Copyright

HarperVoyager An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd. 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperVoyager 2005

Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 2005

Cover Illustration © Nik Keevil

Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007133765

Ebook Edition © AUGUST 2012 ISBN: 9780007370191

Version: 2018-12-05

For Andy and Rich,

long overdue thanks for stepping in and being there at the right time

Epigraph

Fate will bring together those a thousand miles apart; without fate, they will miss each other though they come face to face.

Chinese proverb

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Map

Prologue: Harbinger

Chapter One: Brothers

Chapter Two: Council

Chapter Three: Journey

Chapter Four: Dark Goddess

Chapter Five: Sorcerer’s Isle

Chapter Six: Apprentices

Chapter Seven: Ralan Bek

Chapter Eight: Homecoming

Chapter Nine: Kesh

Chapter Ten: Threat

Chapter Eleven: Conspiracy

Chapter Twelve: Discovery

Chapter Thirteen: Icons

Chapter Fourteen: Breakthrough

Chapter Fifteen: Deception

Chapter Sixteen: Waiting

Chapter Seventeen: Intelligence

Chapter Eighteen: Plans

Chapter Nineteen: Traps

Chapter Twenty: Varen

Chapter Twenty-One: Anticipation

Chapter Twenty-Two: Confrontation

Epilogue: Redux

Keep Reading

Continue the Adventure...

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by the Author

About the Publisher

Map

• PROLOGUE •
Harbinger

THE STORM HAD BROKEN.

Pug danced along the edge of the rocks, his feet finding scant purchase as he made his way among the tide pools. His dark eyes darted about as he peered into each pool under the cliff face, seeking the spiny creatures driven into the shallows by the recently passed storm.

His boyish muscles bunched under his light shirt as he shifted the sack of sandcrawlers, rockclaws, and crabs plucked from this water garden. The afternoon sun sent sparkles through the sea spray swirling around him, as the west wind blew his sun-streaked brown hair about. Pug set his sack down, checked to make sure it was securely tied, then squatted on a clear patch of sand. The sack was not quite full, but Pug relished the extra hour or so that he could relax. Megar the cook wouldn’t trouble him about the time as long as the sack was almost full. Resting with his back against a large rock, Pug settled in to relax. He opened his eyes suddenly. He had fallen asleep, or at least he knew he had fallen asleep here once … He sat up.

A cool wet spray struck him in the face. Without having closed his eyes, somehow time had passed. Fear rose up within his chest, and he knew he had stayed much too long. Westward, over the sea, dark thunderheads were forming above the black outline of the Six Sisters, the small islands on the horizon. The roiling, surging clouds, with rain trailing below like some sooty veil, heralded another of the sudden storms common to this part of the coast in early summer. The winds drove the clouds with unnatural fury and distant thunder grew louder by the moment.

Pug turned and looked in all directions. Something was terribly wrong. He knew he had been here many times before, but … He had been here before! Not just in this place, but living this very moment!

To the south, the high bluffs of Sailor’s Grief reared up against the sky, as waves crashed against the base of that rocky pinnacle. Whitecaps started to form behind the breakers, a sure sign the storm would quickly strike. Pug knew he was in danger, for the storms of summer could drown anyone on the beaches, or if severe enough, on the low ground beyond. He picked up his sack and started north, towards the castle. As he moved among the pools, he felt the coolness in the wind turn to a deeper, wetter cold. The day began to be broken by a patchwork of shadows as the first clouds passed before the sun, bright colours fading to shades of grey. Out to sea, lightning flashed against the blackness of the clouds, and the boom of on-rushing thunder rode over the noise of the waves. Pug picked up speed when he came to the first stretch of open beach.

The storm was coming in faster than he would have thought possible, driving the rising tide before it. By the time he reached the second stretch of tide pools, there was barely ten feet of dry sand between water’s edge and cliffs. Pug hurried as fast as was safe across the rocks, twice nearly catching his foot. As he reached the next expanse of sand, he mistimed his jump from the last rock and landed … poorly. He had twisted his ankle!

He had been here before, and when he had jumped he had twisted his ankle and a moment later the waves had washed over him.

Pug turned to look at the sea and instead of the surge of water that would wash over him, the water was pulling back! The sea gathered in on itself and as it pulled away, it climbed higher and higher: a wall of water reaching angrily to the heavens. An explosion of thunder erupted over his head and he ducked, crouching to avoid the threat from above. Pug risked an upwards glance and wondered how the clouds had gathered so quickly. Where had the sun gone?

The roiling breakers continued to mount the sky, and as Pug watched in dread, he could see figures moving within the liquid wall. It resembled a barrier of sea-green glass, clouded with sandy imperfections and explosions of bubbles, but transparent enough to make out the shapes moving within it.

Armed creatures stood in ranks, poised and waiting to invade Crydee, and a word came to Pug’s mind: Dasati.

He turned, letting go of the sack in his hand as he attempted to reach higher ground. He must warn Duke Borric! He would know what to do! But the Duke is dead, over a century now.

Panic-stricken, the boy clambered up the low rise, his hands unable to find a firm grip, his feet denied solid purchase. He felt tears of frustration rise in his eyes and he glanced over his shoulder.

The black figures stirred within the mounting wall of water. As they stepped forward the wave rose to impossible height, blackening out the already storm-grey skies. Above and behind the massive wave a thing of dark anger revealed itself – a murk without form and feature, yet coherent – a powerful presence with purpose and mind. From it poured pure evil, a miasma of malevolence so vast that it caused the boy to fall over backwards, sitting helpless as he waited.

Pug saw the dark army of the Dasati marching towards him, emerging from waves turned black by the hateful thing in the sky. He slowly rose, balled his fists and stood defiantly, yet he knew he was helpless. He should be able to do something, but he was only a boy, not yet fourteen summers old, not even chosen for a craft, a keep-boy without family or name.

Then as the nearest Dasati warrior raised its sword, a malevolent cry of triumph sounded, a bell-like clarion that brought the child to his knees. Expecting the blade to fall, Pug watched the Dasati hesitate. Behind it, the wave – now taller than the tallest tower in the keep at Crydee – also seemed to pause for a moment, then it came crashing towards him, sweeping up the Dasati before bearing down upon the boy.

‘Ah!’ said Pug, sitting up in bed, his body drenched with perspiration.

‘What is it?’ asked the woman at his side.

Pug turned towards his wife, sensing more than seeing her features in the darkness of their sleeping chamber. He calmed himself and said, ‘A dream. Nothing more.’

Miranda sat up and put a hand on his shoulder. With the briefest gesture she brought every candle in the bed chamber to life. In the soft glow from the candles, she saw the sheen of moisture on his skin reflecting the flickering light. ‘It must have been quite a dream,’ she said softly. ‘You’re drenched.’

Pug turned to regard her in the warm glow. He had been married to Miranda for more than half his life now, yet he found her a constant mystery and occasionally a challenge. But at moments like this he was grateful she was close at hand.

Their bond was a strange one for they were two of the most powerful practitioners of magic on Midkemia and that alone made them unique to the other. Beyond that their histories had intersected before they had met. Pug’s life had been manipulated by Miranda’s father, Macros the Black, and even now as they lived together, they occasionally wondered if their marriage might not have been another of his clever plots. But whatever else, in each other they had found a person who could understand their burdens and challenges as no one else could.

He got out of bed. As he crossed to a washbasin, and soaked a cloth in the water, she said, ‘Tell me of the dream, Pug.’

Pug began to clean himself off. ‘I was a boy, again. I told you about the time I almost drowned on the beach, the day Kulgan’s man Meecham saved me from the boar.

‘This time I didn’t get off the beach, and the Dasati rose from within the storm.’

Miranda sat up and moved back, resting her shoulders against an ornate headboard Pug had given her years before. She said, ‘The dream is understandable. You’re feeling overwhelmed.’

He nodded, and for a brief instant in the soft light of the candles she glimpsed the boy he must have been. Those moments were rare. Miranda was older than her husband – more than fifty years his senior, but Pug carried more responsibility than anyone else in the Conclave of Shadows. He rarely spoke of it, but she knew something had happened to him during the war with the Emerald Queen years before, during the time he had lingered between life and death, his body a mass of burns from a mighty demon’s magic. Since that time he had changed, he had become more humble and less sure of himself. It was something only those closest to Pug saw, and then only rarely, but it was there.

Pug said, ‘Yes, I feel overwhelmed. The scope of things … makes me feel … insignificant at times.’

She smiled, got out of bed and came up behind her husband. Over a hundred years old, Pug looked no more than forty years of age – his body was still trim and athletic, though there was a touch of grey in his hair. He had already lived two lifetimes, and while Miranda was older, Pug had suffered more during his years. He had been held captive as a Tsurani slave for four years, and had then risen to become one of the most powerful men of that empire – a Great One, a Black Robe – a magician of the Assembly.

His first wife, Katala, had left him to return home and die among her people, succumbing to a disease that no priest or healer could cure. Then Pug had lost his children, something no parent should ever have to endure. Of his oldest friends, only Tomas abided still, for the others had only been allotted a mortal’s span. Some, Miranda had known briefly, but most were merely names she recalled from his stories: Prince Arutha, who Pug still held in awe even after all these years; the Prince’s father, Lord Borric, who had given Pug a family name; Princess Carline, the object of his boyish infatuation; Kulgan, his first teacher, and Meecham, Kulgan’s companion.

The list of names went on, but they were all dead. Laurie, his companion in the slave swamps on Kelewan, Squire Roland, so many of his students over the years, Katala … his children, William and Gamina, their children. For a moment he thought of his two surviving sons. ‘I’m worried about Magnus and Caleb,’ he said softly, his tone betraying his concern as much as the words.

She hugged him tightly from behind. His skin felt cool and clammy. ‘Magnus is hard at work with the magicians of the Assembly on Kelewan and Caleb should reach Stardock Town tomorrow. Now come back to bed and let me comfort you.’

‘You are always a comfort,’ he said softly. He turned slowly in the circle of her arms. Facing her, he again marvelled at his wife’s appearance. Beautiful, but strong. The planes of her face were softened by a high forehead and a delicate chin, and her eyes were dark and piercing. ‘There are times when I feel I barely know you, given your penchant for secrets, my love. But then there are also times when I know you better than anyone, even myself. And I am certain that no one understands me better than you do.’ He held her tightly for a moment, then whispered, ‘What are we to do?’

‘What we must, my love,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Come, back to bed. Dawn is still hours away.’

With a wave of her hand Miranda extinguished the candles, and the room was plunged back into darkness. Pug followed his wife to bed and they nestled down together, seeking comfort in each other’s arms.

Pug’s mind wrestled with the images from his dream but he pushed them aside. He knew what was troubling him: once again circumstances were forcing him to act against improbable odds, and that he must again deal with the repercussions of events that had taken place long before his birth.

Why, he thought, must I spend my life cleaning up after other people? But even as he framed the question, he knew the answer. He had made peace with his gifts years ago, and with such power came responsibility. Try as he might, it was in his nature to be responsible.

Still, he thought as sleep returned, it would be lovely to return – even if only for one day – to the time when he and Tomas were boys, filled with the hopes and ambitions of youth, when the world had been a much simpler place.

• CHAPTER ONE •
Brothers

THE BOYS BURST THROUGH THE DOOR.

Chickens scattered; one moment they had been peacefully pecking the ground, seeking spilled grain and the occasional insect, the next they were squawking in protest, and scurrying in all directions as the two boys hurtled past and landed in the village street with loud grunts.

To passersby the boys appeared as a flurry of fists, elbows and knees rolling on the ground pecked clean by the chickens. Thrashing about, their blows were ineffective but heartfelt as each boy sought enough leverage to land a winning strike, while at the same time prevent his opponent from punching back effectively. The result appeared to be more of a pointless wrestling match than a serious fight.

