The food was only just acceptable, and he planned on having words with the chef, but he could see this club business might be a useful enterprise.

Roldem lived on commerce more than any nation in the east, and this new club was in a location where nobles and wealthy commoners could come together in casual surroundings to socialize in a fashion impossible to imagine anywhere else in the city. Tal suspected that over the coming years fortunes would be lost and titles gained, marriages arranged and alliances formed in the quiet interior of the Metropol. Even before he had finished dining, a note from Lady Gavorkin had been handed to him, and Tal judged it as likely he would encounter his stalker on his way to her townhouse as he would back to his own. He had not, however, been accosted by whoever followed, and had spent a pleasant two hours, first being scolded for his long absence, then being ardently forgiven by Lady Gavorkin.

The lady was recently widowed, her husband having perished in a raid against a nest of Ceresian pirates operating out of an isolated bay off Kesh. His service to the Roldemish Crown had garnered Lady Gavorkin a fair amount of sympathy, some guarantees of a modest pension in addition to her ample estates and holdings, and an appetite for a new husband as soon as the proper mourning period had been observed. She was childless, and her estates stood at risk if the Crown decided that another noble would better able manage them. Ideally, from the royal perspective it would be ideal that Lady Gavorkin, Countess of Dravinko, should marry some other noble who was favoured by the Crown, which would tie up two loose ends nicely.

Tal knew he would have to sever all contact with Lady Gavorkin soon because he would never withstand the close scrutiny reserved for those marrying into Roldemish nobility. A minor squire’s son from a town outside a distant Kingdom city who was socially acceptable as an escort for galas and festivals was one thing, but someone who wed the widow of a recently departed war hero was another matter entirely. Besides, being tied down to anyone, even someone as attractive as Lady Margaret Gavorkin, held limited appeal for Tal, her substantial wealth, holdings, and energetic lovemaking notwithstanding.

Tal listened as he walked and let his hunter’s instincts serve him well. He had learned years earlier that a city was nothing but a different kind of wilderness, and that the skills he had learned as a child in the mountains to the far north, across the sea, could keep him alive in any city. Each place had its own rhythm and pace, its own dynamic feeling, and once he was comfortable within that environment, threats and opportunities for a hunt would be recognized, just as they were in the wild.

Whoever followed him was desperately trying to keep a proper distance and would have gone unnoticed by anyone less keenly aware of his surroundings than Tal. Tal knew this area of the city as well as anyone born here, and he knew he would be able to lose his stalker at whim. But he was curious as to who was following him, and more to the point, why.

Tal paused for half a step, just enough of a break in the rhythm of his walking for his stalker to reveal his whereabouts, then continued. He turned right at the corner, and stepped inside a deep doorway, the entrance to a tailor shop he had frequented. Forgoing his sword, he deftly removed a dagger from his belt and waited. At the moment Tal expected, the man following him turned the corner and stepped in front of him.

Tal reached out and grabbed the man’s right shoulder, bearing down and twisting as he pulled. The man reacted, but Tal was quicker; the stalker did exactly as Tal anticipated, hesitating for an instant before reflexively pulling away. Tal yanked upward using the man’s own motion to spin him completely around. Suddenly the stalker found himself hard against the door with Tal’s dagger at his throat.

‘Why are you following me?’ Tal asked, his voice a hissed whisper lest he arouse those asleep upstairs above the shop.

The man was quick, for his hands were moving towards his own dagger before the last syllable was uttered. He was also no fool, for he recognized he was in a hopeless situation a scant moment before Talon would be forced to plunge the blade into his throat. He slowly raised his hands to show they were empty. In a whisper, he answered, ‘Magnificence! I mean you no harm! My sword and dagger are still at my belt!’ He spoke in the language of the Kingdom of the Isles.

‘Who are you?’

‘I am Petro Amafi.’

‘Amafi? That’s Quegan. But you speak the language of the Isles.’

‘I have resided in Salador many years now and, to tell the truth, my command of the Roldemish tongue is lacking, so I employ the King’s Tongue.’

‘Tell me, Amafi, why are you following me?’ Tal repeated.

‘I am an assassin by trade. I have been paid to kill you.’

Tal took a step back, leaving his blade against the man’s throat, but gaining a perspective on him.

Petro Amafi was a half-head shorter than Tal’s two inches over six feet, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His clothing marked him as a foreigner; he wore a curious long tunic, gathered at the waist by a black leather belt, and rather than the long wide-bottomed trousers affected by the style-conscious in Roldem this season, he wore leggings and a courtier’s slippers. He sported a moustache and goatee and upon his head he wore a felted wool beret with a clasp and feather on the left side. His face was narrow, with deep eyes that revealed his menace more than his vulpine appearance. ‘You mean me no harm, but you’re an assassin sent to kill me. Something of a contradiction, don’t you agree?’ observed Tal.

‘I gain nothing by hiding the truth, Magnificence. My life is preserved by your ignorance. Should you kill me this moment, you will wonder who hired me.’

Tal chuckled. ‘That is true. So, then, we are at an impasse, for should you tell me, then I must kill you. So it is to your benefit not to tell me. But as I cannot spend the rest of my life waiting for you to divulge who sent you, so I gain nothing by keeping you alive.’

‘Wait!’ said Amafi, holding out his hand in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I did not come to kill you. I was hired to do so, but I have been observing you since nearly a week before you departed Salador and I wish to bargain.’

‘For your life?’

‘More, Magnificence. Let me serve.’

‘You’d take service with me?’ said Tal in dubious tones.

‘Willingly, Your Magnificence. Any man of your skills would be a worthy master, for I have seen you duel in the Court of Blades in Salador, and I’ve watched from the corner as you play cards in the ale houses; you win just enough to raise no suspicions, yet you are a master cheat. You are welcome in the homes of the great and near-great. You are admired by men and desired by women. What’s more, no one has ever done what you just have, turned me from hunter to hunted. But most telling of all, you are Champion of the Masters’ Court, the greatest blade in the world, and a rumour circulates that you are secretly in the service of Duke Kaspar of Olasko, and one who serves such as Kaspar can only prosper greatly. I wish to prosper greatly with you.’

He gently moved the tip of Tal’s blade away from his throat with one finger, and Tal permitted it. ‘As you can see, Magnificence, I am getting on in years, nearly sixty of them. The assassin’s trade requires skills that are fading as I age. I must think of my latter days, and while I have kept some part of the fees paid me over the years, it is not enough. I have fallen on hard times.’

Tal laughed. ‘Bad investments?’

Amafi nodded. ‘A trading concern out of Salador, most recently. No, I wish to take my bloody skills and use them to a more permanent advantage. Were I your man, then I would rise with you. Do you see?’

Tal put away his dagger. ‘How can I trust you?’

‘I will swear an oath in whatever temple you require.’

Tal considered. Few men would willingly break oath, even if they weren’t as honour-bound as the Orosini. ‘Who told you I was in Kaspar’s service?’

‘A rumour here, there, nothing more. You were reported to have been seen in the region of Latagore where Duke Kaspar has interests, and it is well known he sought you out after you won the competition at the Masters’ Court two years ago. Duke Kaspar employs only the most gifted and ambitious young men, so it is assumed you are his.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ replied Tal, intentionally turning his back on Amafi. He knew he took a risk, for as much as the assassin claimed age was slowing him down, Tal judged him capable of a swift attack from behind if given the opportunity. The attack didn’t come.

Instead, Amafi fell into step beside Tal. ‘You wish to know who sent me?’

‘Yes,’ replied Tal.

‘Lord Piotre Miskovas, though I am not supposed to know this.’

‘He does hold a grudge,’ observed Tal. ‘I haven’t slept with his wife in more than two years.’

‘As I understand it, she became intoxicated at a gala given by Lady Amsha Detoris, and threw the facts of your … liaison into her husband’s face over supper some months after you last left the city. The couple are yet not reconciled and she abides in her suites here in the city, while he resides at their estates in the country. He blames you.’

‘He should look to his own philandering,’ remarked Tal, ‘for had he not been so quick to bed every pretty face he saw, his wife would not have been so eager to receive my attentions.’

‘Perhaps, Magnificence, but it takes a man of unusual character to openly confront his own shortcomings. It’s so much more convenient to blame others.

‘Upon hearing of your planned return, he sought out an assassin – far less discreetly than he should have – and I was hired to remove this –’ he pointed at Tal ‘– blot on his honour. He was at least intelligent enough to have used a … broker … in Salador, lest blame fall upon him here in Roldem. I have “failed”, so I am honour-bound to return his gold, and seek to turn this failure into a triumph. Employ me, Magnificence, and I will serve you. My oath upon it!’

Tal considered his next move. He had been back in Roldem for less than a day and needed reliable eyes and ears. ‘Until such time as you can successfully betray me without risk?’

Amafi grinned. ‘Possibly, my lord, for I have never been a man of constant heart. But oath-breaking does not come easily even to one such as me, and given your rare talents I suspect such a time would never exist, for it would require an opportunity to become even richer than I hope to become in your service.’

Tal laughed. Amafi had a refreshing candour that made Tal think he could trust the assassin – up to a point, anyway – and as long as he didn’t attempt to press him beyond that point, he should prove a reliable servant. ‘Very well, let us to the Temple of Lims-Kragma, where you will swear an oath.’

Amafi grimaced. ‘I was thinking perhaps Ruthia or Astalon,’ he said, naming the Goddess of Luck and the God of Justice.

‘I think wagering your chance at being reborn to a higher station a good hedge against betrayal,’ said Talon, putting away his weapon. ‘Come along. And, we must work on your Roldemish. We may be here a while.’

If Amafi thought even for an instant to draw his weapon and strike, he masked the impulse completely, quickly moving to fall into step beside his new master as they vanished into the fog shrouding the city.



The magician stood in the corner, his features veiled in shadow. Tal knew his face even if he couldn’t see it in the gloom. A single candle burned in the apartment, and that was on the table in the next room, casting a faint light through the open door.

‘Where’s your new man?’ he asked.

Tal said, ‘I sent him on an errand. What did you find out?’

Stepping out of the shadows, the magician revealed himself to be a tall man of lean features, a striking face with a long straight nose, dramatic cheekbones and startling blue eyes. His hair was so pale, it appeared almost white. He said, ‘Informants in Queg have vouched for Amafi. At least they have vouched for his reputation as an assassin.’

‘A reputable assassin,’ said Tal. ‘That’s a quaint notion.’

‘He’s considered something of an “honourable” man in the context of his trade,’ declared Magnus, son of Pug of Sorcerer’s Isle, and one of Tal’s many teachers over the years.

‘It’s beginning,’ said Tal. ‘Lady Gavorkin confirmed last night that Duke Kaspar is to arrive by week’s end and will be ensconced in the palace with his cousin the King. Pasko? How many invitations arrived today?’

‘Seventeen, master,’ he answered.

‘By month’s end, I imagine I will be in a position to make the re-acquaintance of the Duke at one gala or another.’

‘Your plan?’ asked Magnus.

‘I need to establish a link with Kaspar, then find a reason to call out Prince Matthew.’

‘Is that necessary?’

‘Almost certainly,’ said Tal. ‘For while I’m vague on the details I think I have anticipated Duke Kaspar’s larger goals in his manoeuvrings over the last few years.’

‘This is something you didn’t mention before leaving the island,’ said Magnus.

Tal nodded. ‘Because I didn’t fully see the pattern until a few hours ago. And I may be wrong, but I believe all his actions in the north to be nothing more than a bloody, murderous ruse, and his anticipated invasion of the Kingdom through Farinda a feint.’

‘To what end?’

‘To keep the Kingdom busy up north while he works towards his true goal in the south.’

‘And that is…?’ asked Magnus impatiently.

‘I have no idea. But it could involve Roldem or Kesh, and keeping the Kingdom occupied along a long, empty border would work to Kaspar’s advantage.

‘I’m no military expert, but it seems to me if he sends a force into the Kingdom of the Isles, they will respond in strength. If Kaspar sends in small companies, each can occupy a much larger force if they scatter across the plains. From the foothills at the border to the Blackwood north of Dolth, you’ve got almost a thousand miles of grasslands. King Ryan of the Isles would be forced to tie up a huge number of men hunting down a relatively small army.