The boys appeared to be roughly the same size and age – about sixteen summers old. The dark-haired youth wore a maroon-coloured tunic and leather trousers. He was slightly shorter, but possessed broader shoulders and was arguably the stronger of the two. The boy with dark-blond hair was dressed in a blue tunic and leather trousers. He possessed a longer reach, and was arguably faster.

They had been raised as brothers for almost their entire lives and, like brothers everywhere, were prone to conflict in an instant. Both were handsome after a rough fashion: sunburned and possessing the lean strength gained from long hours of hard work and barely adequate food. Neither boy was stupid, but at this moment they were not behaving particularly brightly.

The cause of their current conflict hurried out of the door after them, shouting angrily. ‘Tad! Zane! Stop this right now or I won’t go to the festival with either of you.’

The struggling combatants appeared oblivious to her warning as they rolled in the dust. ‘He started it!’ shouted the dark-haired boy.

‘No I didn’t!’ countered the other.

The girl was the same age as the rivals. She had brown hair like Zane, and green eyes like Tad, was smarter than both of them put together, and was arguably the prettiest girl in Stardock Town.

An older woman followed Ellie from the house carrying a bucket of well water and she unceremoniously tipped it over the boys.

Shouting at their sudden drenching, the lads released each other and sat up. ‘Ma!’ shouted the blond boy. ‘What’d you do that for? I’ve got mud all over me now.’

‘Then go clean yourself up, Tad.’ The woman was tall and regal looking, despite her plain homespun dress. Her light brown hair had some grey, and her face was sunburned and creased, but her expression was youthful. Looking at the darker lad, she added, ‘You too, Zane.’ Her brown eyes were merry though her expression was stern. ‘Caleb will be here soon and then we’re leaving with or without you two hooligans.’

The two boys stood up, dusting themselves off as best they could, as the woman threw a large cloth at them. ‘Get the mud off with this, and then go to the well and rinse it out!’ she admonished the two boys. ‘It’s one of my good kitchen rags.’

Ellie stood looking at the hesitant brawlers. ‘You idiots. I said I’d go with both of you.’

‘But you said it to me, first,’ said Tad. ‘That means you’ll dance with me first.’

‘No it doesn’t,’ said Zane, ready to resume the fisticuffs.

‘Stop this before it starts again!’ shouted the older woman. ‘Now get out and clean yourselves up!’ Grumbling, the two boys complied.

‘Marie, why are they always fighting?’ asked Ellie.

‘They’re just bored.’ Then she looked at the younger girl. ‘When are you going to tell them?’

‘Tell them?’ said Ellie, feigning ignorance.

Marie laughed. ‘You’d better tell them soon, girl. It’s a poorly kept secret and they might hear about it at the festival.’

The girl’s brow creased and her eyebrows raised as she made an expression of exasperation. ‘We used to be like family, you know?’

‘All things change.’ The older woman looked around the town. ‘When my family first came here, Stardock Town was still a small place. Now it’s twice the size. The Academy was only half finished, now look at it.’

Ellie nodded as they both stared at the distant island across the lake. ‘I see it every day, Marie. Just like you do.’

The massive building dominated the island in the middle of the Great Star Lake, rising like a dark mountain. The village that rested at the academy’s edge now engulfed the entire northeastern end of the island. Only those who served in the Academy of Magicians lived there. Stardock Town had grown around the ferry station to the island – at first just a simple trading stop, but now a bustling centre for commerce in the region.

‘Well, if Grame Hodover’s anything like his pa, he’ll start yakkin’ as soon as he has some ale in him.’

‘And Tad and Zane will be throwing punches before anyone can talk sense into them,’ finished Ellie.

‘So, best sooner than later,’ said Marie as she motioned for Ellie to follow her back into the house. They entered a large, single-roomed building, with just enough room for a hearth, a table, and bedding for three. Once inside she said, ‘The boys are your best friends, though they don’t realize it right now. Each thinks himself in love with you, but that’s born from competition rather than for any serious reason I can see.’

Ellie nodded. ‘I do love them, but like brothers. Besides, even if I wished to marry one of them, father –’

‘I know. Your father is the wealthiest shipper in Stardock Town and Grame’s pa is the only miller, so it’s a natural match.’

‘I do love Grame,’ said Ellie. ‘At least enough to live with him.’

‘Love is not the simple romance that the tales make it out to be,’ cautioned Marie. ‘Tad’s father was a good enough man, but we had our moments. Zane’s pa treated his mother well enough, though he had a sore temper when he drank. Marriage is mostly about taking the good and the bad together, Ellie. Zane’s ma loved her family no matter what trouble they brought and, as she was my best friend, it was natural to take Zane in when they died.’ She put out her hand and gently gripped Ellie’s arm. ‘As I would have taken you in, had your pa not survived.’

Zane’s parents and Ellie’s mother had died during the last troll raid in the region. The bloody attack had cost the lives of dozens of townspeople before the magicians across the water had reacted and driven the monsters away.

‘I know, Marie,’ said the girl. ‘You’ve been like a ma to me for most of my life. I mean, I do remember my ma, at least bits about her, like her voice and the way she’d hum melodies while she cooked and I played on the floor. I remember her holding me.’ Ellie’s eyes became distant for a moment, then she looked back at Marie. ‘But in truth, you’re the only ma I’ve really had.’ She laughed. ‘My pa has certainly never said anything about how to deal with boys, ’cept to stay away from them!’

Marie smiled and hugged the girl. ‘And you’ve been the daughter I didn’t have.’

The two boys returned and Tad’s mother inspected them. ‘You’ll dry out before the fun starts,’ she said. ‘Now, I want you to promise there’ll be no more fighting today.’

‘All right, Ma,’ said Tad.

‘Yes’um,’ added Zane.

‘Why don’t the three of you make your way to the square now. I’m sure all the other boys and girls are doing the same.’

‘What about you, Ma?’ asked Zane, his face betraying his eagerness to be off.

‘I’m waiting for Caleb. He should be here soon.’

Zane and Ellie said they’d see Marie later and left, but Tad lingered. He seemed to choke on his words, but finally said, ‘Ma, are you going to wed Caleb?’

Marie laughed. ‘What brought that up?’

‘Well, he’s been here three times in the last two months, is all, and you see him a lot.’

‘His father built Stardock, if you remember what I told you.’ She shook her head. ‘Are you worried I might or that I won’t?’

The boy shrugged, his lanky frame suddenly appearing more man-like to his mother. He said, ‘I don’t know. Caleb’s a good man, I suppose. But it’s just—’

‘He’s not your pa,’ she finished.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Tad. ‘It’s just … well, he’s gone so much.’

With a wry smile, Marie said, ‘There’s more than one woman who’d count her husband being away a blessing, boy.’ She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him around. ‘Now, catch up with the others. I’ll be along soon.’

Tad ran off after the others, and Marie turned her attention to her small home. Everything was neat and dusted; she might be poor, but she had pride in an orderly house. Keeping it tidy was difficult with two boys underfoot, but they usually obeyed her without question.

Marie then inspected the soup simmering over the hearth and judged it to be ready. Everyone in the town was expected to contribute to the harvest festival, and while her soup was simple fare, it was delicious and welcomed, even by those who contributed far more.

Glancing at the door, she half-expected to see a tall man silhouetted against the light, and for a brief, bitter moment she realized she wasn’t sure who it was she wished for more to be the one to see – her late husband, or Caleb. Pushing aside such irrelevant thoughts, she reminded herself that aching for what you couldn’t have was pointless. She was a farmer’s wife, and knew the nature of life: it rarely gave you choices, and to survive you looked forward, not back.

A short while later, Marie heard someone approach and turned to find Caleb at the door. Wearing half a smile, he said, ‘Expecting someone?’

She crossed her arms and gave him an appraising look. Only a few years younger than Marie, a clean-shaven chin and a long, unlined face gave Caleb a youthful look, despite the grey creeping into his shoulder-length brown hair. His eyes were also brown and fixed on her like a hunter’s. He wore well-made but plain-cut garb, fit for a woodsman, a large floppy hat of black felt, a dark-green wool tunic cut snugly over his broad shoulders, and leather breeches tucked into buckskin boots around his calves. He had a long face, but she thought him handsome, for he carried himself proudly. He always spoke calmly and thoughtfully and he wasn’t afraid of silence. But the main reason she was drawn to him was because when he looked at her, she felt that he saw something of value there. Caleb smiled. ‘I’m late?’

‘As usual,’ she answered with a slight smile. Then her expression bloomed as she laughed. ‘But not too late,’ she crossed the room to stand before him. Kissing and hugging him, she said, ‘The boys left a few minutes ago.’

He returned the hug, then said, ‘How much time do we have?’

Marie looked askance at him and said, ‘Not enough, if I read your mood correctly.’ She tilted her head towards the hearth. ‘Help me with the kettle.’ She moved to the hearth and picked up a long oak pole leaning beside the stonework chimney.

Caleb unslung his bow, hip quiver and backpack, and stored them in the corner. As Marie slipped the pole through the iron handle of the large kettle, he took the opposite end.

They lifted it from the iron hook which held it above the flames and started towards the door. ‘You first,’ he said.

Once outside, Caleb swung around so they could walk side-by-side with the kettle between them. ‘How was your journey?’ Marie asked him.

‘Uneventful,’ he answered.

She had learned not to ask about his business or where he had been, for she knew he was working on his father’s behalf. Some claimed that Caleb’s father had been the Duke of Stardock once, but at present no one claimed dominion over the island or its town on the opposite shore. Patrols from the Kingdom garrison at Shamata would occasionally spend a day or two at the local inn, or Keshian patrols might ride up from the border fortress in Nar Ayab, but neither side claimed the Great Star Lake or the surrounding countryside. This region was under the control of the Academy of Magicians on the island, and no one disputed their authority.

But Pug was no longer in control of the Academy, and like all those who lived in Stardock Town, Marie was unsure how that had come to pass. Yet, his sons – Caleb and his older brother Magnus – were still occasional visitors to the Academy. Whatever the relationship between Pug and the ruling council of the city of magicians, it was an enduring one, no matter what estrangements might have occurred in the past.

Marie had met Caleb when she was a young girl and he little more than a scruffy woods-boy. They had played together from time to time, but then he had vanished. Some said he had gone to live on an island in the Bitter Sea, while others said he stayed with the elves. They had been reunited when Caleb was Tad and Zane’s age, and Marie just four years older. Though her parents disapproved of them spending time together, they said nothing because of who Caleb’s father was.

But, after the summer during which they had become lovers, he vanished once more. His last words explained that he had to leave on his father’s business, but he promised to return. Marie had waited more than a year before bowing to family pressure. She married young Brendan, a man she eventually came to care for deeply, but who could never set her heart racing the way Caleb had. Years went by and Caleb didn’t return.

But whatever the reason for his long absence, Marie had wed, and birthed two sons – one who had died as a baby before Caleb had appeared again – without warning, three years ago at the Midsummer’s festival of Banapis.

Her heart had soared at the sight of him, and while she chided herself for allowing the memories of a silly girl to overwhelm her, she had still sought him out as soon as she knew of his arrival.

That night she had indulged in far too much wine and dancing, and it had been the most fun she could remember since before her husband’s death. After the boys were sound asleep, she had slept in Caleb’s arms.

And the next day he was gone once more.

Since then she had grown used to his ways – appearing without notice and then vanishing. He had made no promises and she had asked for none. Yet they had formed a bond and she was certain that no other woman waited for him. Why she felt so certain she couldn’t say, but she was sure.

‘Staying long?’

‘That depends.’

‘On what?’ she asked.

‘A number of things. I have a message to deliver to the ruling council, and they may take a while to consider their answer. So, a few days, perhaps a week.’

‘Anything you can talk about?’

He smiled. ‘Not really. Let’s just say it’s another of my father’s very important missives.’