‘So, the question is, if Kaspar wants that army up in the grasslands, where does he plan on striking?’

Magnus said, ‘I will convey your theory to Father.’ He put a broad-brimmed felt hat on his head, and removed a device from within his dark grey robe, an orb that glowed with copper highlights in the candlelight. He depressed the surface with his thumb and suddenly he wasn’t there, the only sign of his departure being a small inrush of air.

Pasko said, ‘But why?’

‘Why?’ echoed Tal. ‘Why what?’

‘Why all the plotting? Kaspar is as powerful in his own way as the King of Roldem. He effectively rules Aranor; the Prince does his bidding. He either controls or intimidates every nation surrounding Olasko, and he has the King of Roldem’s ear. Why does he want this war with the Isles?’

Tal sat back. ‘I thought it obvious. By destabilizing the region, opportunity arises for Kaspar to gain what he wants most of all.’ Tal laced his fingers together and stared at the candle over balled fists. He tapped his chin lightly with his hands as he muttered, ‘Men of power seek only one thing: more power.’




• Chapter Two • Reception (#ulink_ba27b23e-9783-5431-9ec6-213da5d53120)


TAL SMILED.

This was his first time in the palace since his victory in the Masters’ Court Tournament two years earlier. The King had sent an invitation for Talwin Hawkins to attend the welcoming gala to celebrate the arrival of the Duke of Olasko.

Tal had waited patiently in line for his turn to be presented, behind all the nobility of Roldem, most of those from other nations, and just ahead of the wealthiest commoners. A squire from the Kingdom of the Isles stood barely above a ribbonmaker with a great deal of gold in the eyes of the Roldemish court.

Even so, Tal stood resplendent in a pair of new wide-legged trousers – the current fashion – with his boots covered to the buckles, and a broad black leather belt, but he chose to wear a currently out-of-fashion tunic – a yellow doublet sewn with seed pearls. While other nobles were wearing the off-the-shoulder military singlet which was now all the rage, Talon had chosen to wear the jacket which had been given to him as a gift by the King two years ago.

When last he had met the King, Tal had been the centre of attention, the winner of the Tournament of Masters, the recipient of the golden sword, emblematic of his being the world’s greatest swordsman.

Now Kaspar of Olasko was the focus of the gala, and Tal but a minor participant. When he at last heard his name called, Tal moved forward briskly and approached the throne. He took in the tableau before him as he reached the point where he was expected to bow before the Crown. King Carol sat on his throne, his wife Queen Gertrude to his right. On his left hand sat Crown Prince Constantine, heir to the throne. Tal remembered the Prince as a quiet boy with curious eyes, one given to slight smiles as he listened closely to the banter of the adults around him. Tal suspected he was an intelligent child. The younger members of the royal family were absent, the other two Princes and the Princess no doubt being made ready for bed by their servants and nannies.

To Constantine’s left stood a man dressed in a burgundy-coloured tunic of velvet, fastened with loops and frogs made from diamonds. He wore black leggings rather than this season’s wide-bottomed trousers, and his feet were encased in polished, but serviceable boots. He wore the same black hat Tal had seen him wearing two years before, a large velvet thing which hung over his right ear almost to his shoulder, with a gold badge on the left.

It was the Duke of Olasko.

Kaspar of Olasko studied the young squire while still engaging the young prince in conversation, a skill which Tal observed, for while Prince Constantine was being kept occupied by his distant cousin, Olasko was assessing Tal closely. Tal considered it possible that Kaspar was one of those men who could focus on two things at the same time. Even among the magicians Tal knew, that was a rare gift.

Out of the corner of his eye, as he bowed before the King, Tal reacquainted himself with Kaspar. He was a burly man with a broad chest and powerful shoulders, and muscles revealed by the tight leggings suggested he might also be a man with some speed. He glanced at Tal in such a way that the younger man suspected the Duke recognized he was being appraised. His face was round, but his chin jutted a bit, robbing him of any comic cast to his features. He sported a thin-cut black beard, with his upper lip shaved, which gave his chin an even more aggressive appearance. His hair was still mostly black, though a sprinkling of grey hinted he was a man in his early forties. His eyes were those of a predator, black and searching. And his mouth was full, sensuous without being decadent, and set in a near-smirking smile Tal had seen several times before.

Tal straightened from his bow and the King said, ‘Squire Hawkins, it is good to have you in our court again.’

‘I am pleased as well to return to Roldem, Majesty.’

The Queen beamed as she said, ‘And I see you return to us in the garb we presented you upon your victory.’

Tal gave Gertrude his most endearing smile. ‘Majesty, I have worn this gift only once before, on the night of my triumph, and have vowed that it will never again be worn, save in the presence of your august selves.’

The King nodded in pleasure and said, ‘You are most considerate. Again, welcome.’

Tal knew he was now excused, so he moved over to the gathering on the left side of the King to watch those behind him being presented. He stole a couple of quick glances at Kaspar, but the Duke seemed focused on his quiet conversation with the Prince.

Eventually the last presentation was made and the Master of Ceremonies moved to stand before the throne. ‘With Your Majesty’s permission?’ he said bowing.

The King waved his hand and the Master of Ceremonies turned and declared, ‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, please retire to the banquet hall and await Their Majesties!’

Tal watched as the royal family departed, with the Duke of Olasko following close after. He knew they’d retire to a nearby apartment in the palace and wait until all the guests were seated before moving to the head table.

Tal waited patiently in line, but it moved quickly as more than two dozen pages and squires had been detailed to the Master of Ceremonies who consulted the master seating plan. Once instructions had been whispered into the page’s ear, a guest had only to pause for a moment before being escorted to their place in the hall.

Tal was pleasantly surprised to discover he was being seated at the King’s table. He quickly counted chairs and realized that there would be no more than two or three people between him and the Duke of Olasko. He suspected his position at the banquet was more a result of Kaspar wishing him to be near to hand than because of his prestige as reigning Champion of the Masters’ Court.

When the royal family arrived, everyone rose and bowed slightly, then remained standing until the King was seated and the Master of Ceremonies struck the floor with his iron-shod staff of office. At which point everyone sat and servants began pouring wine and providing food.

Tal found himself next to a local court baron and his wife, whom Kaspar engaged in conversation for a while. The Baron at last turned to Tal and introductions were exchanged. Then the Baron launched into an enthusiastic retelling of Tal’s victories as if Tal hadn’t been there. On Tal’s left sat a pretty woman of middle years and her husband, rich commoners who seemed content simply to be at the King’s table and who demonstrated no need to speak to anyone else. They lowered their heads slightly and spoke in whispers as they glanced around the room, apparently trying to espy people who might know them and be impressed by their place at the head table.

Throughout the dinner the Duke ignored Tal’s presence, save for one slight nod and smile as the first course was being served. During the course of the dinner, entertainers provided distraction in several locations around the great hall. Deft jugglers, acrobats, and sleight-of-hand magicians. A particularly gifted poet spun verse to order, flattering the ladies and gently mocking the men. His wit was dry and his rhyming clever. On the other side of the room a jongleur from Bas-Tyra sang love songs and ballads of heroic sacrifice. Tal could hear enough of his song to know he was excellent.

As was the meal and every other aspect of the gala. And why not? Tal thought. Roldem was considered to be the seat of all things cultural and refined in the world, or at least this part of it. Fashion, literature, music, all flowed from the court of Roldem. Given his travels, Tal reflected that much of that influence was lost as you moved away from the island nation; those in the west of the Kingdom seemed completely indifferent to matters of fashion, while only in Salador and Rillanon was there some of the same concern that one saw here.

But gazing around the room he realized that whatever others might think – that it was vainglorious and pointless – it was also sumptuous and regal. The women were beautiful in their finery and the men cut handsome figures, or at least as handsome as nature permitted.

When the meal ended, the court turned its attention to the centre of the royal table. No one was permitted to leave until the King and his family left the table. Those who had finished their meal early sat sipping wine or ale, watching those around them, or engaging in idle conversation with their neighbours.

Suddenly, Tal heard Kaspar say, ‘So, Squire, you’re back with us again?’

Tal turned in as relaxed a manner as he could, and trying to show deference to the Baron on his right, spoke past him to the Duke. ‘For a time, m’lord.’

Kaspar took a sip from a wine cup and asked, ‘Have you completed that “family business” you spoke of when last we met?’

‘Indeed, Your Grace. It took longer than I had anticipated, but it is now a matter in the past.’

‘So, you are now free to seek your fortune?’ The Duke’s eyes were narrow and appraising even as he kept his tone light.

Tal feigned a laugh. ‘Given my luck at cards lately, I am in need of a fortune, m’lord.’

The King rose, and a half-second later, Kaspar did as well. As he turned to follow his cousin, Kaspar looked over his shoulder and said, ‘I am hunting at first light. Join me at the southern gate. I’ll have a horse ready. Do you have a bow?’

‘Yes, m’lord,’ said Tal, to Kaspar’s retreating back.

The court baron turned. ‘Quite the coup, young Hawkins.’

‘Sir?’

‘The Dukes of Olasko have been hunters for generations. They say this duke’s grandfather once hunted dragons in the west of the Kingdom of the Isles. To be invited to hunt with him is a mark of distinction.’

Tal smiled and nodded, attempting to look suitably flattered. The Baron and his wife departed.

Tal felt it necessary to make one circuit of the hall, then determined to stay close to the exit and wait until someone else departed. He had no wish to mark himself by being the first to leave, but he wished to be out of the palace as soon as possible.

As he made his way through the throng, he was occasionally stopped by this acquaintance or that and several times by strangers who wished simply to introduce themselves to the current Champion of the Masters’ Court. As he came near the King’s cortege he was struck by how many people were being kept at bay by the servants, who were acting as guardians of the royal privacy as much as providing titbits and drink – though who could eat or drink after such a meal? Tal wondered.

Without intending to, Tal caught the King’s eye, who waved him approach. Tal instantly turned and as he moved towards the King, the servants parted enough to let him pass. Tal bowed, ‘Majesty.’

King Carol smiled. ‘Hawkins, it is good to have you with us again. Would it be possible to arrange a demonstration of your skills here in the palace?’

‘I am at Your Majesty’s disposal,’ replied Tal. ‘Whatever time you require.’

‘Oh, good, young sir. Prince Constantine is of an age and needs to learn his weapons. His instructors say the boy has promise, but still, I think watching experts in such matters tends to give a lad something to emulate. Don’t you?’

Tal couldn’t disagree, and besides it would be impolitic to do so. ‘Most learning begins with mimicry, Majesty.’

‘Quite. What say you, a week from today?’

‘At any time you wish, Majesty.’

‘Say mid-morning. I find the wits are keener in the morning than the afternoon.’ Turning to his wife, he said, ‘Assuming my wits are keen at any time of the day, what, my dear?’

The Queen smiled and patted her husband’s arm. ‘You are a man of very keen wit, m’lord … sometimes.’

The King laughed aloud, and Tal couldn’t help but smile. King Carol of Roldem was the only monarch Tal had encountered in his travels, but Tal doubted most were as self-deprecating as this one.

‘Shall I bring an opponent, Majesty?’ Tal knew that any student from the Masters’ Court, and most of the instructors, would welcome an opportunity to come to the court. Royal favours had been curried with less than a sword match in the past, Tal knew.

‘We have an ample supply of swordsmen here in the palace, Squire,’ answered the King. ‘Just be here at the appointed hour.’

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ said Tal with a bow, taking it to mean he was dismissed.

He noticed that a few guests were departing and decided it was safe for himself to leave as well. But halfway across the floor he heard a familiar voice. ‘Squire, a moment of your time.’

Without turning, Tal said, ‘Constable, what an unexpected surprise.’

Constable Dennis Drogan came to stand before Tal and with a smile and nod said, ‘Glad to see you again, Squire.’

‘What brings you here?’ asked Tal.

Dennis, a middle-aged, broad-shouldered man, had a head that looked to be perfectly round. He kept his hair cropped close and seemed impervious to the effect that had, for it emphasized his left ear, which had been half bitten off during a scuffle in his youth. His nose looked as if it had been repeatedly broken over the years. Tal recognized him for what he was, a brawler, tough, unrelenting and dangerous. More so, for he was the Crown’s law in the city.

Drogan smiled. ‘My uncle is still Bursar to the household here in the palace, and I am technically a member of the Royal Court.’

‘Ah, of course, but rather, what brings you here?’

Putting his hand on Tal’s shoulder, Drogan moved him towards the door. ‘You do, Squire.’

‘Me?’ Tal fell into step beside the shorter man. ‘Why?’

‘Because people have an annoying habit of turning up dead when you’re in the city. I thought it best to have a word with you before we start accumulating corpses again.’

Tal didn’t try to feign innocence, but he did look aggrieved. ‘Dennis, you and I have never been close friends, but we have been affable acquaintances. You know that in every instance, someone ended up dead because my life was at risk. What am I supposed to do? Stand by and say, “Oh, if I defend myself the Constable is going to be annoyed, so I’d better let them kill me”?’

The grip on Tal’s shoulder tightened, just enough to convey emphasis without causing pain. ‘No, by all means, should your life be put at peril, defend yourself; I’m just suggesting you try to avoid finding your life at peril any time soon.’

Caught halfway between amusement and irritation, Tal said, ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘That’s all I can ask.’

Tal slipped out from under the Constable’s meaty hand and left the palace. Outside, as guests waited for carriages, Tal wended his way through the crowd and exited through one of the pedestrian gates. He was only a few yards from the palace, moving downhill on a thoroughfare lined with the homes of the wealthy, when someone fell into step beside him.

‘Evening, Tal,’ said a familiar voice.

‘Evening, Quincy,’ answered Tal without looking. He had spied the merchant from Bas-Tyra in the crowd at the palace.

‘Lovely evening, isn’t it?’

Tal stopped and started to laugh. ‘You didn’t ambush me outside the palace to discuss the weather, my friend.’

Quincy halted, also. ‘Well, I saw you on your way out when the Constable intercepted you; I know you walked to the gala rather than booking a carriage, so I just left before you and waited.’

‘How have you been, Quincy?’ Tal asked, looking at his old acquaintance under the lantern light. Quincy de Castle was in his thirties, perhaps early forties, with a rapidly-balding pate. His features were undistinguished save for his eyes, which were as close to an eagle’s as any man Tal had known. He wore fashionable, but not extravagant clothing, a jacket of a charcoal hue, double-breasted with a swallow-tail cut, and matching trousers tucked into knee-high boots. It was, as Tal knew, the latest fashion in the Kingdom of the Isles, as it was last year’s fashion in Roldem.

‘I have been well enough.’

‘Recently back from the Kingdom, I see.’

They resumed walking. ‘Yes, the clothing. I just arrived and had no time to have new garb made. Besides, all this slavery to fashion seems very … unproductive. If someone thinks less of me for wearing last year’s style, let him. It but works to my advantage should we negotiate.’

Quincy was one of the most astute merchants in the city. He was a native of Bas-Tyra, the second most important city in the Eastern Realm of the Kingdom, and specialized in high-quality luxury goods. As a result, he numbered nobility, even royalty, among his customers and was invited to all the better social functions. Tal also suspected him of being an agent for the King of the Isles. There was something about him that made Tal wary, something very unmerchantlike in his bearing.

‘I see,’ said Tal. ‘You needing an edge in business seems hardly likely, but I’ll grant that taking one where you can find it is logical. Now, what is it that you wish of me?’

‘What makes you think I want something?’ said Quincy with a smile.

‘Because it’s not your habit to lurk in the shadows and leap out upon me in the night. This is hardly a chance meeting.’

‘Hardly. Look, I’ll get to the point. The first reason is I wish to invite you to a small gathering at Dawson’s on this coming Fifthnight. I am inviting a few likeable chaps for supper, drink, and then perhaps we’ll go on to some cards or dice.’

‘A note to my man would have sufficed.’

‘There’s another reason,’ Quincy answered as they turned a corner and started down a steeper hill towards Tal’s quarters. ‘You are to hunt with Duke Kaspar tomorrow, am I right?’

‘Bribing the waiting staff, are we?’

Quincy laughed. ‘I’ve let it be known in the palace that a bit of news here or there that might prove useful would be rewarded. Now, is it true?’

‘Yes, tomorrow at sunrise I hunt with the Duke and his party. Why?’

‘If you are in the Duke’s favour, I wish you to present me to him.’

‘Why?’ asked Tal, stopping for a moment.

‘Because he really is the most difficult man to see. I can get an audience with the King more readily than I can with Duke Kaspar.’

‘Only because you’re selling gems to the Queen at cost.’

‘I lose no money and it earns me a great deal of social access. But not to Kaspar.’

‘Why are you so anxious to meet with Kaspar?’

Quincy was quiet for a moment, then he resumed walking, gesturing for Tal to accompany him. As they proceeded he said, ‘Trade with Olasko is … difficult. It’s as if somehow every trading concern in the duchy has … decided to do business the same way.

‘They send their agents to Rillanon, Roldem, Bas-Tyra, Ran, down to Kesh, but if I send one of my agents to Opardum, it may as well be for a holiday. For no one will entertain an offer to trade. It’s always their agents, in our cities, on their terms. Take it or leave it.’

‘Are they bad trades?’

‘No, otherwise I wouldn’t care. Often they’re very good business. But the essence of commerce is regular trade routes, with goods being dependably provided. It keeps the market alive. This hit or miss … I can’t help but feel that a vast opportunity is going to waste because of these trading concerns.

‘I feel if I can get Duke Kaspar’s ear, perhaps convince him to speak to some of the wealthier trading concerns, or even to let me visit his court … if I come from the Duke’s court to the offices of a major trading concern, like Kasana’s or Petrik Brothers, then they would have to take my offers seriously.’

Tal listened and nodded, as if agreeing. To himself he thought, and if you can get your agent up into Opardum, especially if he’s trading with the Duke’s chancellor, then the King of the Isles has a pair of eyes and ears near a troublesome neighbour.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Tal. ‘But for the moment, don’t count on anything.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the Duke is likely to offer me a place in his court and I will almost certainly turn him down.’

‘Why in the world would you do that?’

‘Because it is not in my nature to wish to serve another,’ Tal lied. He knew that before the supper on Fifthday at Dawson’s, half of Roldem would hear about Kaspar offering a position to Tal that he refused. ‘And, besides, I have some other prospects that may suit me better.’

‘Well, don’t offend him too deeply,’ said Quincy, dryly.

‘I’ll try not to.’

They reached the street upon which Tal resided and parted company. Tal went quickly to his quarters where Pasko and Amafi waited, passing the time with a game of cards.

‘Master,’ said Pasko, rising as Tal entered.

‘Awake me an hour before dawn,’ Tal instructed as he crossed to the door of his bedroom. ‘Dress for a hunt.’

‘A hunt?’

‘Yes, the Duke of Olasko has invited me out to slaughter some helpless animals and I will oblige him.’ To Amafi he said, ‘Tomorrow I hunt with the Duke. When I return, we’ll visit several villas and estates nearby. It is then we introduce you to the world as my retainer and bodyguard.’

‘Magnificence,’ said Amafi.

Pasko said, ‘Unroll that bedding in the corner. You’ll sleep here.’ He indicated to Amafi a place on the floor near Tal’s doorway. ‘I sleep in the kitchen.’

Then, Pasko followed Tal into the bedroom and closed the door. Helping Tal unlace the fancy jacket, he whispered, ‘All goes well?’

‘Well enough,’ Tal whispered back. ‘Knowing Kaspar’s reputation, the animals won’t be as helpless as I indicated. Something nasty like lion or giant boar, I expect.’

‘He seems that sort of man,’ observed Pasko.

‘What do you think of our new friend?’

‘He’s a bad card player.’

‘Bad player or bad cheat?’

‘Both.’

‘What else?’ asked Tal as Pasko pulled the linen shirt over his head.

‘He’s a weapon. Very dangerous, despite his claim to old age. He may be useful if you don’t cut yourself.’

‘I take your meaning.’

‘I will keep an eye on him for a while,’ said Pasko.

‘He took oath.’

‘That is as it may be,’ answered the wily old servant, ‘but he wouldn’t be the first man to forswear in history.’

‘I made him swear at the Temple of Lims-Kragma.’

Pasko considered as he pulled off Tal’s boots. ‘Some men are not even cowed by the Goddess of Death.’

‘Does he strike you as such?’

‘No, but did Nakor strike you as particularly dangerous upon meeting him for the first time?’

‘Your point is made. Keep an eye on him for a while.’ Tal pulled off his leggings and small clothing and slipped under the quilted comforter on his bed. ‘Now, get out so I can sleep.’

‘Yes, master,’ said Pasko as he stepped stealthily through the door.

Tal lay quietly for a while. His mind was busy and sleep was a long time in coming. For years his purpose had been only one thing: to avenge the destruction of his people. Of all those involved, only two principals were left: the Special Captain of Kaspar’s household guard, Quentin Havrevulen, and the Duke himself. Tal had already killed the others.

He forced himself to calm, using one of the mind-relaxation drills taught him at Sorcerer’s Isle, and sleep finally came. But it wasn’t a relaxing sleep. Rather, it was filled with dreams and images of other places and times, his village in the mountains and his family, his mother, father, sister, brother and grandfather. The girl he had dreamed of as a child, Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal. In his dream she sat upon a seat, one leg crossed under the other, wearing a simple buckskin summer dress, a faint smile on her lips. He awoke with a painful longing he thought he had eradicated in himself years before. He rolled over and willed himself back to sleep, and again the dreams came. It was a restless night and he felt little benefit from his slumber when Pasko came and awoke him for the dawn’s hunt.




• Chapter Three • Hunt (#ulink_68f47c34-9d3a-5588-9de8-a5bbf1518f29)


THE HORSE PAWED THE ground.

Tal brought his gelding’s head around slightly, forcing him to pay attention to something besides his own boredom. The morning was crisp at first light, with a breeze coming off the ocean, but Tal knew it would be very hot by midday in the hills to the northeast of the city. Even before Duke Kaspar appeared Tal knew they were after big game, lion or bear, perhaps even one of the more exotic creatures reputed to inhabit the higher mountains, the giant boars – whose tusks reputedly grew to three feet in length – or the valley sloth, twice the size of a horse and despite the name fast when it needed to be, and armed with claws the size of short swords. The array of weapons in the luggage told Tal what he needed to know about the coming hunt: there were boar-spears with cross-pieces fastened above the broad blade to prevent the animal from running up the haft and goring the spearman; there were giant nets with weights at the edges, and heavy crossbows that could punch a hole the size of a man’s fist through plate armour.

A dozen servants, another dozen guards, and livery boys to care for the horses also waited patiently upon the appearance of the Duke. Another six men had been leaving as Tal had arrived, trail-breakers and trackers wearing the King’s livery, who would mark the most likely game trails. Tal found it intriguing that the hunting grounds lay less than a day’s march away, for Roldem was an ancient land, and he would have expected wildlife to have been pushed far into the mountains by the encroachment of civilization. Having hunted for his entire boyhood, and on many occasions since, he knew that rarely was big game within a day’s ride of a city.

Tal let one of the servants oversee the disposition of his travel gear, which was modest compared to the rest of the baggage being stowed on the horses. Tal knew they’d be following trails that wagons couldn’t negotiate, but it looked as if they could use a pair. Two animals alone were being used to carry what could only be a pavilion. Tal had no problem with sleeping on the ground, but realized the gentry of Roldem might find that objectionable.

Besides Tal, two nobles of Roldem – Baron Eugivney Balakov, and Baron Mikhael Grav – waited patiently. Tal knew them by reputation. They were young, ambitious, and held modest but important positions in the King’s court. Balakov was assistant to the Royal Bursar and he could expedite or slow a request for funds. He was broad-shouldered, with a brooding look, his dark hair cut close as was his beard. Grav was also associated with the Bursar’s office, but was seconded to the office of the Royal Household Guard, being primarily responsible for seeing that the palace troops were armed, clothed, fed and paid. He was a thin man with blond hair and a slender moustache he obviously worked hard at keeping perfectly trimmed. Both wore extravagant clothing, a long way from the modest leather tunic and trousers Tal had selected to wear.