‘Yet you delay to come to the festival with me?’ She wore a knowing smile on her lips.

‘A day will make no difference.’ He grinned at her. ‘Besides, I have my own business here.’

‘Oh, do you now?’

‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘As you well know.’

As they approached the town square, several people greeted Marie. ‘Well,’ she whispered after returning their greetings, ‘we can discuss that business, later.’

Caleb looked at the unusually large crowd gathering and asked, ‘More people have arrived?’

‘Some,’ she answered. ‘A shipping concern out of Shamata has put up a building on the edge of the south road, near the old stone bridge. They have three new families and some single men from town working for them. They’re making Ellie’s pa real nervous. I think that’s half of the reason he’s marrying her off to Miller Hodover’s boy, Grame. He wants to make sure that he’s secured the grain shipment contracts up to Land’s End and Krondor.’

‘As good enough reason for a marriage as any, I guess,’ said Caleb, ‘if you ignore love.’

She glanced at him to see if he was being serious and found that once more she couldn’t quite read his mood. Sometimes Caleb was as easy to read as a child. At other times she had no idea what he was thinking, and disappointingly this was one of those times.

They carried the kettle over to one of the large wooden tables borrowed from a nearby inn and placed it on the spot indicated by one of the women overseeing the feast. One of the other women looked up, ‘Marie, Caleb,’ she said, smiling a thin welcome.

‘Tessa,’ returned Marie.

The woman, florid-faced with ale-bloom cheeks as if she was a heavy drinker, had a jowly face set in a painful smile. ‘Brought another kettle of your nice little soup,’ she remarked, her tone condescending. Tessa was the miller’s wife, and soon-to-be mother-in-law of Ellie. She was well attired and took Marie’s hand disdainfully, patting it softly, and giving a slight nod. ‘We understand, dear.’ Her tone couldn’t have been more patronizing.

Caleb’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a slight tightening around his eyes. He said, ‘That’s just the start.’ He pointed to a fire-pit set burning at the opposite edge of the square. ‘We’ve also brought that ox being roasted.’ He winked sidewise at Marie so Tessa couldn’t see. ‘And that wagon,’ he added, indicating the wagon that was rolling into view. ‘It carries two barrels of dwarven ale from Dorgin, as well as six cases of Ravensburg wine.’

Tessa blinked like a barn owl caught in lantern light. ‘Really?’ she said.

Caleb said nothing, merely inclining his head with a slight smile. The now-flustered miller’s wife muttered something under her breath, gave a pained smile, and hurried off.

Marie turned to Caleb and said, ‘Why did you do that?’

Caleb shrugged. ‘I remember how she annoyed you at the last Banapis festival. Besides, last year all I contributed was a brace of partridges and some rabbits.’

‘No, I meant why did you say we when you were the one who brought the ox and the wagon?’

Caleb said, ‘Well, because I brought them for you.’

Marie was silent for a moment before a small smile crossed her lips, but her eyes showed no humour. ‘I thank you for the gesture, Caleb.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ he said. ‘Now, shall I fetch bowls and a ladle?’

‘No,’ said Marie, her tone neutral. ‘I’ll return to the house and fetch them myself. You find the boys and make sure that they’re staying out of trouble, will you? I’m worried about them.’

He nodded, and moved away from the table. Making his way through the quickly gathering crowd, Caleb found himself both amused and surprised at the changes he had seen in the town since his childhood. Though his family had never lived in Stardock Town, they had visited it frequently.

Caleb’s father’s relationship with the ruling council of the Academy was strained, at best. Caleb had heard Pug complain about them frequently enough to fully understand the reasons behind the estrangement, but they were his father’s reasons, not his own. Magnus, his older brother, was a magician like their parents, but Caleb had been the odd child out – the one who possessed no magical ability at all.

The rest of his family viewed Stardock through a haze of political strife, but Caleb saw it simply as the place where he used to have fun as a child. In Stardock he had found children like himself – ordinary boys and girls who were concerned with ordinary things like growing up, learning to love, to hate and to forgive, trying to avoid work and finding playmates. All the day-in, day-out things that Caleb had never encountered before.

Caleb had benefited from his unusual upbringing in many ways. Much of Caleb’s childhood had been spent attending tedious classes designed for students with magical ability. Only now could he see the wisdom in this, for unlike most people without ability, he could at least sense the presence of magic. And, as the most powerful enemies facing the Conclave of Shadows were magicians, Caleb counted this ability as a good thing.

The children of Sorcerer’s Isle, and even those he lived with on the island in the Great Star Lake, were caught up in magic – even their play involved it, often to the annoyance of their teachers. For most of his childhood, Caleb had been a solitary child. While he was a good runner and as adept with a ball as any boy his age, he often stood alone, watching others play the games of illusion in which he could never partake, except as the object of a cruel child’s joke. His possessions often moved away when he reached for them, or items suddenly appeared to trip him up without warning.

The wounds of childhood were, at times, the deepest. As he grew, Caleb became less isolated from the other children, as their interests shifted from one thing to another. But even when he was at the heart of the mischief, he still felt different.

There had been only two places where Caleb had felt free and at peace as a child. In his tenth summer, he had been taken to Elvandar, where he lived with the elves for five years.

Caleb had learnt as much as he could of elven ways, and had been tutored in the sword by the Queen’s consort, Lord Tomas, Warleader of Elvandar, and was taught the use of the bow by Prince Calin and his half-brother Prince Calis. Although Caleb lacked the natural skill of Talwin Hawkins with the sword, he excelled as an archer. Both Tomas and Prince Calin had often remarked that Caleb was the equal of a man named Martin Longbow, who they claimed had been the finest human archer ever known to the elves.

Caleb knew the elves were not prone to flattery, so he took the compliment as a mark of his achievement for long, hard hours of practice. It had taught him that even an impossible goal could be reached if enough effort and sacrifice was made. He also realized ruefully that the elves had never seen Talwin Hawkins shoot; he was undoubtedly Caleb’s equal, if not his better. Though, being the second finest human archer was still no mean feat.

Caleb held deep affection for the elves and their magical home in Elvandar, and he could speak their language well. But it was in Stardock that he had learnt his first lessons about being ordinary.

He made his way through the bustling town square. If previous festivals were any indication, the boys would now be with the other youngsters near the fountain.

He acknowledged greetings from many of those he passed, for they were the same children he had played with thirty years earlier. Some of the men had grown stout and others had grey in their hair – if they still had hair. The women whom he had known when they were girls had matured, and those who hadn’t got fat, had the gaunt, lean look of too much hard work and not enough rest. A few, like Marie, had kept their looks despite the rigours of parenthood and farming.

But today they all looked reasonably happy, for it was the harvest festival, and if what adorned the table was any indication, it had been a bountiful year. Grain wagons would creak up the roads towards the Bitter Sea and barges would make their way from the great Star Lake downriver to the Sea of Dreams and the trading docks at Shamata or Landreth. Cattle in the field were fat for the winter and the sheep looked healthy as their new wool grew in for the colder season. Everywhere he looked, Caleb saw signs of bounty: barrels of freshly picked apples, baskets of berries, cherries, and figs, all manner of vegetable, and at every farm he had passed, he had seen more chickens and pigs than he could imagine.

He remembered other years when the harvest had been poor, or the times after the troll raids and he acknowledged silently to himself that these people were entitled to a little celebration of their good fortune. Winters were mild in the Vale of Dreams, snow having fallen only once in fifty years, and already farmers were planting winter crops that would grow nowhere else. By the time the autumn traders returned from the Kingdom and Great Kesh, with wagons of tools and other necessary items, the second crop would be ready to feed the demand for fresh food in the frozen north. Compared to most farming communities, Stardock was wealthy, but even here a farmer’s lot was not an easy one. Caleb pushed his musings aside as he turned the corner and spotted the boys. He had taken only one step before he realized trouble was about to erupt.

Ellie stood up and said, ‘If you two don’t stop this right now, I’m leaving.’

The two to whom she referred were Tad and Zane, who stood confronting one another, ready to resume the brawling. The lithe girl positioned herself between them and started pushing them apart with surprising determination. This caused both boys to hesitate and gave Caleb just enough time to reach them and ask, ‘What is the problem?’

Both boys glanced at Caleb, then locked gazes again. Ellie gave them a final shove. She said, ‘These idiots have decided that it’s important which one of them has the first dance with me.’

‘You promised me!’ shouted Tad, only a half-second before Zane echoed the claim.

Caleb lost his smile. The musicians had gathered near the ale casks and were tuning their instruments. In a moment they’d start playing, and the boys would start fighting. ‘Your mother asked me to keep an eye on you.’ Both boys regarded him, Zane’s expression only slightly more belligerent than Tad’s.

‘It seems there was good cause,’ Caleb added. He reached into his belt-purse, fished out a large copper coin and showed it to the two boys. ‘This is the head and this is the tail. Head is Tad, tail is Zane.’ Tossing the coin into the air, he let it fall to the ground. The boys followed its descent closely.

It landed on tails and Zane shouted triumphantly, ‘I get the first dance!’ just as the musicians struck the first notes of the dance.

Tad started to complain, but thought better of it as he noticed the dark expression on Zane’s face. Caleb had led Ellie out among the dancers and shouted back at them, ‘Winner gets the second dance!’

Ellie laughed as Caleb escorted her through the steps of a traditional farmer’s reel. Even those not dancing were clapping their hands. When it came time for him to take Ellie’s hands and lead her in a series of turns, she said, ‘That was quick thinking, Caleb.’

‘They’re getting as bad as two young bucks with green horns. What are you going to do?’

She lowered her voice a little and said, ‘I’m going to marry Grame.’

‘That’ll start a dust-up,’ said Caleb with a laugh. ‘Still, you can’t very well marry both of them.’

‘I wouldn’t marry either,’ said Ellie. ‘They’re like brothers to me.’

As he moved behind her, placing his hands on her waist and then following her steps, he said, ‘They obviously don’t think of you like a sister.’

‘Oh, they would if there were more girls around,’ she said, turning to face him before standing still as he bowed before her, ending the dance. She slipped her arm through his and said, ‘It’s just not fair, the other girls are already spoken for, or too young.’

Caleb knew what she was thinking. Many children their age had been killed during the last troll raid. There was still ill feeling from the parents of those lost children towards the magicians for not acting sooner. Caleb had been up in the Eastern Kingdoms, working on behalf of the Conclave at the time of the raid. It had occurred nine years ago, when Ellie, Zane and Tad had been little more than babies.

Caleb walked Ellie back to the boys slowly, reaching them just as the second song commenced. He planted a strong hand in the middle of Tad’s chest as the blond boy began to protest again, and said, ‘Son, don’t spoil a perfectly fine festival. You’ll get your turn.’

Tad seemed ready to argue, but seeing Caleb’s serious expression, he simply let out a slight sigh and nodded. ‘Yes, Caleb.’

Caleb was glad it had been Zane who had won, for he was the more hot-tempered of the two and would possibly have ignored Caleb and forced him to do something the older man didn’t want to do: stop him physically.

He studied Tad while Ellie and Zane danced, and watched the boy seethe. Ellie was right; they were acting contrary to their nature.

When the song was over, Ellie returned and it was Tad’s turn to dance. As he had before, Caleb watched the boy not dancing with Ellie. Zane could barely contain his jealousy.

When the third song had ended, Caleb said, ‘I’m in the mood for something to drink, why don’t you three come along?’

Ellie readily agreed for all of them, and slipped her arm through Caleb’s, leaving the boys to follow. They went to the table where four men were filling flagons of ale and then passing them out as fast as possible. Ellie declined the strong drink, instead she accepted Zane’s offer to fetch her a fruit-scented water. Tad volunteered to bring her something to eat, and she declined until she saw him wilt, so said, ‘Perhaps something light, until we all sit down to eat?’