As the sun lit the sky behind those distant peaks, Duke Kaspar and a young woman emerged from the palace, quickly making their way to a pair of waiting horses. Tal glanced at the young woman, wondering absently if it might be the Lady Rowena of Talsin, who in reality was another of the Conclave’s agents, Alysandra.

Tal had been frustrated during the time he had spent on Sorcerer’s Isle in determining just what she had been doing in the Duke’s company, for either people didn’t know or they weren’t telling. All he could discover was that it had been Miranda, Pug’s wife, who had dispatched the girl to Olasko at about the same time Tal had been training in Salador.

This woman was unlike Rowena, but she had one trait in common: she was equally beautiful. But while Rowena had been fair with eyes the colour of cornflowers, this lady was dark, her skin touched by the sun to a warm tan, her eyes almost as dark as her black hair. The Duke said something and she smiled, and instantly Tal knew who she was, for there was a hint of resemblance to the Duke.

As if sensing Tal’s thoughts, Duke Kaspar said, ‘Ah, young Hawkins, may I have the pleasure of presenting you to my sister, the Lady Natalia.’

Tal bowed in his saddle. ‘My honour, m’lady.’

It was obvious that the other two nobles were already acquainted with the Duke’s younger sister, who appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Both fell in behind the Duke and Natalia, leaving Tal either to follow or ride on the flank.

Duke Kaspar said, ‘We have a half-day’s ride before us to get near our quarry.’ He looked again at Tal. ‘That’s a serviceable-looking bow, Talwin. Do you know how to use it?’ His voice was light and playfully mocking.

Sensing the mood, Tal smiled. ‘I’m a better archer than I am a swordsman, Your Grace.’

That brought a laugh from everyone, for Tal, as Champion of the Masters’ Court, was accounted the greatest swordsman in the world. Lady Natalia looked over her shoulder at him, giving him an excuse to ride forward a little. ‘Are you making a jest, sir?’ she asked.

Tal smiled. ‘In truth, no, m’lady. I have hunted since I was a child, while I only took up the sword after my fourteenth birthday.’

‘Then you must be the world’s greatest archer, sir,’ said Baron Eugivney wryly.

Keeping his smile in place, Tal replied, ‘Hardly, sir. Elven archers cannot be matched by any man.’

‘Elves!’ said Baron Mikhael. ‘Legends. My father used to tell me stories about a great war in my grandfather’s time, against invaders from another world. Elves and dwarves figured in it quite prominently.’

‘We’ll talk as we ride,’ said the Duke, urging his horse forward.

Tal found himself beside Baron Mikhael, as Baron Eugivney rode forward to flank Lady Natalia. ‘Not legends, my good sir,’ said Tal. ‘My home is near Ylith, and not too far to the west live those elves of legend. And to the north, in the city of LaMut, many descendants from that other world now live.’

Mikhael looked at Tal as if deciding whether or not the young man was jesting with him. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Yes, Baron,’ said Tal. ‘And those elves boast archers unmatched by any man living.’ Tal didn’t know this from his childhood, but rather from long conversations with Caleb, one of his teachers on Sorcerer’s Isle; Caleb had lived with the elves in Elvandar, their home, for a time. He spoke their language and claimed only one or two men had come close to matching their skill with a bow.

‘Well, then, if you say so,’ conceded Mikhael as if that put a close to the matter. To the Duke he said, ‘Your Grace, what are we hunting today?’

Over his shoulder the Duke said, ‘Something special if luck holds. A report has reached the King that a wyvern has flown up from Kesh and is nesting in the mountains. If that’s true, we have a rare opportunity before us.’

Baron Eugivney blinked in confusion. ‘A wyvern?’

Mikhael’s expression also revealed uncertainty. ‘I’m not sure …’

Tal said, ‘Small dragon. Very fast, very mean, and very dangerous … but small … for a dragon.’

Lady Natalia glanced from face to face, then smiled with Tal at the obvious discomfort exhibited by the other two men. ‘You’ve seen one, Squire?’

‘Once,’ said Tal. ‘In the mountains when I was a boy.’ He neglected to mention those mountains were close to Olasko.

The Duke looked over his shoulder as they rode out of the palace gate and turned up the high street that would lead them northward out of the city. ‘How would you go about hunting one, Squire?’

Tal smiled. ‘I wouldn’t, Your Grace, any more than I would go looking for a forest fire or tidal wave. But if I must, there are two ways.’

‘Really? Say on.’

‘Stake out a sheep or deer on a high plateau in plain sight. Have archers nearby and when it lands, keep shooting until it’s dead.’

‘Sounds like little sport,’ observed the Lady Natalia.

‘None, really,’ agreed Tal. ‘Most of the time, the objective is to kill a marauding predator, protecting nearby herds, not sport.’

‘What’s the other way?’ asked the Duke.

‘Find its lair. Wyverns like shallow caves or deep overhangs in the rocks. According to my grandfather –’ Tal halted himself. For the first time in ages he found himself on the verge of slipping out of character. He forced Talon of the Silver Hawk down in his mind and continued,’– who heard this from a Hatadi hillman up in the mountains of Yabon – wyverns don’t like to go deep underground the way dragons do.’

Baron Mikhael asked, ‘So you find its lair, then what?’

‘Flush it out. Lay nets over the mouth of the cave if you can, some heavy ropes, anything to slow it when it comes out. Then toss in some flaming brands and have long spears, ten-, twelve-foot stakes, ready. Impale it as it comes out and then wait for it to die.’

‘Has any man taken one with a bow?’ asked the Duke.

Tal laughed. ‘Only if he has a couple of dozen other bowmen along.’

‘No vital spot? No quick kill?’ asked Duke Kaspar.

‘None that I’ve ever heard of,’ said Tal. Realizing he was beginning to sound like an expert, he quickly added, ‘But that doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist, Your Grace. It’s just my grandfather was trying to impress on me how dangerous they were.’

‘I think he succeeded admirably,’ said Mikhael.

Talk continued on the topic of hunting as they rode through the city. In less than an hour, they were out of the city proper and into rolling foothills dotted with small estates and farms.

‘After noon,’ announced the Duke, ‘we’ll reach the edges of the Royal Hunting Preserve. The King has graciously permitted us to hunt there.’

That answered Tal’s question as to how large game could be situated this close to the city.

‘Your Grace,’ asked Baron Eugivney, ‘doesn’t the preserve extend for several hundred miles?’

‘We’re not going to hunt all of it,’ said Kaspar with a laugh. ‘Just the interesting bits.’

Their course followed the highway upward. It was the major trading route to the northern provinces, but when it turned westerly, they took a smaller road to the northeast. At midday they paused to take a meal and rest the horses. Tal was impressed at how quickly the servants erected a small pavilion, complete with clever folding chairs made of canvas and wood, so that the Duke and his guests could relax in comfort. They paused to dine in a large rolling meadow, with a few dairy cows grazing at the other end.

Talk turned to the gossip of the court, for the Duke had been away from Roldem almost as long as Tal, Natalia even longer. Both barons made it clear they saw a potentially beneficial match in the Duke’s younger sister, and kept their attentions focused on her. Not only was she clever and beautiful, she was also a stepping stone to power. Olasko might be a small duchy compared to the vast expanses found in the Isles or Kesh, but it was a very influential one, second in the region only to Roldem.

After the meal, Duke Kaspar said, ‘Walk with me a bit, young Hawkins.’

Tal nodded and rose from his seat while the Duke waved the two barons to keep theirs. ‘Sit, gentlemen. Keep my sister amused, if you will.’

When they were a few yards away from the pavilion, the Duke said, ‘So, young Hawkins, have you given any thought to the offer of employment I made to you after the Tournament of Champions?’

‘In truth, Your Grace, I have. I am very flattered, honoured even, but the fact of the matter is I prefer to be my own man.’

‘Interesting,’ said the Duke as they reached a stand of trees. ‘Excuse me a moment, while I relieve myself.’

The Duke unceremoniously undid the fastening on his breeches and stood with his back to the Squire. After he finished, he said, ‘Now, that is what I admire about you, Squire.’

‘What, Your Grace?’

‘Your independence.’

‘Sir?’

‘Look at those two,’ he said, pointing over to where the barons were talking with Natalia. ‘They hover over my sister as if she were a prize in a festival tournament. They wish to ingratiate themselves with me through my sister. I am surrounded by sycophants and those seeking favour and it is a rare day when I encounter someone who wishes nothing from me. Those are the men I value the most, because I know with certainty that should they serve me, they will do so to their last breath.’ Lowering his voice as they walked back towards the pavilion, he added, ‘Those and others like them may find better terms from other masters attractive at the most inopportune times.’

Tal laughed. ‘So I have heard. I must admit, while I have distant kin in the court in Krondor, my own experience with royal politics is limited. In fact, last night was only my second visit to the palace.’

‘You should come to Opardum. While not as grand an edifice as Roldem’s palace, my own citadel above the city is rife with enough politics to last a lifetime. Besides, it would do my sister some good to spend time with a young man who wasn’t trying to convince her of his undying devotion so as to gain a position in my service.’

Then they walked back to rejoin the others. As they approached the pavilion, the Duke raised his voice. ‘Let us again to the chase!’

The servants quickly bound up the pavilion and tied it to the packhorses, while others put the dishes and food in baskets. Within ten minutes they were mounted again and riding northeast, into deeper forests.



Tal signalled. He pointed up the trail. The Duke nodded. It was nearing sundown, with perhaps another hour and a half of usable light, and they were following a game trail.

Tal had been surprised to discover the entire royal game preserve was as its name suggested, preserved wilderness. No logging had been conducted in this area for generations, though there were heroic stands of old-growth trees that would yield timbers for ships and houses should they be harvested. As a hunter, he appreciated that the kings of Roldem had been willing to make shipbuilders forest many miles farther away and haul lumber down the mountains in order to keep this region pristine. He silently acknowledged the practice was most likely begun in ancient times to ensure that the royal family had game to eat in times of famine, but whatever the original motivation, it had left a stunning wilderness within a day’s ride from the largest city on the island kingdom.

They had reached their campsite two hours earlier and a large pavilion had been established, with several smaller tents for the guests. The Duke had insisted on starting the hunt at once, rather than waiting for morning. Tal had agreed that game often was plentiful near sunset when both predators and prey sought water. From the lie of the hills Tal judged as many as half a dozen good-sized streams were likely to be in the area. Certainly there were game signs everywhere. He had already seen the tracks from a heart of forest boars, a sow and her young. Half an hour earlier he had spotted cat prints, most likely a leopard or catamount from the size of the prints, rather than the much larger, black-maned cave lions.

Of their intended prey, the wyvern, there was no evidence. As far as Tal was concerned, if they never saw a hint of the creature, so much the better. There were other ways to die he found preferable to being devoured while trying to demonstrate his hunting prowess to a bunch of idle nobles.

Duke Kaspar led the hunt, with Tal on his right flank. Between them was the Lady Natalia, who held a small bow as if she knew exactly how to use it. The two barons were on the left. A full company of guards, servants and trailbreakers were waiting back at camp. A half-dozen mounted crossbowmen were ready to answer any call for help, though Tal’s experience told him that with a wild beast, the matter would usually be resolved before help could arrive. He just hoped there would be no trouble. Lingering closer were two servants holding a variety of weapons, including a heavy crossbow and a pair of boar-spears.

Tal was surprised how quiet the Duke was at the point, and how noisy the two barons were. Both were very uncomfortable at being on foot, apparently, though they claimed to be serious hunters. The Duke stopped, and signalled for Tal and the others to join him.

He was looking at the ground as they approached. ‘Now, look at that,’ he said very softly.

Tal went to one knee and examined the print. He put his finger in the soil and judged the imprint to be no more than a few minutes old.

He stood up and said, ‘Bear.’

Baron Mikhael whistled. ‘But look at the size of it.’

‘That’s the grandfather of all bears,’ said the Duke.

Tal had heard tales of such bears, but they had been hunted to extinction in his grandfather’s grandfather’s day. They were the Ja-haro Milaka, or Grey-Muzzled Bears, of his people’s legends. Perhaps limited hunting here in Roldem had kept them alive. To the Duke he said, ‘I know this breed by reputation. They are aggressive at the best of times. It’s spring, and it’s almost certain one this big is a male, so he will be looking to mate and will not look kindly on anything encroaching his territory.’ Tal glanced around. ‘He’s close. There’s still moisture in the depression. The air would have dried it out in less than an hour.’

‘How big do you judge him?’ asked the Duke.

‘Twelve feet if he’s an inch,’ said Tal. He motioned towards the servants. ‘Arrows will only irritate him. We need heavier weapons.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Did you bring a catapult?’

The Duke smiled. ‘I’ve hunted bear before.’

Ignoring protocol, Tal said, ‘As have I, Your Grace, but the largest brown bear you’ve seen is nothing compared to the Grey-Muzzled Bear. You can’t stop it even with a heavy bolt to the shoulder if it’s charging. With other bears you can drop and play dead and perhaps they’ll get bored after mauling you a bit and wander off.

‘These creatures will shred you. They can bite a man’s head off if they are in the mood.’

‘Sounds like it’s best to retreat at first sight,’ said Baron Eugivney.

‘You can’t outrun it,’ said Tal as he started to move towards the servants. ‘In a short burst, it can run down a horse from behind and cripple it with a blow to the spine.’

The Duke didn’t move, while the others started to follow Tal. ‘You’re not suggesting I don’t hunt this creature, Squire?’

‘No, Your Grace, but I am suggesting a better choice of weapons.’

The Duke nodded. ‘What, then?’

‘I would rather have heavy lances from horseback, or heavy spears, but these boar-spears should suffice,’ called Tal over his shoulder.

Duke Olasko took a single step towards the others when from behind him there came a roar to shake the trees. It was a low howl with a strident note, coupled with the grating sound of a piece of wood being torn in half. Tal swore nothing living could make such a noise.

He turned for a second while the others froze and saw a massive brown shape explode from the trees less than ten yards from the Duke. Kaspar spun as if ready to meet a human attacker, in a crouch, his bow held in his left hand, his dagger seeming to fly to his right.

The Lady Natalia remained motionless but cried, ‘Do something!’

Tal threw aside his bow and with two quick steps yanked the boar-spear from the hands of an open-mouthed servant who looked to be on the verge of fleeing. To the other servant, Tal called, ‘Follow me!’

As he ran uphill past the two barons, he shouted, ‘Distract it!’

The Duke didn’t move until the animal was almost upon him, and at the last instant threw himself to the left. The bear swatted at him with his left paw, propelling him in the direction he was already heading. Had it gone the other way, Tal knew, the Duke would be dead with a broken spine. And, for all Tal knew, he was already.

Kaspar had taken a punishing blow and he wasn’t moving, either unconscious or playing dead. The bear’s momentum took it on for a few yards farther, then it wheeled and turned, ready to charge. The two barons and Natalia let fly a volley of arrows and two of the three struck the animal. It turned and howled, giving Tal the time he needed to reach the Duke. Tal came to stand above him.

Seeing an opponent that wouldn’t flee the bear slowed its charge and continued forward at a quick walk. Tal raised the boar-spear high above his head with both hands and shouted as loud as he could, an inarticulate approximation of an animal’s howl.

The bear pulled up just a few feet away and reared on its hind legs. It roared a challenge, and Tal ducked low, thrusting the boar-spear under the animal’s breastbone. The bear howled, stepping back. Once more Tal ducked under and thrust. The broad-headed blade cut deep into the muscle and blood flowed, streaking the beast’s brown fur. Howling in pain, the bear retreated once again, but Tal followed, continuing to duck and thrust into the same spot below the breastbone.

Soon blood gushed like a river down the animal’s torso, pooling in the ground at its feet. The huge creature waved its paws, and again Tal thrust home with the boar-spear.

Tal lost count, but after close to a dozen cuts, the animal staggered backwards, and fell on his left side. Tal didn’t wait, but reached down and grabbed the Duke, gripping his right upper arm and dragging him downhill. Kaspar said, weakly, ‘I can get up, Squire.’

Tal helped Kaspar to his feet. The Duke seemed slightly dazed, but otherwise unhurt, though he was moving slowly. ‘I’ll be feeling that blow to the ribs for a week with each breath I take.’

‘Are you all right?’ Natalia cried, arriving at a run.

The two barons approached, bows in hand, and Mikhael said, ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

Kaspar said, ‘How did you do that, Squire?’

‘My grandfather,’ said Tal. ‘He told me once of a boyhood hunt. The great bear rears up to challenge. It is the only way to kill one, he said. If you run, he’ll take you down from behind, but if you stand and threaten him, the bear will rise on his hind legs. Then, said my grandfather, you must strike upward, just below the breastbone, hard and fast, for there is a great artery under his heart and if you can nick that with a deep thrust of a spear he will quickly lose consciousness and bleed to death inside.’ He looked over to where the now-comatose bear lay bleeding out, and said, ‘Apparently, Grandfather was right.’

‘Your grandfather must have been an amazing hunter,’ observed Baron Mikhael quietly.

For an instant emotions threatened to overwhelm Tal as the image of his grandfather, Laughter In His Eyes, came to him, smiling as he always did. Tal forced that memory aside, using every mental discipline he had been taught at Sorcerer’s Isle to keep composed. He said softly, ‘He was that.’

‘Well, Squire,’ said the Duke, wobbly enough to allow Baron Eugivney to help him down the hill, ‘I owe you my life. What can I do to repay that?’

Tal suddenly realized that without thought, he had just saved the life of the man he had sworn to kill, but Kaspar read his confusion as modesty. ‘Come. Let’s go back to camp and rest, and we’ll talk about it.’

‘Very well, Your Grace,’ said Tal. For a moment the irony of the situation came down on him in full force and he was caught halfway between wanting to laugh aloud and wanting to curse.

He took a glance back at the dying bear, then shouldered the spear and followed the Duke.



That evening, the Duke lounged in one of the chairs with his feet propped up on cushions, nursing his injured ribs. Tal was amazed at how much strength the man possessed. In his prime, Kaspar was a powerful man with the shoulders of a wrestler or dock worker, and arms knotted thick with muscle. When the servants had removed his shirt, revealing the huge blackening area from the deep bruise dealt him by the bear, Tal saw there was very little fat on the man. In open-handed combat, he would be extremely dangerous.

He was also tough; every breath had to be a trial, for Tal suspected the Duke had cracked ribs, yet he lay back comfortably, chuckling at one or another remark during the evening meal, one arm draped over the back of the chair for support, the other holding a cup of wine.

He ate little, but he consumed a prodigious amount of wine. Tal’s opinion was that the wine would help the Duke sleep soundly. At the end of the evening, he directed a question at Tal: ‘So, Squire, have you given any thought to what reward I can offer to set right my debt to you?’

Tal lowered his head a little as if embarrassed and said, ‘Truth to tell, Your Grace, I acted without a lot of thought. I was attempting to save my own life as much as yours.’ He tried to look modest.

‘Come now. That may be, but the effect is the same. You saved my life. What can I do to repay this?’

Tal smiled. ‘I am currently in need of little, sir. But I assume at some point in the future things may not be as sanguine for me as they are today. Should I fall upon hard times, then perhaps I might redeem your favour?’

‘Fair enough. Though I suspect a man of your resources should make his way through life without too much difficulty.’ He stood up slowly. ‘Each of you has a tent prepared and a servant to provide for your comfort. Now, I must bid you good night and come morning I’ll see how I feel. I would hate to shorten our hunt, but I fear I am in no manner of form able to confront a dragon, even a small one.’ The others laughed. ‘So, I suspect we shall be back at the palace this time tomorrow. Sleep well.’

He departed and after a moment, Tal excused himself, leaving the two barons alone to contest for the Lady Natalia’s attentions. He found the ‘tent’ put aside for him was another small pavilion, large enough for Tal to stand in and disrobe with the help of a servant. The serving man took Tal’s clothing and said, ‘These will be cleaned and ready for you in the morning, Squire.’

Tal sat in the middle of a pile of cushions, upon which a pair of thick quilts had been placed. On top of that lay a satin comforter, far more than he needed.

Breathing deep the mountain air, he ignored the hints of conversation that carried from the main pavilion as Eugivney and Mikhael tried to amuse Natalia and turned his mind to the odd events of the day. The bear had come so quickly he had reacted like a hunter, without thought, grabbing the best weapon at hand, and charging straight at the beast. He could have just as easily taken a bow and peppered the animal with useless arrows until it had finished mauling Kaspar to death. Then he would have only one man – Captain Quint Havrevulen – to kill, and his people would have been avenged.

Tal had endured enough mental exercises with the magicians at Sorcerer’s Isle to know the futility of agonizing over why things had transpired as they had. What could have happened … did, as Nakor used to say. Obviously, there was to be no simple solution to the problem that lay before Tal. But one thing now felt clear; watching Kaspar die would have afforded him no joy. He found he didn’t hate the man. He was wary of him, as he would be of any wild and dangerous creature. But he somehow couldn’t reconcile the charming host with whom he enjoyed a goblet of wine with the calculating murderer who ordered the death of an entire nation. Something here didn’t jibe and Tal wondered what it could be.

Another hand was in the mix, he suspected. The magician Leso Varen was said to have great influence over Kaspar, and Tal wondered if he might not have been the architect of the Orosini’s destruction.

When Tal emerged from his reverie, he realized the camp had grown quiet. The Lady Natalia must have bid her suitors good night. He also realized he was still very much awake and that sleep would come hard for him if he didn’t relax. He was sitting nude upon the comforter, so he crossed his legs and put his palms down on his knees. He closed his eyes and began a meditation to calm the mind.

Time stilled and he felt his heart rate slow and his breathing deepen. He was nearly asleep when he felt the tent flap open.

Before he could move a shadowy figure took one quick step from the opening and grabbed him by the throat. As he came fully alert he smelled soft perfume and heard a whisper in his ear. ‘How sweet. You waited up for me.’ Then he felt Natalia’s lips press hard on his as she pushed him over on his back, and pressed him down upon the pillows. He blinked and in the gloom saw her beautiful face inches from his as she quickly unfastened her sleeping robe and cast it aside. Playfully slipping one hand down to his stomach, she said, ‘My brother may not be able to think of a way to thank you for saving his life. But I have several ideas.’

Then she lowered her head and kissed him again.




• Chapter Four • Choice (#ulink_d7c28398-eb39-5765-9f74-74e7e2a5e4be)


TAL SAT DOWN.

He sank heavily into the cushions of the divan while regarding the figure standing quietly in the corner. ‘Pasko has run Amafi down to the market on a pointless errand before the market closes, so we’re alone for a few minutes,’ he said, raising a cup of wine. ‘Join me?’

The tall figure stepped out of the corner, and removed his hat. Long white hair fell to his shoulders as pale blue eyes regarded Tal. ‘I won’t be here long. Father’s sent me with a message and a few questions.’

‘At least sit down, Magnus.’

‘I’ll stand,’ said the young magician. For a while Magnus had taught Tal a little about magic and logic, but of all of those who had taught Tal, Magnus was the one with whom he felt the least kinship. Tal thought it ironic, as Caleb, Magnus’s younger brother, was the only man in the Conclave with whom Tal felt any sense of brotherhood. Both were hunters, both non-magic-users in a culture of magicians, both unable to understand much of what they saw around them every day. Of all those who served the Conclave, only Miranda, Magnus’s mother, was more of a stranger to Tal.

Tal said, ‘Forgive me, but I had a taxing day and night. I’ve had almost no sleep and my wits have fled.’

Magnus smiled. ‘Your heroics with the bear and with the Lady Natalia, I gather?’

‘You’ve heard?’ Tal sat up, shocked. He had been back in the city less than an hour before departing the palace, which had been less than an hour ago. Which meant rumour would have had to have spread in record time. His eyes narrowed. ‘You couldn’t have heard. You saw!’