He ran off, and Caleb sighed, ‘What are we going to do with those two?’

‘I don’t know, but something. They sit around all day with little to do. They’re not the sort to take to strong drink … yet.’

Caleb understood. Stardock Town was big enough to support a fair amount of commerce and a little bit of industry – a blacksmith had opened a shop the year before, working ore brought down from the foothills – but most of the work was done by family members. There were always more men than work to be done, and without fathers to teach them a craft, Tad and Zane were growing up without skills. They were becoming wild and feckless.

He knew them both to be bright, able young men, but without a direction to their lives, they were in danger of becoming lost. More than one younger son without a craft had ended up as a bandit, or working hand-to-mouth in the city.

Caleb was pondering the matter when Marie reappeared. He nodded to her and moved away from where Zane was anxiously awaiting Ellie’s favour. He kept his voice low so that the boy couldn’t overhear, and said to Marie, ‘I mistook your meaning, before. I thought you meant that you were worried about the boys today. I see what you mean now.’

She studied his face, then said, ‘Do you?’

He nodded. ‘Let’s keep an eye on them for now and try to have some fun. We’ll speak of this later, tonight.’

She nodded, then forced a smile. ‘Dance?’

He took her by the hand and said, ‘It would be my pleasure.’

They danced to several tunes then fell upon the heavily laden tables. After filling their platters with food, they found a quiet corner on the steps of a shop closed for the festival. Caleb set down the platters and left Marie for a moment to fetch two flagons of ale. When he returned, she said, ‘Where are the boys?’

‘Over there,’ he said, pointing to a spot on the other side of the town square. ‘I’ve not let them out of my sight.’

‘How do you do that?’

He smiled. ‘I’m a hunter. Besides, they’re hard to miss.’

She nodded, and spoke with a mouth full of food. ‘I know, just look for the trouble.’

He laughed. ‘No, just those two tunics.’

They ate quietly, with little conversation, and for the next hour the festivities continued uneventfully. Then a stout man mounted one of the wagons being used to dispense ale and started shouting, ‘My friends!’

Marie said, ‘Here comes trouble.’

Caleb said, ‘Yup,’ and put aside his plate to move towards the wagon. Marie followed.

The man was Miller Hodover, and standing next to him was a young man, roughly twenty years old. The resemblance was obvious, though the man had run to fat years ago and the boy was young and fit, his shoulders still broader than his belt.

Grame Hodover was a sturdy lad, and seemed thoughtful and bright – it was often thought a miracle that his parents could have produced such a well-liked young man.

Caleb made straight for Tad and Zane who were standing on either side of Ellie. She looked at Caleb with relief in her eyes – she knew what was coming next.

‘My friends,’ repeated Miller Hodover, ‘I have an announcement to make. Today, I am a very happy man.’ He positively beamed as he looked around the crowd.

One of the townsmen – under the influence of too much ale – shouted, ‘Why, you raising prices again, Miller?’

There was a ripple of laughter, and Hodover looked irked for a moment, but let his smile return. ‘No, Bram Connor, I’m not … yet.’

Another round of laughter followed his retort and everyone relaxed as they realized that the miller was in a particularly good mood. His well-known parsimony and love of gold were constant subjects of ridicule.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thomas,’ said Caleb, greeting him.

‘Evening,’ said the wagoner.

‘You have that box up there?’

‘It’s under that tarp, Caleb.’

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

‘What is it?’ asked Tad.

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

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

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

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

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

‘What is it?’ asked Tad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Come along,’ said Caleb.

‘Where?’ asked Zane.

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

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

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

‘Got them very drunk.’

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

‘Back at your house, sleeping it off.’

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

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

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

‘Or us.’ Caleb said with a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Then you’ll do it?’

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

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

‘I’ll keep them together. I promise.’

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

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

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

‘I’ll see that they do.’

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

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

‘Who would teach them?’

‘Don’t you …?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

• CHAPTER TWO •
Council

PUG HELD UP HIS HAND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Our other task is hunting down Leso Varen.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pug nodded. ‘So I have heard.’

Miranda said, ‘He is the last.’

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

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

Magnus said, ‘And if the Kingdom of the Isles takes the warning seriously, so will Great Kesh.’

‘And if Great Kesh and the Kingdom start to marshal their defences, so shall every other kingdom in their vicinity,’ added Miranda.

‘But we can only hold them alert for so long; we must not rush this,’ said Rosenvar.

Pug said, ‘We need Erik around long enough to make this work.’

Nakor said, ‘I’ll go to Krondor and visit the Duke. I’ll make him well for a while.’

Pug nodded. Nakor had travelled with Erik, Calis on the journey to Novindus when they first encountered the Emerald Queen. The old duke would trust Nakor.

Pug said, ‘Rosenvar, I need you to coordinate what rumours to start, where, and when. We have some well-placed agents in nearly every capital of importance on Midkemia. But I want to ensure it’s a gradual discomfort and concern, not instant blind panic.’

‘Understood,’ he replied, standing. ‘We’ll draw up a list of ideas to put the rulers of the world on edge.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Slightly on edge.’

To Uskavan, Pug said, ‘If you would, I’d like the names of your very best students. We may need to dispatch them to work in the field soon.’

The alien magician nodded, rose, and departed with Rosenvar, leaving Pug, Miranda, Nakor, and Magnus alone in the cave. Pug looked at his older son and said, ‘Where’s your brother?’

‘Down in Stardock, I believe. He should be delivering some supplies, but no doubt he lingered for the festival.’

Miranda said, ‘Lingered to spend time with that widow, you mean.’

Pug shrugged. ‘Let him grab whatever joy he can, beloved. We don’t need him back here for anything special, and I expect he’s enjoying himself.’

Magnus looked at his mother and asked, ‘Shall I find him, or return to Kelewan?’

Miranda glanced at her husband. ‘Which?’

‘Neither. Go to Novindus and continue Nakor’s work on the Talony. The Great Ones of the Assembly of Tsuranuanni can muddle along without you for a while. When Nakor returns from Krondor, I’ll send him back to you and you can go back to Kelewan.’

Nakor smiled. ‘Don’t break anything before I get there.’

Magnus glanced with a wry smile at the little gambler, nodded, reached inside his robe and pulled out a golden orb. He clicked a switch and suddenly vanished.

Miranda came to stand behind her husband and put her arms around him. ‘You’re worried.’

‘I’m always worried,’ said Pug.

‘No, this is something more.’ She studied her husband’s face. ‘You sense something?’

Nakor said, ‘I think I know what you’re going to tell her. I will go to Krondor and see that Duke Erik stays alive long enough to help us.’ He glanced at Pug and Miranda and said, ‘You two really do need to talk to each other more often. Really,’ he repeated, picking up his rucksack and staff, then vanishing from before their eyes.

Pug closed his eyes a long moment, then answered his wife’s question. ‘Yes, I do sense something. And it’s growing. I don’t know what to call it, but it feels more … intense than mere foreboding.’

‘A premonition?’

‘The dream troubles me, love. I think something is approaching and when it emerges, the struggle will be more fearful than anything we could ever imagine.’

‘Given what we have seen, husband, that’s quite a lot.’

‘Once, during the time of the Great Uprising, Tomas and I faced a Master of the Dread. We bested the creature, though it took all of our magic and no little guile. Then at the end, in Sethanon, I beheld a Dreadlord – a Greater Dragon, with all her magic and might, could barely contain it.’

‘But the Dread come from one of the lower planes, while these Dasati are from the second. Surely they are only slightly more dangerous than men?’

Pug held his wife’s hand. ‘You know more than I do on many subjects, Miranda, but scholarship has never been your first love.’ She furrowed her brow but said nothing, acknowledging the truth in his words.

He sighed and lowered his voice. ‘It’s the nature of beings from the lower levels of creation to absorb the life force from those from the higher. Think of it as water running downhill; just the touch of a Dasati would cause damage after only a few moments.

‘The Dread are the most fearful beings able to reach this level of reality and survive; creatures from the depths below them draw so much energy to themselves so fast that they are destroyed when they reach our plane, unless they employ powerful magic to keep themselves alive. No, it’s the fact the Dasati are from but one level below us that makes them so fearful to contemplate, my love.’ He sighed as if fatigued. ‘Nakor understands, for he has spent more time studying the Talnoy than anyone else.’ He glanced at the mouth of the cave. ‘The others will discover what I’m telling you; no need to create any risk of panic.

‘The Dasati are mortal like ourselves, but if they reach this level of reality, they will slowly draw life force from around them, from the very grass they tread upon, so that even should we establish a military stalemate, as we did with the Tsurani during the first Riftwar, they would eventually wither us to defeat. Also, the flow of life force towards them makes them harder to kill and ourselves weaker. The longer we are locked in struggle, the more difficult victory will be. And we must remember the numbers; if Kaspar is correct and he saw a true vision of that world, they would not send thousands of warriors, but tens of thousands. If they find us, we must react and react quickly. We can’t have the monarchs of Midkemia fully understanding what we must face, at least for a while, else fear might overwhelm their resolve.’

Miranda studied her husband’s face for a while, then said, ‘We shall do everything we can.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Now, we both have work to do.’

‘How are you going to return?’

He smiled. ‘I’ll walk. The fresh air clears my head and helps me think.’

She kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll see you at home.’

Before she could vanish, he said, ‘Wait a minute! Did you see Nakor use an orb to leave?’

‘Not that I noticed.’

He smiled. ‘Another of his “tricks”, I expect.’

She smiled in return and then was gone. No one could transport herself better than Miranda. She had been trying to teach Pug and some of the others how to do it without the aid of patterns or the Tsurani orbs, but few achieved it through mind alone, and then only to very familiar locations.

Pug concluded that Nakor must have studied with her. The wily little man was right, he and his wife did need to talk more.

Pug left the cavern and stopped at its mouth. It was late afternoon on Sorcerer’s Isle and by the time he reached the Villa it would be almost suppertime. He took one more look around the cave and then started his walk home.

The Royal Chirurgeon shook his head and spoke softly to the attending squire. ‘I fear he will not make it through the night.’ The two figures were dwarfed by the enormous chamber in which the Duke of Krondor lay dying. A single candle burned on the table next to the bed.

‘Shall I inform the senior squire, sir?’ asked the young man, a blond-headed rail of a lad no more than fifteen years old. The senior squire served Prince Robert, ruler of Krondor these last eight years, and heir apparent to the Kingdom of the Isles.

‘The hour is late. I shall check on the Duke again very soon. If his condition worsens, there should be time enough to wake the Prince.’

‘Yes, sir. Shall I stay?’

‘No need,’ said the old healer, his face drawn with worry and fatigue. ‘He’ll not rouse and I have other patients to care for; the stomach flux has struck the royal nursery, and though it may not be fatal, the wrath of the Princess is sure to be if I can’t get the children to rest through the night.’

The healer snuffed out the single candle next to the bed and he and the boy left the Duke’s large sleeping chamber, closing the door quietly behind them.

A moment later a figure stepped out of the shadow behind a large curtain. He crossed the room to the bed and touched his fingertip to the still-warm candle wick, and the flame instantly reappeared. Glancing down at the recumbent figure, he softly said, ‘Oh, Erik, you don’t look so good.’

Nakor had known Duke Erik when he had been a boy, fresh from the smith’s forge, tall, with huge shoulders and the strength of three men. He had also been born with a temper, which had almost got him hung for murder, but in the end he had served the Kingdom of the Isles well and had risen in rank to Knight-Marshal of the West, and held the title of the Duke of Krondor under young Prince Robert.

Nakor now looked down on an old man, past eighty years of age. His skin was like old parchment drawn tightly across his skull. His shoulders showed none of the massive strength of his youth, and were lost beneath the voluminous nightshirt he wore.

Nakor retrieved a vial from his rucksack and pulled out the stopper. He administered a single drop on the dying man’s lips and waited. Erik’s mouth moved, slightly, and Nakor poured in another drop. He repeated this application for almost fifteen minutes, a drop at a time, then sat back on the side of the bed and waited.

After a few more minutes, the Duke’s eyes fluttered, then opened completely. He blinked, then said in a soft, hoarse whisper, ‘Nakor?’

The little man grinned. ‘You remember me?’

With a deep intake of breath followed by a long sigh, Erik von Darkmoor – once a sergeant in Calis’ Crimson Eagles, veteran of the Serpentwar, hero of the Battle of Nightmare Ridge and now Duke of Krondor and Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm – sat up and said, ‘You’re damned hard to forget, old friend.’

‘You look better,’ said Nakor.

Erik moved his arms and said, ‘I feel better. What did you do?’

Nakor held up the vial. ‘I bought you some time. I need to talk to you.’

‘Then hurry,’ said the Duke sitting back. He chucked, a dry raspy laugh. ‘By all accounts I don’t have much time – wait, how did you get in here?’

Nakor waved the question away. ‘I just waited until no one was looking then came in through the window.’

Erik smiled. ‘Like old Duke James when he was a boy, then?’

‘Something like that.’

‘So why are you troubling a dying man?’

‘I need you not to die for a while, Erik.’

‘I’d be pleased to accommodate you, but I believe fate has other plans.’

‘How do you feel?’

The Duke stretched out his hands before his face and said, ‘Surprisingly good, all things considered. I’ll ask again, what did you do?’

‘It’s a potion, which I got from a priest who lives a great distance from here. It will … restore you.’

‘Restore me?’

‘It’ll keep you alive for a while longer, or if you drink a lot, for a lot longer.’

The Duke shifted himself higher in the bed, so he could sit up. ‘I’m not sure I’d like that, Nakor. My body has betrayed me and, to put it bluntly, it vexes me to be so dependent on others. It’s hard not to be able to walk to the jakes and take a piss. Nothing humbles a man as much as waking in the morning, sopping wet like a baby. I think I’d rather die than have to spend more days in bed.’

‘Well, you don’t have to do either,’ said Nakor with a grin. ‘The potion will make you stronger, too.’

Erik’s gaze fixed upon Nakor. ‘I can see better; I’ve just realized.’

‘Yes,’ said Nakor. ‘It’s a pretty nice potion.’

‘Is that how you’ve remained unchanged over the last fifty to sixty years?’

‘No. I know some other tricks.’

‘Very well, if you can get me out of this bed so I can protect the Kingdom a while longer, I’ll stay around, but what is your reason for this?’

‘Well, first of all, I like you.’

‘Thank you, Nakor; I like you, too.’

‘You are the last of the Desperate Men who went south with Calis and Bobby.’

‘I was there; I remember. Now, I appreciate nostalgia as much as the next man, Nakor, but what’s the real reason?’

‘We need someone who is close to the Crown to listen and help when the time comes.’

‘We?’ asked the Duke. ‘You mean the Black Sorcerer?’

‘Yes, Pug.’

Erik sat back with a long exhalation of breath, shaking his head slightly. After the Serpentwar, Kesh had moved against and almost destroyed Krondor, seeking to an advantage itself in its seemingly never-ending struggle with its northern neighbour. Pug, who was Duke of Stardock at that time, and vassal to the Crown of the Kingdom of the Isles, had refused to use his powerful magic to destroy the invaders, but rather had ordered the Keshians home, while at the same time publicly humiliating Patrick, who was then the Prince of Krondor, and was now King of the Isles.

Erik said, ‘Pug’s been persona non grata since he defied Prince Patrick, after the Serpentwar. Robbie may be related to Patrick in name only – he’s as thoughtful as Patrick is rash – but the collective royal memory is a long one. Pug pulled Stardock out of the Kingdom and set it up as an independent state; that looks like treason from the throne’s point of view.’

‘That’s why we need you to persuade them otherwise. ‘Something bad is coming, Erik.’

‘How bad?’

‘Very bad,’ said Nakor.

‘As bad as the Emerald Queen?’

‘Worse,’ said the short gambler.

Erik sat motionless for a moment, then said, ‘Go over to that table, Nakor.’ He pointed to a long table set against the wall. ‘Open that box.’

Nakor did as requested and found the simple wooden box with a small brass hasp and ring latch. Inside it he found a black amulet. He pulled it out, letting it hang from the chain. ‘Nighthawks?’

‘We received that from one of our agents in Great Kesh. I suspect you and your companions have as many agents down there as we do.’

Nakor turned to regard the old Duke. Erik’s blue eyes were now alight with energy and his voice was growing stronger by the moment. ‘Oh, I have no problem with your … what do you call it? Your Conclave?’

Nakor said nothing, but smiled slightly.

‘But you’re not the only ones out there paying for information, my old friend,’ said the Duke. ‘I served with you and Calis long enough to have no doubt you only intend good, no matter what the Crown’s official position on your activities may be. Truth to tell, Patrick needed the public spanking that Pug gave him when the Keshian army was outside the city walls. Just as much as the Keshians needed to be sent home with their tails between their legs.

‘But if it ever comes down to choosing between your vision of a larger good and my duty to the Crown, you know what I will do.’

‘I know, Erik.’ Nakor understood if it ever came to a choice, Erik would put his oath and duty to the Crown ahead of anything Pug asked. He put the amulet back. ‘How long have you had it?’

‘A week. Some minor court officials and influential merchants are starting to turn up dead in the City of Kesh. It’s a big place and the dead men are of marginal importance, so the Keshians don’t appear to be taking note of it yet.’

Nakor was thoughtful. ‘Or someone highly placed is ensuring they don’t.’

‘My thought, as well,’ said the Duke. He looked at the window, and said, ‘How long before dawn?’

‘Four hours or so,’ said Nakor.

‘I think I will stick around a while longer, Nakor. If the approaching danger is worse than the Emerald Queen’s army, I want to be fit enough to stand on the wall with my sword in my hand.’

Nakor grinned. ‘You will.’

Erik smiled back and Nakor could see the health returning to his cheeks. When Nakor had seen him sleeping, Erik had looked like an eighty-year-old man, near death’s door. He now seemed more like a vigorous man of seventy or less.

‘I need to go. Drink the rest of that vial now.’ Erik did so and handed the empty bottle back to Nakor. The skinny gambler pulled another and said, ‘Hide this somewhere. Drink half of this one in a week’s time if you don’t feel as strong as you’d like to. And if you want to feel really wonderful, drink the rest a week after that.’ He put in on the pillow next to the Duke. ‘I’d leave more, but it would be difficult for you to explain to the Prince why you suddenly look younger than he does.’ Grinning, he added, ‘It’s a good thing you were born blond, Erik, because people won’t notice your hair isn’t as grey as it used to be.’

The door at the far end of the room began to open. ‘Got to go now, Erik,’ said Nakor and he darted into the shadow behind the large curtain.

Erik knew that the window behind the curtain had stayed closed, but that if he rose and investigated it, Nakor would have vanished.

The Royal Chirurgeon and the Duke’s squire entered the Duke’s chamber and showed open astonishment at seeing the Duke sitting up in bed. ‘Your Grace!’ exclaimed the healer.

‘Rossler,’ said the Duke.

‘Sir?’ asked the squire with a near stammer.

‘What are you two staring at?’

‘Why, Your Grace … you, sir.’

‘Well, you can stop it.’

‘It’s just that, well …’

‘I know,’ said Erik, interrupting the healer. ‘You didn’t think I’d make it through the night. Well, I’ve got better.’

‘Apparently so, Your Grace. May I?’ he indicated his desire to examine the Duke.

Erik patiently allowed the man to proceed, listening to his heart and breathing, and thumping on his back and chest. When he began examining the colour of his eyes, Erik pushed him away. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he said, ‘I need to go to the jakes.’

The squire said, ‘Your Grace, I will fetch the chamber pot.’

‘Not tonight, Samuel. I’m certain I can walk to the garderobe by myself.’

Both stood a moment in silent amazement as Erik stood and walked across the room to the door that led to his private garderobe and opened the door. When it closed behind the now revitalized Duke, the stunned healer and the grinning squire exchanged looks of wonder.

• CHAPTER THREE •
Journey

THE BOYS GROANED.

Caleb looked back over his shoulder from the driver’s seat at the two slowly-waking boys. He had dumped them in the wagon, said goodbye to Marie, and left Stardock Town before dawn.

Zane was first to regain a semblance of consciousness and he blinked like a stunned owl as he tried to sit up. It proved a bitter mistake as his head throbbed and his stomach heaved. He barely got his face over the side of the wagon before the sour contents of his stomach reappeared.

Caleb slowed the horses, then halted them. By the time the wagon came to a complete stop, Tad had joined his foster brother in a painful display of morning-after distress.

Caleb jumped and with a rough grab, pulled Tad, then Zane out of the wagon and deposited them in a heap on the roadside. They were a portrait of misery. Both had pale complexions and perspiration dripped off their brows. Their eyes were red-rimmed and their clothing dishevelled and dirty.

‘Stand up,’ said Caleb, and the two lads did so. ‘Follow me.’

Without turning to see if they complied, Caleb started walking down a gentle slope dotted with trees. From the sounds behind him, he judged that the two boys were following along grudgingly.

They reached a small gully thick with waist-high grass, and Caleb motioned for them to move ahead of him. The two miserable lads half-stumbled, half-walked through the grass. Zane trampled upon what was in front of him, while Tad parted the slightly waving foliage with his hands.

One minute they were trudging along and the next, Zane vanished from sight with a loud yelp of shock. Tad only just avoided stepping off the bank, some six feet above the river. As Zane’s head appeared above the water, Tad felt Caleb’s foot on his rump, and suddenly he was propelled through the air, landing backside-first in the water next to Zane.

‘Clean yourselves up,’ instructed Caleb. ‘You smell like the floor of a tap room.’ He threw down something which landed in the shallow water between them. Zane picked it up and saw it was a bar of milled soap. ‘It won’t take your skin off like that stuff your mother makes, boys, but it will get you clean – hair, bodies, clothing, everything. You can carry your clothing back to the wagon.’

Grudgingly the pair began to strip off their wet gear as Caleb watched. ‘Drink some water, too, while you’re at it. It’ll help get you back amongst the living.’ He turned back towards the wagon, then shouted, ‘But try not to drink the soapy water.’

Caleb returned to the wagon and waited. In less than half an hour, a pair of dripping boys appeared, nude and carrying their clothing. Caleb pointed to the cart and said, ‘Spread them out on the side of the wagon and let them dry in the sun.’

Both young men stood shivering in the cool morning. After a few minutes, Caleb pointed to a small chest nestled behind the driver’s seat and said, ‘You’ll find dry clothing in there.’

As the boys dressed, Tad said, ‘I’ve never felt this sick from drinking before.’

Caleb nodded. ‘Whiskey has a terrible hangover, no doubt.’

‘Why’d you do it?’ asked Zane as he pulled on a fresh tunic.

‘So I wouldn’t have to beat you senseless to get you to leave Stardock.’

As if coming out of a sleepwalk, the boys looked around. ‘Where are we?’ asked Zane, his dark eyes narrowing. Caleb could see the anger rising.

‘We’re on the road to Yar-rin, then we’ll go on to Jonril.’

Tad’s eyes also narrowed. ‘Why Jonril?’

‘Because your mother didn’t like what was going on with you two in Stardock, and asked me to take you somewhere that you could find trades.’ He motioned for them to finish dressing. ‘You two have been aimless layabouts since the Choosing two years ago.’

Zane’s eyes flashed angrily as he said, ‘That’s not true, Caleb!’ Pulling on dry trousers, he glanced at his foster brother. ‘We work when we can find it.’