‘Yes, I was watching.’

Tal didn’t hide his displeasure. It was the second time Magnus had secretly watched Tal. ‘I can almost understand you wishing to observe my fight with Raven, but why a simple hunt?’

‘Because nothing involving Kaspar of Olasko is simple. Father asked me to ensure you were well on your way to ingratiating yourself with Kaspar and between the rescue from the bear and your conquest of his sister, it appears things are well in hand. Besides, it will be the last time I spy on you.’

‘Why?’

Magnus held his broad-brimmed hat in both hands. ‘First the questions. Are you ready to take service with Kaspar?’

‘Almost, but not quite.’

‘Soon, then?’

‘Yes, soon.’

‘Has either the Duke or his sister mentioned the man Leso Varen to you?’

‘No. I would have taken note.’

‘Father’s last question: do you have any idea why Kaspar seeks to put troops on the border of the Kingdom of the Isles, hundreds of miles from any significant objective?’

‘Not even a hint.’

‘Now, a question from me: why did you save Kaspar from that bear?’

Tal shook his head and sipped his wine. ‘To tell you the truth, I had no idea at the time. I just reacted. But after dwelling on it, I decided it must be the gods telling me something.’

‘What?’

‘It’s not enough to see Kaspar die. At the very least he must know why he is dying, but even more …’

‘What?’

‘I want to see him humbled. I want to watch as he realizes that everything he’s done, every murderous order given, every treacherous decision, has come to naught.’

Magnus was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘Killing him will be far easier than reducing him to such a state.’

‘Still, that is my goal.’

‘Your goal,’ said Magnus, ‘if I may remind you, is to first discover why he desires a war with the Kingdom. Every shred of intelligence we have tells us you are correct in your surmise: Kaspar has some mad design on forging an alliance among the Eastern Kingdoms so he may launch a strike against the Isles.

‘And I emphasize the word “mad” for none of what he has accomplished so far reveals a hint of sanity.’

Tal nodded. ‘Yet I would wager my life that Kaspar is anything but mad. Devious, murderous, charming, even amusing; but he is as sane as any man. His choices may appear pointless, but there is always a design behind them.’ He leaned forward and put his wine cup on the table. ‘Now, Pasko and Amafi will return soon, so we must be done with this quickly.’

‘Then to the message. This from my father. You are to be detached.’

‘Exactly what does that mean?’

‘It means no one will be calling on you at any time, Tal.’ Magnus adjusted his hat. ‘When you decide to take Kaspar up on his offer and enter his service, find an excuse to discharge Pasko. I leave it up to you as to what you do with this Amafi fellow. But you are oath-bound to never mention your connection to the Conclave to him, or even hint of the Conclave’s existence.

‘From now on, we will have no further contact with you until you seek us out. If you are in the north, find a way to send a message to Kendrick’s or go there yourself. In Rillanon, seek out an inn called the Golden Sunrise, and you’ve already been to the Cask and Vine in Salador. Should you find yourself in Krondor, you already know the Admiral Trask. Here, see the night barman at Molkonski’s Inn. We don’t have any agents in Opardum, more’s the pity, but if you can get a message up to the Anvil and Tong, in the town of Karesh’kaar in Bardac’s Holdfast, it’ll get to us.’

Tal laughed. ‘Are all your agents ensconced in inns and taverns?’

Magnus smiled. ‘No, but we find inns and taverns to be useful places to collect information. Devise a way to get a message to any of those locations, addressed to the Squire of Forest Deep, and it will reach us. Use the code phrase if you can. There are other inns in other cities, and Pasko can see you have a full list before you part company.’

‘Why am I to do without him?’

‘Two … no, three reasons. First, with each additional agent of the Conclave who gets near Leso Varen, the risk to us is multiplied. Mother has Lady Rowena as close to Kaspar as a woman can get – I assume in the vain hope Kaspar might let something slip among the pillow-talk – and with you there, our vulnerability increases; Pasko adds nothing of use to us, but increases the hazard.

‘Second, we have other tasks for Pasko.

‘And lastly, he works for the Conclave, not Squire Hawkins of Ylith, no matter what you have come to believe.’

‘Point taken.’

‘Now, I must make this clear: no matter what opportunity you have to revenge yourself on Kaspar, he is only part of the problem; find out what you may of Leso Varen. He is the true danger in this. Finally, if you are found out, we will see you dead before risking the security of the Conclave. Is that clear?’

‘Abundantly.’

‘Good. So, don’t get killed, or at least try to do something useful before you do. If you get into trouble, we can’t and won’t fetch you out.’

Suddenly he was gone. There was a slight intake of air where Magnus had stood and the room went silent.

Tal reached out and took his wine cup and muttered, ‘I hate that he always has to have the last word.’



Tal awoke feeling a little disoriented. He had only had one cup of wine the night before during his conversation with Magnus. The day had been uneventful, a somewhat leisurely ride down the mountain and through the city to the palace. But he hadn’t slept well, and wondered if his restless night was due to the choice that now confronted him.

Kaspar was in his debt; so how was Tal to take service with him and not look overly anxious? His idea of killing Prince Matthew and having Kaspar intercede to protect him now seemed eminently plausible; Magnus was correct: Tal’s status as Champion of the Masters’ Court gained him many privileges, but what were the obligations? Tal pondered that for a moment.

He knew he could manipulate any number of social situations where Prince Matthew would be forced to call him out for a duel. Someone would insist it be to first blood and Tal could ‘accidentally’ kill him; unfortunate, but these things happen. Ironically, Tal considered, they happen to me a lot, actually. No, that wouldn’t do, for a duel would be about honour and while the King might never again allow him in the palace …

A brawl perhaps? Matthew had an appetite for some of the seedier bordellos and gaming halls in the city. He went ‘in disguise’, despite the fact everyone knew him and he used his position to great advantage.

Tal discarded the idea; not public enough.

There was no easy way to kill him in such a way as to land in that magic place between being forgiven and being beheaded. And even if he did land in that magical place, and Kaspar interceded on his behalf, that would settle Kaspar’s debt. Tal liked having that debt.

No, he decided as he arose, he wouldn’t kill Prince Matthew. Another idea came to him. He sat back and thought about it, and decided he had not considered his own role closely enough. There might just be a way to make himself persona non grata in Roldem. He could keep himself off the headsman’s block yet seemingly have no social future left in Roldem. At which point it would seem as if he had no choice to but take service with the Duke.

‘Pasko,’ he called and a moment later Amafi entered the room. ‘Magnificence, may I serve?’ he asked in the language of the Isles.

‘Where’s Pasko?’ he asked, motioning for his trousers.

The former assassin handed them to Tal. ‘He went to the morning market, Magnificence, shopping for food. What may I do for you?’

Tal considered this, and then said, ‘I guess now is as good a time as any for you to learn to be a valet.’

‘Valet? Magnificence, I do not know the word.’

Tal had forgotten he was speaking Roldemish, a language in which Amafi could barely keep up. ‘Il cameriere personate,’ said Tal in the Quegan language.

‘Ah, a manservant,’ said Amafi in the Ring’s Tongue, as the language of the Isles was known. ‘I have spent some time among men of breeding, Magnificence, so it will be of little matter to learn your needs. But what of Pasko?’

‘Pasko will be leaving us soon, I’m afraid.’ Tal sat and pulled on his boots. ‘It’s a family matter, and he must return to his father’s side up north in Latagore.’

Amafi didn’t ask for any details. He just said, ‘Then I shall endeavour to match him in caring for your comfort.’

‘We still need to work on your Roldemish,’ said Tal, falling back into that language. ‘I’m for the Masters’ Court. Wait here for Pasko, then tell him to begin to acquaint you with my routines. He will explain as he goes. Become like his shadow for a while and observe. Ask questions if they do not disturb me or any in my company, otherwise keep them until the two of you are alone.

‘Tell him to meet me at Remarga’s at midday and bring fresh clothing. Then I will dine at … Baldwin’s, outside along the Grand Canal, then some afternoon cards at Depanov’s. I’ll return here to change into something more appropriate for supper.’

‘Yes, Magnificence.’

Tal put on the same shirt he had worn the day before, and threw a casual jacket across one shoulder as he grabbed his sword. ‘Now, find something to do until Pasko gets back and I’ll see the two of you at noon.’

‘Yes, Magnificence,’ Amafi repeated.

Tal left the apartment and hurried down the stairs. He fastened his sword around his waist and kept the jacket over his shoulder. It was a warm day and he had elected to forgo a hat. As he worked his way along the streets to the Masters’ Court, he pondered just how much damage he could do to a royal without getting himself into too much trouble.

The morning sun, a warm breeze off the ocean, the memory of the Lady Natalia’s enthusiastic lovemaking – all combined to put Tal into a wonderful frame of mind. By the time he reached the Masters’ Court he had a plan as to how to humiliate a royal without getting hung, and had convinced himself it might even turn out to be fun.



A week later, the gallery was full as Tal walked onto the floor of the Masters’ Court. With the return of the Greatest Swordsman in the World, observing practices and bouts had become the favoured pastime of a large number of young women in the capital. Many noble daughters and a significant number of young wives found reason to take pause during their day’s shopping to indulge their new-found interest in the sword.

He had been practising every day for a week since returning from the hunt, and waiting for his opportunity to confront Prince Matthew. He had finally realized the Prince was waiting until he departed to appear at Masters’ Court every second day. Tal judged that the vain prince didn’t wish to share the attention of those at the Masters’ Court with the Champion. So this day, Tal began his practice sessions in the late afternoon, rather than the morning, as was his habit.

Tal was saluted by every member on the floor, including the instructors, in recognition of his achievement. Today Vassily Turkov was acting as Master of the Floor, head instructor, and arbiter of any dispute. Other instructors worked with students in all corners of the massive hall, but the Master of the Floor supervised the bouts at the centre.

The floor of the court was of inlaid wood, arranged in a complex pattern that after a brief study revealed itself to be a clever series of boundaries between various practice areas. The floor was surrounded by massive columns of hand-polished wood supporting the ornate high ceiling. Tal glanced up and saw that the ceiling had been repainted, white with gold leaf over embossed garlands and wreaths which surrounded large skylights. Galleries ran along one wall between the columns, while the other wall boasted floor-to-ceiling windows, keeping the entire hall brilliantly lit.

Vassily came and took Tal’s hand. ‘When you didn’t appear this morning, I thought perhaps you’d given yourself a day of rest, Squire.’ He glanced at the crowded gallery and said, ‘If this continues, we may have to put up those temporary seats again.’ During the Masters’ Champion Tournament, temporary seating had been erected in front of the windows, to accommodate as many onlookers as possible.

Tal smiled. ‘I just came to practise, Master.’

The older man smiled and nodded. ‘Then I shall find you an opponent.’ He saw several young men lingering nearby, eager to cross swords with the Champion of the Masters’ Court. He beckoned one of them: ‘Anatoli, you are first!’

Tal had no idea who the young man was, but the youth approached without hesitation. He bowed to the Master, then bowed to Tal. Master Vassily cried out, ‘Rapiers! Three points to the victor!’

Both men wore heavily-padded jackets that covered them from neck to groin, over leggings and leather-soled slippers. Each donned a basket mesh helmet that allowed air and vision, but protected the entire head from injury. They advanced and faced one another.

The Master came to stand between them, holding out his sword. Each combatant raised his own weapon, touched it to the Master’s and held it in place. Then the Master pulled his weapon away and the contest began.

Tal had been duelling during his nearly year-long stay in Salador. The Court of Blades was no match for the Masters’ Court in terms of the number of quality opponents, but there were enough good swordsmen there to keep Tal sharp.

He had needed the time, for on Sorcerer’s Isle there was only Caleb to spar with, and he had been absent a great deal of the time, out on one mission or another for his parents. And while he was the best hunter and archer Tal knew, Caleb’s blade-work left room for improvement.