‘Unloading freight for a day or two every month is no craft,’ said Caleb.

‘We do more,’ added Tad. ‘We help during the harvest, we cart freight over to the island and we have found work as builders, too.’

Caleb smiled. ‘I know you’ve tried. But there’s precious little work now, and less when the new freight line sets up – they’re bringing their own lads with them down from Landreth.

‘No, your mother has the right of it. If you’re to find your way in life, it has to be somewhere else besides Stardock.’

The boys finished dressing and Caleb motioned for them to climb back into the wagon. He mounted the driver’s seat and took up the reins. As the horses obeyed his command and moved along, he continued. ‘There’s not much going on in the Kingdom, I’m sorry to say. I know people who could get you work, but no one who’d apprentice you. But things are looking up in Kesh and I’ve a few friends in Jonril who owe me a favour or two. We’ll see if there’s someone who’ll take in two promising lads. Apprentice at a trade, learn your craft and in a dozen years or so you can return to Stardock as journeymen crafters, if you wish, but apprentice at a trade you will.’

The boys sat uncomfortably in the back of the jostling wagon, Zane with his knees draw up to his chest and Tad with legs straight out. Both knew it would be a long ride.

The wagon bumped down the road, the horses kicking up small clouds of dust as the afternoon heat beat down. It was unusually hot for this time of year and the boys complained from time to time. They were restless and bored and the novelty of the journey had worn off. Caleb bore their complaints with good humour, for he understood their distress over the turn of events in their lives.

During the first day, they had expressed both anger and sadness at their mother’s decision to send them away. They fully understood her reasoning; Stardock had not been a prosperous town for years and work was hard to come by. Their youthful optimism had always led them to believe that something would have worked out had they remained, but by the end of the day both had slowly come to the conclusion that their mother was probably right. They would eventually accept the change as a welcome one, but for the moment they felt ill-used. At least, to Caleb’s relief, neither had mentioned Ellie and her part in Marie’s desire to see them somewhere other than home.

Caleb had known the boys for most of their lives and he was very fond of them; they were as close to sons as he would ever have, and he knew that while they didn’t consider him as a father, they did look upon him as a surrogate uncle and someone their mother cared for, even loved.

He had known Marie a little while her husband was alive, and had known even then that she had felt drawn to him, for he had seen it in her eyes, despite the fact that she was a dutiful wife who observed all the proprieties. Later, she had told him that even in those days she had found him compelling. He had noticed her too, but as with any other married women, he put any thoughts of attraction aside. Two years after the troll raid and the death of her husband, they had become lovers.

Caleb would have liked nothing better than to settle down with Marie, but he knew that with his duties, it would never be possible. His work for his father and the Conclave of Shadows called for constant travel and putting himself in harm’s way. He was absent more than he was around, and Marie deserved better than that.

Yet she had never voiced any complaint nor showed any interest in another man, and Caleb secretly hoped that someday he might convince her to move to Sorcerer’s Isle – the place he considered to be home – or perhaps he would return to Stardock and live there. He put those thoughts aside as he had many times before, for dwelling on them only put him in a dark mood.

As they drove into the wagon yard, Caleb said, ‘When we get to Nab-Yar, we’ll find a buyer for this rig and purchase some saddle horses.’

Zane turned and said, ‘We don’t ride, Caleb.’

Caleb said, ‘You’ll learn while we travel.’

The boys exchanged glances. Riding was something reserved for nobility, soldiers, rich merchants, and the occasional traveller, but farm hands and town boys got from place to place by shanks’ mare or in the back of a wagon. Still it was something new to contemplate and anything that would break the tedium of this journey was welcome.

Tad shrugged then Zane grinned, his face lighting up as he said, ‘Maybe we can become fast messengers?’

Caleb laughed. ‘In that case you’ll have to become very good riders, and how is your sword work?’

‘Sword work?’ asked Tad.

‘Fast messengers get paid all that gold for getting their messages through in a hurry and safely. That means avoiding highwaymen, but also being able to fight to the death if attacked.’

The boys looked at each other again. Neither had touched a sword in their life and both thought it unlikely that they ever would. Zane remarked, ‘Young Tom Sanderling went to soldier in Ab-Yar, and he learned to handle a sword.’

‘Kesh trains all their dog soldiers to be swordsmen,’ said Caleb, ‘but, if memory serves, Old Tom wasn’t happy about seeing his son go a-soldiering.’

‘True, but what I’m saying, is that if he could learn, so could we,’ said Zane.

Tad said, ‘You could show us. You carry a sword, Caleb, so you must know how to use it.’

‘Maybe,’ said Caleb, realizing he’d probably have to teach them a few basics when they camped that evening.

Tad swung wildly at Caleb, who easily moved to the side and smacked the boy hard across the back of his hand with a long stick he had cut a few minutes before. The boy yelped and dropped Caleb’s sword on the ground. ‘The first rule,’ said Caleb, bending down to retrieve the fallen weapon, ‘is don’t drop the sword.’

‘That hurt,’ said Tad, rubbing his right hand.

‘Not as much as it would had I been using a blade,’ said Caleb, ‘though it wouldn’t have hurt for as long, because I would have gutted you a few seconds later.’ He reversed the sword and tossed it to Zane, who caught it deftly. ‘Good,’ said Caleb. ‘You’re quick and have a steady hand. Let’s see if you can avoid repeating Tad’s mistake.’

The sword felt as if it were alive and deadly in Zane’s hand. It was heavier than he had expected and its balance felt odd. He moved it around a little and flexed his wrist one way and then the other.

‘That’s right,’ said Caleb as he circled the fire to face Zane. ‘Get used to how it feels. Let it become an extension of your arm.’

Suddenly he lashed out with his branch, intending to smack the boy on the hand as he had Tad, but Zane turned his wrist and caught the branch on his blade.

‘Very good,’ said Caleb, stepping back. ‘You may have a knack for this. Where did you learn that?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Zane with a grin, lowering the sword. ‘I just tried to keep the stick from hitting me.’

Caleb turned to Tad. ‘Did you see how he did that?’

Tad nodded.

Caleb motioned for Zane to drop the point of his blade, then stepped over to the boy and gripped his wrist. ‘By turning your wrist, like you did, you achieve the most efficient use of your arm-strength and energy. You’ll see men who use their entire arm, sometimes up to the shoulder, and sometimes you have to do that for a particular block, but the less strength you use early on, the more you’ll have should the battle wear on.’

‘Caleb, how long does a fight usually last?’

‘Most are short, Tad. But if two men are evenly matched, it can continue for a long time and endurance becomes vital. And if you’re in battle, as soon as you kill the man in front of you, another will take his place.’

‘I don’t know much about battles,’ muttered Zane. ‘Maybe I should get a really fast horse …’

Tad laughed and Caleb said, ‘Not a bad way to look at it.’

After a few more minutes of sword practice, Caleb said, ‘Time to turn in.’ They had been sleeping under the wagon, so he motioned for them to take their usual places. ‘I’m going to keep watch tonight. I’ll wake Tad first, then he’ll wake you, Zane.’

‘Watch?’ asked Tad, his face looking particularly ruddy in the firelight. ‘Why? We haven’t had one so far?’

‘We were close in to Stardock.’ He glanced around, as if trying to see something in the darkness beyond the fire’s glow. ‘From here to the village of Ya-Rin, things might be less civilized. We’re heading deeper into the Vale.’

The Vale of Dreams was a lush series of rich farmlands, orchards, and villages benefiting from a seemingly endless series of streams that ran from the Pillars of the Stars Mountains to the Great Star Lake. The region had been the object of conflict between the Kingdom of the Isles and the Empire of Great Kesh for over a century. Both sides maintained claims, and both sides sent patrols into the Vale, but the Kingdom observed an unofficial accommodation with the Empire, and the Kingdom patrols did not venture too far south, and the Empire patrols did not wander too far north. As a result, the region had spawned a host of bandit gangs, mercenary companies, minor robber barons, and constant struggle. Finding a pillaged town or a burned-out village at any point was not unusual. If banditry got too out of hand, one nation would look the other way while the other sent troops deep into the Vale to punish the malefactors.

Zane looked around as if suddenly aware of a potential menace behind every tree bole. Tad seemed less convinced. ‘What would bandits want with an empty wagon?’

Caleb’s smile was indulgent. ‘Anything that you can sell, they’d want to take. Now, get some sleep.’

The boys turned in and Caleb took the first watch. The night passed uneventfully, though Caleb roused himself twice to ensure the boys were not falling asleep while keeping watch. Both had, and he gently chided each, promising not to tell the other about the dereliction.

By the third night, both boys were keeping alert and Caleb felt comfortable sleeping until dawn.

The wagon bumped down the road and Caleb said, ‘One more night under the wagon, boys. By mid-morning tomorrow, we’ll be within sight of Yar-Rin.’

Both boys nodded with a lack of enthusiasm. Riding in the back of the wagon for days had taken its toll. Both boys were bruised and sore from the constant jostling over what passed for a road in these parts. Caleb had observed that with the constant strife in the region, neither nation was taking great pains to repair what passed for highways in the region. Occasionally a town or village might elect to send out a gang to repair a stretch that had fallen into such disrepair that it was impairing commerce, but unless a significant loss of income was involved, the locals tended to ignore the problem.

Which meant that at times the boys were thrown around the back of the wagon without mercy, hanging on to the sides to keep from bouncing right out of the wagon bed. Finally Tad said, ‘Don’t bother stopping to camp, Caleb. Just get us there. I’ll sleep in the stable if it means not having to endure another day in this wagon.’

As Caleb suspected, the wagon journey had conspired to make the boys a great deal more amenable to learning how to ride. He knew he could probably find three saddle horses in the village and that after a couple of days the boys would be sore in a whole new array of places, but that eventually they would be happy to be travelling on horseback.

They were travelling slightly uphill, as the terrain rose from flat farmland and pastures and scattered woodlands, into a more heavily forested range of hills. Rising up to the south of them on their right hand was the Pillars of the Stars, the range of mountains that served as an absolute marker for the border of the Empire of Great Kesh. Yar-Rin was located in the foothills of the eastern terminus of those mountains, in a lovely valley that separated the mountains from the mammoth forest known as The Green Reaches.

But the most significant thing abut reaching Yar-Rin was they would at last be out of the no-man’s land that was the Vale of Dreams and be in Great Kesh. Caleb was determined to begin inquiring about possible apprenticeships for the boys, for he was anxious to be done with this responsibility and get back to his family on Sorcerer’s Isle. He really had no business taking the boys into Kesh, save there were little opportunities for boys their age without fathers in the Western Realm of the Kingdom these days. There was a general malaise of commerce that had been plaguing the region for over two years, giving rise to all manner of social ills: youth gangs in the larger cities, increased banditry and theft, prices for common goods soaring, and more than usual privations heaped upon the poor.

The wagon jostled more than usual when the wheels rode up over a large rock and the boys were thrown back and forth again. They were on the verge of voicing their displeasure when Caleb abruptly reined the horses in.

They had rounded a bend in the road and were now at a small crest before a long downhill run into a shallow dell. Trees now hugged the side of the road and the late afternoon shadows made the way look menacing.

‘What is it?’ asked Tad, standing up so he could look over Caleb’s shoulder.

‘Thought I saw something in the tree-line up at the top of that rise,’ he said, indicating the top of the road where it rose up on the other side of the vale.

Zane stood up next to his foster brother and put his hands over his eyes.

‘Lower your hands, Zane,’ said Caleb. ‘We don’t want them seeing we know they’re there.’

‘Who?’ asked Tad.

‘Whoever it is who is waiting for us.’

‘What are we going to do?’ whispered Zane.

Dryly, Caleb said, ‘I don’t think they can hear us.’

‘What if we just wait here?’ asked Tad.

Urging the horses forwards, Caleb said, ‘They’d just come here.’

Zane sounded worried. ‘Why don’t we turn around?’

‘Because then they would be certain we have something of value we’re hiding.’ The horses picked up speed heading downhill, and Caleb said, ‘Listen carefully. I’m a teamster and you’re my helpers. We delivered a load of trade goods in Stardock from a trading concern called Mijes and Zagon.’

‘Mijes and Zagon,’ repeated Tad.

‘The goods were paid for in advance and we are returning our wagon to our employers in Yadom.’

‘Yadom,’ echoed Zane.

‘Why the story?’

‘Because if they think we’re hiding gold on us, they’ll kill us before they look for it. If we’re just teamsters, they’ll maybe let us walk to Yar-Rin.’

‘Walk?’

‘They’ll take the wagon and horses, and anything else they think is worthwhile.’

‘You’re going to let them?’

Caleb said, ‘All I have to lose is my sword, and I can buy another.’ The wagon reached the bottom of the dell, the road disappearing under a shallow wide rill strewn with rocks which caused the wagon to bounce the boys more than usual.

As they started to climb upwards to the next ridge, Zane said, ‘What if they don’t believe you?’

‘Then I’ll shout “run”, and you two take off into the woods. As fast as you can, work your way back down into the dell behind us – you’ll never elude them if you’re trying to run uphill. When you get to the bottom, follow the creek to the south, then in the morning you’ll find a game trail a mile south coming out of the foothills. It will lead back to this road about five miles outside the village of Yar-Rin. Go there and find a man named McGrudder at the sign of the Sleeping Rooster. Tell him what happened and do as he says.’ Tad started to ask a question, but Caleb said, ‘Now silence. Do not say anything. I will do the talking.’

As they mounted the rise Caleb slowed the wagon, and at the crest, halted the horses. The sun had set over the ridge behind Caleb and the boys, turning the forest ahead into a dark tunnel as shadows quickly deepened. Caleb waited. After a moment, a man emerged from behind a tree. ‘Good day, traveller,’ he said with a smile devoid of any hint of warmth. He spoke Keshian with a Kingdom accent.

He was a stocky man in dirty clothing, a mixture of buckskin pants, a once richly brocaded shirt, a heavy faded blue sash around his waist and a sleeveless overjacket of black leather. His hair was hidden under a red bandanna and two large golden earrings were visible. He wore a long sword at his right hip and a pair of daggers on the left. His boots were frayed and down at the heel. When he smiled, the boys could see his two upper front teeth were missing. ‘Late for travel, isn’t it?’

Caleb’s voice was calm. ‘Just decided to push on a bit. There’s a clearing about a mile up the road that’s a nice campsite, near water.’

‘You’ve been over this road before?’

Caleb nodded. ‘Many times. It’s why my employer hired me for this run. What can I do for you, stranger?’

The man smiled, then said, ‘That’s the question, isn’t it? What can you do for me?’

Caleb sighed, as if he had been through this before. ‘We’re travelling empty. My apprentices and me just ran some trade goods into Stardock, prepaid, so we’re not carrying any gold. I’ve got a purse with two silvers and a few coppers in it, and the rest is the clothes on my back.’

Other men began to appear from the trees, and the leader of the bandits said, ‘Boy,’ pointing at Zane, ‘where’d you get your load?’

‘Yadom,’ Zane answered quietly as he watched four others, one armed with a crossbow, surround the wagon. ‘At Mijes and Zagon’s …’ he was about to say, ‘shop’, but realized Caleb hadn’t informed him just what sort of business that was, freight company, supplier, or merchant. He just let his words fall off as if he was frightened out of his wits, which he was.

Tad’s hand closed on Zane’s wrist, and Zane understood what it meant: be ready to jump and run. Tad glanced slightly behind him, and Zane recognized the bandits had left the rear of the wagon unguarded.

Caleb looked around and said, ‘Look, there are five of you and I’m not inclined to fight over this wagon. You know this rig isn’t worth much, so I’ll not risk these boys and myself to keep it. I’m getting paid when I get back and Mijes and Zagon can afford to buy a new one. So, how about I just get down and walk away?’

‘How do we know you’re not hiding gold on you?’ said the bandit leader, losing his smile. ‘Maybe you have it tucked in a belt or under your tunic?’

Caleb stood, showing he was wearing only his tunic, trousers, boot and hat. His sword rested on the seat next to him. ‘No gold belt, no pouch. Only spare clothes in the chest. You can search the wagon, but let me and the boys go.’

‘There’s something about you I don’t like,’ said the bandit, pulling his sword. ‘You’re no more a teamster than I am. Mercenary, maybe. No one hires a mercenary to drive a wagon unless there’s something worth killing over.’ He saw the small chest tucked under the wagon’s seat. ‘Maybe you have something valuable in that chest, huh?’ He laughed and glanced first right, then left at his companions. ‘Besides, I have no doubt should the situation arrive that you’d be happy to describe us in great detail to the local constables. That would make it hard to spend our booty!’ He drew his sword with his left hand and said, ‘Kill them!’

Caleb shouted, ‘Run!’ as he grabbed his sword, leaped to the right, putting the wagon between himself and three of the men, facing the two on his right first.

Without hesitation, Tad and Zane were off as instructed, stumbling and barely keeping control of themselves as they hit the ground and ran downhill, dodging trees and rocks.

Behind them came the sounds of struggle, and closer, the sounds of boots on the dirt as at least one of the bandits chased after them. Tad and Zane both possessed the reckless certainty of boys their age, that somehow they could navigate this rapidly darkening maze of trees and brush. Zane glanced backwards, almost losing his footing as he caught a glimpse of the man pursuing, and Tad stumbled.

They both crashed through thick underbrush and then came to a long stone ledge supporting a game trail that ran along the side of the hill. They hurried down the trail for a dozen yards, the downward slope on their right, then found a depression from runoff heading downward. Remembering Caleb’s instructions on reaching the creek, they started down the hill again, hoping the trees hid them from view long enough to elude their pursuers.

Tad grabbed Zane’s arm and pointed to his right. Zane didn’t hesitate and both boys ran down what appeared to be another slight wash, a depression in the ground between the boles carved by years of rainwater.

The light was falling fast, but both boys knew they couldn’t successfully hide for at least another half-hour. They almost ran off a ledge and barely avoided a nasty fall by grabbing a tree trunk. Tad motioned and Zane followed as they hurried along the lip of a deeper wash that cut downward at an angle to the floor of the dell.

The thick underbrush slowed the boys. They could hear the sound of pursuit growing louder behind them. Zane stopped at the base of a tree and glanced upwards. He fashioned a stirrup with his hands and motioned for Tad to climb. Tad stepped into his friend’s hands and was boosted up to a branch four feet above their heads. Zane glanced around and saw a fallen tree branch roughly the size of his forearm that would serve as a club, so he picked it up and tossed it up to Tad.

Tad deftly caught it with one hand, then reached down with the other. Zane leapt, catching his friend’s outstretched forearm and clambered up to rest upon the heavy branch with him. Both boys tried to calm their breathing, for they were gasping for breath. The boys spread out, lying sideways head to head, so that their feet wouldn’t dangle down in plain sight.

A moment later two men appeared, running quickly through the woods. They stopped directly below the two silent boys. ‘Damn!’ said the first bandit, a tall, rangy man with dirty blond hair that hung limply to his collar. ‘Where’d they go?’

‘Gone to ground, I’ll wager,’ said the other, a broad-shouldered man with a heavy black beard. ‘Bloody brush hides the tracks. You go that way,’ he pointed to a rough path along the edge of the rill that ran through the centre of the dell, ‘and I’ll work my way up. Let’s see if I can flush ‘em back to you.’

They moved off and the boys waited. Tad put his finger to his lips. His caution turned out providential, as a few minutes later the tall blond bandit returned down the path. Zane quietly took the club from Tad’s hands and waited as the man hurried through the quickly darkening woodlands; he took no pains to hide his whereabouts. Muttering curses to himself, he was oblivious to the sudden movement above, as Zane twisted so his hips lay across the branch and swung down hard holding the wooden club in both hands. The man walked right into the blow, a loud, meaty crack that made Tad wince at the sound. It shattered the bandit’s nose and knocked him backwards as his feet went out from under him.

The impact also had the effect of causing Zane to pitch forward and tumble to the ground on his back, knocking the air out of his lungs. Tad leapt down from the tree and knelt next to the groggy dark-haired boy. ‘You all right?’ whispered Tad.

‘I’ll live,’ he said, standing on wobbly legs. ‘How’s he doing?’

Both boys turned their attentions to the fallen bandit. Kneeling next to him, Tad said, ‘I think you killed him.’

The man’s face was awash with blood from a pulped nose and a gash across his forehead. Zane leaned down and touched the man’s chest. The man’s eyes suddenly opened and he reached out, grabbing Zane’s tunic. The boy yelped in fear and pulled away as the man tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes with his other hand. Half-blind, the bandit said something incoherent but his murderous intent was obvious.

Tad picked up the branch Zane had used as a club and with all his strength he hit the man in the back of the head, the blow providing another nasty sounding crack. The bandit released his hold on Zane and pitched over sideways. The man lay groaning, and Tad hit him again, this time causing the man’s body to jerk and then lie still.

Zane had scuttled backwards when released and now he rose and came to stand next to Tad. After a moment, he whispered, ‘He’s not breathing.’

‘I hope he’s not,’ said Tad.

‘You killed him,’ said Zane softly, in mixed admiration and shock.

‘He would have killed us,’ was Tad’s reply.

‘Hey!’

Both boys turned as one at the sound from below, the second man trudging back up the wash. ‘Did you see them?’

Zane glanced at Tad, who nodded, and yelled back in a faux deep voice, ‘Up here!’

Zane’s eyes grew wide, but Tad pointed upwards, and put his hands together. Zane stepped into the stirrup Tad formed, and took the boost to reach the branch. ‘I’ll draw him here,’ said Tad. ‘You hit him!’

Zane said, ‘Then give me the branch, you fool!’

Tad was just on the verge of tossing it up to Zane when the second bandit came hurrying up the gully. He was out of breath but the instant he saw Tad standing over his fallen comrade holding the makeshift bludgeon, he pointed his sword and ran towards the boy.

Tad stood rooted in terror for an instant, then at the last he ducked as the bandit tried to cut his head from his shoulders. The blade struck the tree trunk and cut deep, like an axe. The blade was wedged deep and the bandit yanked to free it. Tad thrust upwards into the man’s face with the butt end of the dried branch, and the erstwhile club struck him square on the nose. ‘Damn!’ shouted the man as he threw up his left arm, knocking aside the branch while he staggered back. Tad could see the man had some small cuts on his face and a few embedded splinters, but the blow did nothing more than annoy him. Tad grabbed the hilt of the man’s sword and yanked the blade free, then stood resolutely facing the bandit.

The man drew back his dagger. ‘If you know how to use it, y’whelp, you’d best be about it, else I’ll cut you from chin to crotch for what you did to Mathias.’ He stepped forward, blade ready, as a pair of feet appeared directly over his head. Zane jumped from the branch above, one foot striking the side of the man’s neck, the other landing on his shoulder. The boy’s weight drove the bandit straight to his knees and Tad could see the wide-eyed, startled expression on his face as his head twisted impossibly to one side, and he could hear the loud crack as his neck broke.

Zane again tumbled hard to the ground and lay there uttering a groan. Tad looked downward, first at the bandit who now lay at his feet, his head bent at an unnatural angle, his vacant eyes staring up at the night sky. He then looked at Zane who lay on his back, also wide-eyed and motionless. Tad knelt next to his foster brother who took in a large gasp of air and softly said, ‘I think my back is broken.’

Tad said, ‘Are you serious?’ with concern approaching panic in his voice.

‘It hurts like it is,’ said the shorter boy.