Before then, Tal had been with mercenaries, and most of the niceties of the duelling floor were lost on them. They were not looking to perfect swordcraft as an art, but rather as a means of survival, and Tal was fairly certain the Masters of the Court would look dimly upon his using kicks to the groin, eye gouging, and ear biting as part of his sparring regime. Tal realized that many of the young men who would spend years of their lives here in the Masters’ Court would never have to use their blades in anger. Such was the life of a young noble in the civilized bosom of Roldem.

Young Anatoli was quickly dispatched, for he was sound at basic swordsmanship but lacked any particular gift. Three other young men were also quickly disposed of, and Tal elected to leave the floor.

Rather than heading straight for the changing room, he went to a table at the end of the hall which was laden with refreshments. A crystal bowl stood in the centre, filled with water and floating slices of lemons. Tal had come to appreciate the drink after getting used to its tartness. Fresh fruit, cheeses, breads, pastries and smoked meats rested on trays. Bottles of ale and wine were also there for those who had finished with the day’s practices. Tal took a cup of lemon-water from a servant, then picked up a slice of apple to nibble on while he surveyed the room.

One of the court’s many servants stood next to Tal, busily restocking each dish so that the presentation always looked fresh. He calculated the expense and considered how costly it must be to operate the Masters’ Court. Any nobleman was free to use the court for the furtherance of the art of the blade. Commoners with gold could use it for a not-inconsiderable fee, and many chose to do so, for political reasons. Otherwise, the entire cost of operating this palatial undertaking was borne by the Crown.

For an idle moment, Tal wondered just how much wealth King Carol commanded. He called up from memory a book he had read on the life of the Krondorian trader Rupert Avery, and reconsidered how exaggerated the various sums mentioned by the self-aggrandizing fellow really were. Sitting alone in his little hut on Sorcerer’s Isle, Talon of the Silver Hawk had thought those figures must have been inflated to bolster the author’s claim of importance in the history of the Kingdom. But now that he considered how vast the palace of Roldem was, and just the cost of operating this court alone, not to mention the funding of Roldem’s navy, Tal realized just how naive Talon had been. From somewhere in his memory came the phrase, ‘It’s good to be king’, and despite not being able to remember which of his teachers had uttered it, Talon was inclined to agree.

For a brief instant he thought he was on the edge of understanding Duke Kaspar’s greed for power.

Then he saw another large party enter the floor and without needing a second glance, he knew Prince Matthew had arrived. Tal reconsidered his plan again, as he had countless times since he had dreamed it up the week before. Fresh from his heroics in saving the Duke and with the King’s approval he now stood the best chance of making it work without ending up on the headsman’s block, or being discreetly dumped into the harbour.

Sipping on his drink, he ambled to where the Prince stood surrounded by his entourage. Prince Matthew was a vain man, despite the fact that by the age of thirty he had accumulated an ample girth around an otherwise slender figure. It gave the comic effect of a large reptile trying to digest an even larger ball. Still, the Prince heroically attempted to mask the result of his excesses by employing a jacket that was cinched tight around the middle and padded across the shoulders. He wore his hair short, heavily oiled, and combed forward to disguise his rapidly-retreating hairline, and affected a thin moustache that must take hours to trim each day, thought Talon. He also carried an ornate little viewing-glass, a thing of light purple quartz imported from Queg through which he would peer at things as if the glass somehow gave him a better level of detail.

Tal waited a short distance away until he was noticed, then bowed.

The Prince said, ‘Ah, Squire. Good to see you back. Sorry I missed you at the gala, but I was indisposed.’

The rumour in the palace had been that the Prince had consumed so much wine the night before Kaspar’s welcoming gala he dared not step more than a dozen paces from the garderobe in his quarters lest his irritated bowels rebel unexpectedly. ‘My loss, Highness. It’s good to see you recovered.’

‘Have you duelled?’ asked the Prince.

‘I just finished, Highness.’

‘Ah, a pity. I had hoped for some decent competition today.’

The Prince was an indifferent fencer, but for reasons political, he rarely lost a bout. Tal had no doubt he had waited in the nearby changing rooms, under the soothing hands of a masseuse, waiting for word of Tal’s sessions being over. ‘That’s no trouble, Highness. I haven’t left the floor yet, so I would be happy to accommodate you should you wish a bit of a challenge.’

Several of the Prince’s party exchanged glances. On his best day the Prince would be no match for Tal on his worst, and few thought the Champion of the Masters’ Court likely to allow a victory to the Prince, given that Tal had never lost a bout and if he continued to win until the next Masters’ Court Tournament he would be the undisputed master of all time.

Prince Matthew forced a smile. ‘Again, a pity. I’ve already booked my opponents.’

Three young fencers stood nearby, one of them being the youth, Anatoli. He beamed as he stepped forward and said, ‘Highness, I would gladly surrender my place to allow the Champion to accommodate you.’

If looks could kill, Anatoli would have been instantly reduced to smoking debris. Instead, the Prince said, ‘How kind, young sir. I shall be sure to remember.’

Tal tried to suppress a grin. ‘Why don’t you begin with the other two, Highness, while I finish my lemon-water? When you’re finished with them, I’ll be delighted to be your last opponent.’

The Prince smiled, for at least Tal offered him a way to save face. He would win his first two bouts, after which being defeated by the Champion would be no shame. And, who knows, perhaps the Champion might seek to curry favour by allowing a draw – certainly he had done so before.

Tal wandered back to the buffet and helped himself to another piece of apple. The Prince quickly disposed of both his opponents who contrived to lose in an almost convincing fashion.

Tal put down his cup of water and returned to the floor. ‘Congratulations, Highness. You barely broke a sweat.’ In fact the Prince was puffing like an old horse that had been run uphill all day.

‘Kind of you … to say that … Squire.’

‘Let’s say to seven? That will give us both a good workout.’

Master Vassily glanced at Tal with narrowed eyes. To seven meant best of seven touches. The usual match was to three touches. Tal would win without difficulty, but would have to score on the Prince four touches instead of the usual two out of three. The Prince was caught exactly where Tal wanted him, unwilling to decline. He said, ‘Of course.’

Then Tal said, ‘And if you would be so gracious, we’ve already both matched with rapiers. I could use some practice with a heavier weapon. Sabres? Or longswords, perhaps?’

Everyone within hearing range fell silent. Prince Matthew was indifferent with the rapier, but it was his best weapon. The heavy cavalry blade required quick, powerful attacks, and the infantry sword required stamina. The Prince elected the lesser of two evils. ‘Sabres, then, Squire.’

Tal motioned for one of the floor staff to hand him his helmet and sword, while another attendant brought the Prince a practice sabre. Master Vassily approached and whispered, ‘What do you think you’re doing, Squire?’

‘I just thought it about time someone took some of the wind out of that pompous fool’s sails, Master Vassily.’

The Master of the Floor stood dumbfounded. His entire experience with Squire Hawkins had led him to believe him a young man of exceptional social adroitness. He could charm nearly every woman he met and most men wanted to be his friend. Yet here he stood ready to humiliate a royal prince. ‘He’s the King’s cousin, Squire!’ hissed Vassily.

‘The fact of which the swine makes sure we never forget,’ said Tal, trying to sound venomous. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

From the moment they took their places, Tal knew he could have his way with the Prince, injure him, or even kill him if he wanted. Despite the padding and the helmet, a sabre – even a practice sabre with a blunted edge – could wreak great harm in the hands of a master, and no man was more of a master than Tal.

Reluctantly, Vassily took his place and raised his weapon. ‘Places!’

Both men approached and touched blades, and when Vassily ordered, ‘Begin!’ the Prince attempted a quick but feeble overhand strike.

Tal knocked it aside effortlessly. The Prince was already overbalanced and Tal should have without hesitation riposted with a strike to the shoulder or exposed side of the body for the point. Instead he retreated a step. ‘Why don’t you try that again, Highness?’ he said in a voice that merely hinted at mockery. It was almost as if he was turning a practice duel into a lesson.

Tal took his position, sabre down at his side, waiting, while the Prince retreated and approached with his sword at the ready. The Prince tried the same move, even more clumsily than before, and Tal easily blocked to the side. Prince Matthew overbalanced and was open to any number of light taps that would win Tal the match, but at the last instant, Tal slashed hard with a punishing blow to the ribs, hard enough to bring an audible grunt of pain from the Prince.

‘Score, Squire Hawkins!’ announced Vassily, as he looked at Tal with an expression halfway between a question and outrage.

With a gasp, Prince Matthew pulled himself upright, his left hand across his stomach, clutching his ribs. Affecting concern, Tal asked, ‘I trust I didn’t hurt you, Highness?’

For an instant Tal wondered if the Prince was going to be sick, for his voice sounded as if he were swallowing between words. ‘No … I’m … fine … Squire.’

Brightly, Tal suggested, ‘Let’s try another.’

For a moment it appeared as if the Prince might decline, but instead he returned to his position and Tal said, ‘Be careful not to over-extend, Highness.’

With barely-concealed anger, Master Vassily approached. There was nothing he could do, really. As Master of the Floor he could halt any match for any reason, and over the years he had stopped several matches in which an advanced student was bullying a novice. But this was a royal prince of the House of Roldem and to halt this bout because Tal was punishing him would only humiliate the Crown.

Tal scored two more brutal touches, and by the time the Prince approached the line, Master Vassily whispered, ‘Squire, this is more than enough!’

‘If His Highness wishes to retire, I will not object,’ Tal said with as much contempt as he could manage in his tone. He let his voice carry just enough that all those nearby could overhear.

Prince Matthew was a proud man, even if that pride was founded in vanity rather than achievement. He seemed to be choking back tears when he said, ‘I’m not going to quit.’

Brightly, Tal said, ‘Well said, Highness. Let’s give the gallery something to remember, shall we?’

When Vassily instructed them to start, Prince Matthew held his ground, waiting for Tal to make the first move. Tal feinted and the Prince reacted. In quick order, Tal knocked the Prince’s sabre from his hand, then slipped the point of his sabre under his helmet, flipping it off his head. Then he stepped past the Prince and administered as hard a blow across the buttocks as he could. The crowd’s reaction was instantaneous. Gasps of astonishment were mixed with catcalls and jeers. The blow was so hard that Prince Matthew fell forward to his knees, hand stretched out before him. His face was flushed, and his eyes swollen from the tears of pain he had shed from the previous blows. But the last strike had reduced him to crying, and despite his best efforts, he could not help himself.

Courtiers rushed forward and helped the humiliated prince to his feet. Tal turned his back and walked away, another breach of decorum. In the gallery, several young women who had come to the Masters’ Court in the hope of catching Tal’s eye rose up and departed, contempt in their eyes as they regarded him.

Master Vassily hurried over and said, ‘Are you totally bereft of reason?’

Smiling at the Prince, Tal answered, ‘Quite the opposite, really, Master Vassily.’

In low, warning tones, Vassily said, ‘If I were you, Squire, I’d consider a voyage somewhere very soon. Champion of the Masters’ Court or not, you’ve just made a very dangerous enemy. The Prince may be many things, but forgiving is not one of them.’

Tal locked eyes across the room with Prince Matthew and saw that through the tears of anger and humiliation, barely-checked rage was directed at him. ‘Yes, I believe you’re right,’ said Tal. He let the mockery in his voice sound as he allowed his words to carry to those nearby. ‘But judging from this afternoon’s bout, he’s really not all that dangerous.’

Unable to think of another thing to say, the Master of the Floor turned and left him. Tal walked to a distant corner where Pasko and Amafi waited. Pasko understood what had taken place, but Amafi said, ‘Magnificence, are you inclined to suicide?’

‘No, not really. Why?’

‘For the Prince now wants you dead.’ With a bright smile, he added, ‘And he does have enough gold that I would at least consider betraying you.’

Tal laughed, again loudly enough for those nearby to think that he was enjoying the moment. ‘Then don’t betray me, and I’ll consider increasing your pay.’

‘Yes, Magnificence.’

As they headed to the changing room, Pasko whispered, ‘Be careful. Even before the bout was over, Matthew’s agents were leaving the building with word of his humbling. You’ve made a powerful enemy.’

Tal let out his breath slowly, as if releasing the tension he had felt inside. ‘Then, I think it’s time to seek out a powerful friend.’




• Chapter Five • Service (#ulink_c6648162-56a9-536f-a7c8-a04aeba33d4f)


KASPAR SMILED.

‘So, young Hawkins, I see you’ve managed to create a decidedly uncomfortable position for yourself.’ Duke Kaspar sat back in a large chair, motioning for his servant to fill a pair of wine cups on a round table in a room that was part of a large apartment given to him by the King to use on his visit.

Amafi stood just outside the door in his role of manservant, while Pasko was back at the apartment making ready for his departure. The story of a sick father was acceptable to him and he had already purchased passage on a ship bound for Prandur’s Gate, where he would find another ship to Coastal Watch, then by wagon to Kendrick’s. He would be gone within the week.

Tal had sent the Duke a message the day before requesting an audience, and the next morning a palace page had delivered the reply. Tal was invited for a late-afternoon meeting, but advised to use one of the palace’s servants’ entrances rather than the main gate, for obvious reasons.

Kaspar lounged in a brocade-trimmed tunic that buttoned up to the neck, a fashion Tal had not seen; it must be something worn in Olasko, he thought. ‘I judged you to be a young man of uncommon sense and calm judgment. What caused you to do such an uncharacteristic thing?’

Tal picked up his cup, and sniffed the wine out of habit. He sipped, then said, ‘Ah, this must be the new vintage from Krushwin in Ravenswood!’

Kaspar’s eyebrows raised and he said, ‘You know your wine, Talwin. Yes, it arrived last month, and the King was kind enough to have a few bottles waiting here when I arrived. Now, answer the question.’

The last was as pointed a command as Kaspar had ever directed at Tal.

Tal tried to look sheepish. ‘Prince Matthew is a boor.’

‘True, but that hardly makes him unique among nobles here in Roldem. Why humiliate him in public?’

‘Because I couldn’t kill him and avoid the headsman, I suppose,’ said Tal, taking a sip of wine to give him pause. ‘Had he not been a royal I would have called him out on a matter of honour.’

‘Oh?’ said the Duke, his brows rising again. ‘Whose honour? Certainly not yours? You seem to be a pragmatic sort, not one given to overblown principles.’

Realizing he hadn’t thought this through as thoroughly as he should, Tal said, ‘A lady’s honour, sir.’

‘You’re in dispute with Prince Matthew over a lady?’

Tal knew this wouldn’t undergo close scrutiny if he strayed too far from a plausible story, so he improvised. ‘Not in dispute, but rather in defence. The lady in question is a widow and the Prince has been … too enthusiastic over pressing his attentions on her.’

‘Ah, then it would be Lady Gavorkin,’ said Kaspar with a chuckle. ‘I have sources for gossip here as well as in my own court.’

Tal shrugged. ‘The lady and I have been close. While I have no interest in marriage, she is looking for a new husband should circumstances permit, for already the Crown is considering taking away some of her estates and she fears the loss of revenue.’

Kaspar waved away further comment. ‘I know her situation. Had Matthew been seen in public with her, other interested noble sons would avoid her. I understand.’

Tal wasn’t certain if Kaspar believed the story or not. All Tal had go on was one remark Lady Gavorkin had made when he had come to call upon her one afternoon: that she found the Prince repellent.

‘Still,’ asked Kaspar with another chuckle, ‘did you have to make him cry like a child in public?’

‘Better than killing him,’ offered Tal.

‘Perhaps not,’ Kaspar said, ‘You have made a very bad enemy, because Matthew has no shred of forgiveness in his nature. He is the only member of the King’s close family who would use his power to avenge a personal slight. Even now there may be a bounty on your head. I’d watch your back for assassins, young Hawkins.’

‘That’s why I’ve come to you.’

‘With the King I might have some influence, and I am in your debt. But with Matthew …’ He spread his hands and shrugged.

‘Matthew wouldn’t dare attack me directly if I were in your service, Your Grace. I have decided to take you up on your offer of employment.’

Kaspar sat back. ‘I understand the cause, but it seems a sudden reversal, to be blunt.’

‘I weighed your offer before, Your Grace, and seriously considered it. I had hoped, however, to be able to find a position with a trading concern out of Salador, Ran and Bas-Tyra. Perhaps you’ve met their local agent, Quincy de Castle?’

A tiny flicker in Kaspar’s eyes revealed the lie as he said, ‘Don’t know the man. But why trading?’

Tal paused, as if gathering his thoughts. ‘I’m a noble only by the thinnest thread, Your Grace. The head of my family barely knows I exist, for I am a third cousin, once removed.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I only hold the title “Squire” by a deft manipulation of a local magistrate on my father’s part, truth to tell. And the lands that come with that title provide no income.’ Returning to a normal tone, he said, ‘To advance, I need two things: wealth and fame. I could either join the army – and truth to tell, I tried that for a little while, and thrashing goblins in the cold north is no route to either – or I could marry well. But to marry well, I need wealth and fame. A circle, don’t you see?’

‘I do.’

‘So I came east. Here is where politics and trade give a man opportunity, not out in the west. There it’s all duty and service, but here a man can find prospects. So, becoming Champion of the Masters’ Court gave me fame. And if I could rise financially with de Castle and his partners, then would I have wealth.’

‘I appreciate the general design, Squire, but aren’t there more direct routes?’

‘None that I can see. My best opportunity was Lady Gavorkin, but the Crown would never approve her marrying a poor country squire from the Isles.’

‘Especially now,’ said Kaspar with a chuckle.

‘Yes,’ agreed Tal with a pained smile. ‘But even had I restrained myself regarding the Prince, I think my future lies somewhere else. And now that it appears my prospects in Roldem have diminished …’ He shrugged.

‘You thought you would ride my coat-tails to greatness,’ finished Kaspar.

‘Yes, Your Grace.’

‘Not an unwise choice,’ said Kaspar. ‘I have a use for clever men – assuming you resist the temptation to humiliate princes in public in the future. There’s a captaincy for you in Opardum.’

‘Captaincy?’ Tal smiled. ‘As I said, I’ve tried the military life, Your Grace, and found it less than ideal for my talents.’

‘It’s a title. If you like, you may continue to call yourself “squire”, for no one will salute you and no one will have you marching around a parade ground. I have many captains in many capacities, and none of them wear a uniform.’

‘Ah,’ said Tal, as if he now understood. ‘You seek an agent.’

‘Agent is a good word. Factor is another. Or representative, depending on the need. Whatever the title, the function will be the same: to serve me with unswerving loyalty and vigour. The rewards will be quite in keeping with the effort.’

Tal finished his wine. ‘Should I pack?’

‘Soon,’ said Kaspar. ‘I linger here another week, then it’s off to Rillanon and a visit with the King of the Isles, then back to Opardum. You are not officially in my service until we reach Opardum. The reasons for this will be made clear to you then.

‘Until then, however, you will be under my protection. I will send a quiet word to Prince Matthew that I would take it as a personal affront should any ill befall you, and then reassure him that I’m getting you as far away from Roldem as possible.

‘Perhaps in three years’ time you might return to defend your championship. It will be awkward, but at least by then Matthew will have had a chance to reflect.’ He paused, then added brightly, ‘Or maybe by then someone else will have killed the posturing fool.’

Kaspar rose, signalling that the interview was over. ‘Return to your quarters and try to stay out of trouble, Squire.’

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ said Tal.

The Duke left through one door, and Tal departed through the other, finding Amafi waiting outside. He gestured for his new valet to fall in and they left the palace together, this time exiting through the main gate.

When they were safely outside the palace, Amafi asked, ‘Magnificence, what transpired?’

‘We are now in the service of Duke Kaspar of Olasko, Amafi.’

The former assassin grinned, for a moment looking positively lupine. Then he said, ‘So, now our rise to greatness begins!’

‘Yes,’ said Tal, though inside he felt as if it was a descent into darkness that lay before them.



The ship beat against the rolling combers as a stiff breeze hurried it towards the most magnificent city Tal had ever seen. No, he thought, more magnificent than he could have imagined.

Rillanon stood outlined against the hills, a stunning creation of coloured stone and graceful arches. The late-afternoon sun etched its form with brilliant highlights set against deep shadows. Tal had been told of its history, that the Mad King, Rodric the Fourth, had ordered the city rebuilt with every drab façade replaced by cut stone of brilliant hue. Kings Lyam, Patrick and now Ryan had continued with the project, and now nearly every building in the capital of the Kingdom of the Isles was a study in splendour. A thing of marble and granite, Rillanon glimmered white and pink, yellow and amber, with hints of purple, green, red and blue scattered across the scene. As they approached, details resolved and both Tal and Amafi stood in mute astonishment in the bow of Duke Kaspar’s ship, The Dolphin.

A voice from behind them said, ‘Is this your first visit, Squire?’

Tal turned to see the Duke and bowed before he answered. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

Amafi stepped away discreetly, giving his master and the Duke the opportunity to speak in private.

‘I am second to no man in my pride in my homeland, Squire,’ said the Duke. ‘Opardum is a magnificent city in its own way, but I’ll concede that upon first viewing, no city matches Rillanon in beauty.’

‘I must agree, Your Grace. I have read histories …’ Tal forced himself to remember his place. ‘When a student, my father insisted I master the history of the Kingdom.’ He turned, and waved his hand. ‘But this … it’s beyond description.’

‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Duke Kaspar chuckled. ‘If one were to wage war upon the Kingdom of the Isles, it would be a tragedy to have to sack such a wonder. It would be far better to force them to surrender before having to storm those towers, don’t you agree?’

Tal nodded. ‘Though I would think not going to war with the Isles the wiser choice.’

‘There are other means of winning a struggle besides armed conflict,’ said the Duke. He spoke, as much to himself as to Tal. ‘There are those who will avow that war is the result of failed diplomacy, while others will tell you that war is but another tool of diplomacy; I’m not enough of a scholar to decide if there’s really any difference between those two positions.’ He turned and smiled at Tal. ‘Now, get to your cabin and change into your finery. We shall be dining in the King’s palace tonight.’ He glanced at the sails. ‘I judge us to be less than an hour out of the harbour, and we shall have clear sailing to the royal docks.’

Tal went below and did as instructed, and by the time he was ready for presentation in court, he heard a knock upon his door. Amafi opened it to find a cabin boy standing before the portal.

‘Yes?’

‘Duke’s compliments, Squire. You’re to join him on deck.’

‘I’ll be along straight away,’ said Tal.

Tal quickly adjusted his new tunic and grabbed his hat, an outfit tailored for him in Roldem prior to leaving. He had spent the week lying low as Kaspar had suggested, avoiding public places for the most part. It hardly mattered anyway, for the invitations from Roldem’s elite had stopped immediately after his humiliation of Prince Matthew. Tal assumed Kaspar had sent out word that Tal was now under his protection for there had been no attempt at reprisal, at least none that Tal and Amafi could see.

Tal hurried up on deck as the ship approached the breakwater outside the harbour. If Roldem had been breath-taking the first time Tal had seen it from a ship, Rillanon was astonishing. The closer they got the more stunning the vista became. For not only was the city constructed of polished marble and granite, it was trimmed in all manner of ways: there were flower trellises, hillside gardens, colourful pennants and banners, and windows of quartz and glass. The late-afternoon sun set the stones ablaze with reflected gold, amber, rose and white highlights.

‘Amazing,’ said Amafi.

‘Yes,’ said the Duke. I always try to arrive before sunset, just to see this.’

A royal cutter flying the banner of the Kingdom of the Isles was on an outward tack, and dipped its pennant in salute to the Duke of Olasko. Sailors on both ships waved greetings, and Tal was rendered almost mute by the grandeur around him. Ships from every nation on the Sea of Kingdoms were at anchor or sailing in or out of the harbour. He saw Keshian traders, ships from the Eastern Kingdoms, and cargo-haulers from every point in the known world.

Sails were reefed and The Dolphin slowed as the captain allowed a smaller boat to come alongside. A rope ladder was dropped and up it scampered the Harbour Pilot, who quickly made his way to the quarterdeck. He took control of the ship: from this point on, it was his job to sail the ship into the Royal Dock.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/raymond-e-feist-18416784/king-of-foxes/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.