Tad stuck his thumbnail into his companion’s leg and said, ‘Can you feel that?’

‘Ow!’ said Zane, sitting up. ‘That hurt.’

‘Your back’s not broken,’ said Tad, standing and giving Zane a hand up as he did.

‘How do you know?’ said the ill-used boy.

‘Jacob Stephenson told me that when Twomy Croom’s father broke his back from that fall in their barn, the old man couldn’t move his legs, couldn’t even feel anything below the waist.’

‘That’s bad,’ said Zane.

‘Didn’t matter,’ offered Tad. ‘The old man died a day later.’

‘Feels like I broke it,’ said Zane in a weak bid for sympathy.

‘Get the other sword,’ said Tad.

Zane took the one next to the first man they had killed. Tad hefted the other and the taller boy said, ‘We should get back to the wagon.’

Zane said, ‘But Caleb said not to come back?’

Tad’s blood was up and he almost shouted, ‘But he may need our help!’

‘You think Caleb’s all right?’

Fear and exultation mixed in equal measure as Tad said, ‘If we can kill two of these bastards, I’m sure Caleb was the equal of the other three.’

Zane didn’t look convinced, but he followed his foster brother.

They moved cautiously up the hillside towards the road. It was now full night and the way was difficult as they navigated their way through the underbrush and thick boles. As they reached the verge of the road, they stopped and listened for any hint of the bandits. The sounds of the forest at night was all they heard. A light evening breeze rustled leaves and the sound of night birds echoed from some distance away. All appeared peaceful.

They ventured onto the road and looked in both directions. ‘Where’s the wagon?’ whispered Tad.

Zane shrugged, the gesture lost on his companion, so he said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if this is where we were, or if we were that way’ he pointed down the road to his left, ‘or the other.’

Then they heard a horse’s snort and the rattle of traces coming from the left. They had climbed back to the road farther to the east than they had thought. The boys hurried along the edge of the road, ready to dart back into the trees should they encounter bandits.

In the gloom they barely saw the first body, sprawled on the far side of the road. It was the bandit who had first accosted them. Farther down the road the wagon was stationary on the other side of the road while the two horses attempted to crop whatever they could from the underbrush. Another bandit lay dead as they reached the end of the wagon.

The boys circled around and saw two figures, the last bandit, the one with the crossbow, lying dead next to the wagon’s left front wheel and another figure slumped down beside him, back against the wheel of the wagon.

Caleb sat upright, but was unconscious, his body held in place by the wagon wheel and the dead bowman’s corpse. Tad knelt next to him and said, ‘He’s breathing!’

Zane pulled the corpse of the last bandit aside, and Caleb fell over sideways. Tad examined him and found a deep gash in his side where a crossbow bolt had found its mark, as well as several sword cuts. ‘We’ve got to do something!’

Zane said, ‘Strip that man’s shirt,’ as he pointed to the nearest bandit. ‘Cut bandages.’

Tad did as Zane said and pulled out Caleb’s huge hunting knife, using it to cut bandages from the man’s filthy shirt. Zane hurried to inspect the other two corpses and returned with two more swords and a small purse. ‘They must have robbed before,’ said Zane.

Throwing an impatient look at Zane, Tad said, ‘You think?’

‘I mean recently,’ said Zane, holding up the purse. ‘It’s got some coins in it.’

‘Well, we had better get Caleb into the wagon, because I don’t know how long he’s going to make it without help.’

Both boys picked up the injured man and deposited him in the back of the wagon. Tad said, ‘You stay back there with him. I’ll drive.’

Neither boy was an experienced teamster, but both had spelled Caleb on their journey, and Zane admitted Tad was a better driver. The horses were reluctant to leave their forage and head down the road. ‘How far did he say that village was?’ asked Tad.

‘I don’t remember,’ said Zane. ‘But hurry. I don’t think we have much time.’ Tad pulled to the right and got the horses pointed down the road and with a flick of the reins and a shout got them moving. With another flick and a louder shout, he got them up to a brisk trot, the fastest he could manage in the darkness without running themselves off the dark road.

Caleb lay motionless, his head resting on a bundle of empty sacks while Zane tried his best to halt the bleeding. Softly, Zane whispered, ‘Don’t die!’

Tad silently echoed his foster brother’s request as he urged the horses down the dark and forbidding road.

The ride through the forest seemed to take forever. The boys alternated between an almost panic-stricken terror and a determined optimism that everything would turn out for the best.

They had no sense of time, as the minutes passed by and the road passed under the hooves of the horses. The animals had not been rested for hours before the ambush, and they were panting and the one on the left seemed to be favouring his left hind leg, but Tad ignored it; he’d kill both horses in their traces if it would save Caleb.

Both boys liked the tall, quiet hunter, as they thought of him. They knew he was related to the owners of Stardock, though the exact nature of the relationship was vague to them. They also knew that their mother was in love with Caleb and that he cared deeply for her. Resentful of his attentions at first, they had both come to appreciate how happy his visits made her. Tad’s deepest fear was having to return to Stardock and seeing the look on his mother’s face should he have to tell her of Caleb’s death.

Suddenly they were in the village. Tad realized that he had been so focused on what he would have to tell his mother and that Zane had been tending Caleb so closely, neither had noticed they had left the forest and had been passing by farms for some time now. The large moon was up and in the shimmering light of its reflected glow they could see the village of Yar-Rin. A few huts lined the roadway into the village square, and three large buildings dominated. One was the mill, on the far side of the square, and the other two appeared to be a shop of some sort, and an inn. The inn showed a sign with a sleeping rooster ignoring a sunrise. Remembering Caleb’s instructions, Tad pulled up before the inn and went to bang hard on the bolted door.

After a minute a voice from above sounded as a window was thrown open. ‘What is it?’ shouted an angry landlord as he thrust his head out the window.

‘Are you McGrudder? We need help!’ shouted Tad.

‘Wait a minute,’ said the man as he withdrew his head.

A moment later the door opened and a large man in a nightshirt appeared in the doorway holding a lantern. ‘Now, who’s we and what sort of help—’ His questions died on his lips as he saw Zane kneeling next to the prone figure in the wagon bed. He held the lantern close and said, ‘Gods of mercy!’

Looking at the two boys, both obviously exhausted and filthy, he said, ‘Help me get him inside.’

Tad jumped up next to Zane and they both got one of Caleb’s arms over their shoulder, then got him upright. The innkeeper came to the end of the wagon and said, ‘Give him to me.’

They allowed Caleb to fall slowly over the large man’s shoulder, and ignoring the blood that was soaking into his nightshirt, the landlord took the wounded man inside. ‘Elizabeth!’ he shouted as he entered the inn. ‘Get up, woman!’

A few moments later a plump but still attractive older woman appeared on the stairs, as the landlord put Caleb on a table. ‘It’s Caleb,’ said the man.

‘Are you McGrudder?’ asked Tad.

‘That I am, and this is my inn, the Sleeping Rooster. And who might you two be, and how did my friend come to this sorry state?’

The woman quickly began examining the wounds and said, ‘He’s lost a lot of blood, Henry.’

‘I can see that, woman. Do what you can.’

‘Tad and I are from Stardock,’ said Zane, and he quickly outlined the tale of their ambush.

‘Damn road agents,’ said McGrudder. ‘Had a Keshian patrol from Yadom out looking for them a couple of weeks back.’

‘Well, they’re all dead now,’ said Tad.

‘All of them?’

‘Five men,’ said Zane. ‘Tad and I killed two of them, Caleb the other three.’

‘You killed two?’ asked McGrudder, then he fell silent as the boys nodded.

When he said nothing for a few moments, Tad offered, ‘We were lucky.’

‘Indeed,’ said McGrudder.

The woman called Elizabeth said, ‘Henry, I don’t think I can do anything to save him. He’s too far gone.’

‘Damn,’ said the innkeeper. ‘Margaret!’ he roared.

Within a minute a young girl, about the same age as the boys, appeared from a door in the rear of the common room. ‘Get dressed and hurry down to the witch’s hut.’

The girl’s eyes grew wide. ‘The witch!’

‘Do it!’ the landlord shouted. ‘We’ve got a dying man here.’

The girl’s face went pale, and she vanished back through the door. A few minutes later she reappeared wearing a simple grey homespun dress and a pair of leather shoes. Turning to Zane, McGrudder said, ‘Take the lantern and go with her. The old witch won’t talk to strangers, but she knows Margaret.’ To Margaret, he said, ‘She’ll not want to come, but when she tells you to be away, say this and no more, “McGrudder says it’s time to repay a debt.” She’ll come then.’

Zane followed the obviously agitated girl out the door and across the small village square. This side of the village was upslope from a small stream and devoid of farms. The few huts bordering on the square were quickly left behind and they plunged into a thick copse of trees.

Zane hurried to keep up with the girl who seemed determined to get this over as quickly as possible. After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, ‘My name is Zane.’

‘Shut up!’ said the girl.

Zane felt his cheeks burn but said nothing. He had no idea why she was being rude to him, but decided that was something best explored when things weren’t so confused.

They came to a small game path and followed it, until they came near the edge of the stream. A flat clearing jutted into the stream, forming a small bend in the stream. The surface was rock covered by recently dried mud. Zane wondered why the hut that sat snug in the middle of the clearing hadn’t been washed away by the recent flooding.

The hut was constructed of sticks covered with mud, with a thatch roof and a rude stone chimney at the back. It looked barely large enough to contain one person. A leather curtain served as a door and what looked to be a small opening high up on the left appeared to be the only window.

The girl stopped a few yards from the hut and shouted, ‘Hello, old woman!’

Instantly a voice answered, ‘What do you want, girl?’

‘I’m Margaret, from McGrudder’s,’ she answered.

In a cross tone, Zane heard the reply: ‘I know who you are, you stupid girl. Why do you trouble my sleep?’

‘McGrudder says you have to come. There’s a man in need of aid at the tavern.’

‘In need of aid,’ said the voice from within. ‘And why should I give aid to any who pass through this village?’

‘McGrudder says it’s time to repay a debt.’

There was a moment of silence, then the leather curtain was pushed away as the old woman stepped through. Zane had never seen a smaller person in his life. She looked barely more than four and a half feet tall. He had met a dwarf once, travelling through Stardock on his way to the dwarven stronghold near Dorgin, and even he had been a good four or five inches taller than this old woman.

Her hair was white and her skin so sun-browned, like ancient leather, he couldn’t tell if she had once been fair or dark as a girl. Her stoop made her even shorter.

But even in the dark Zane could see her eyes, alight as if glowing from within. In the dim moonlight he could see they were a startling and vivid blue.

Toothless, she slurred her words slightly as she spoke. ‘Then come to McGrudder’s I shall, for I let no man hold debt over me.’

She didn’t wait for either Margaret or Zane, but marched past them purposefully, muttering to herself.

Zane and the girl easily kept pace, and when they reached the inn and went inside, Zane was amazed that the little woman looked even more frail and tiny than before.

She marched up to McGrudder and said, ‘So, what debt do I owe you, McGrudder, that you’d call in?’

‘Not me, old woman,’ said the innkeeper. ‘Him.’

The woman looked at the prone figure on the table and said, ‘Caleb!’ She hurried to his side and said, ‘Get this tunic off so I may look at his wounds.’

McGrudder began to pull Caleb upright to attempt to pull his jacket and tunic off, and the woman nearly screeched as she said, ‘Cut them off, you fool. Do you want to kill him?’

Tad had been keeping Caleb’s hunting knife; he pulled out and reversed it, handing the hilt first to the innkeeper. McGrudder set to with practiced efficiency and cut away the jacket, then the tunic.

The old woman looked at the wounds and said, ‘He’s near to death. Boil bandages, and fetch me a cup of wine. Hurry.’

The woman carried a small leather pouch on a strap she wore over one shoulder. She moved to stand next to the table and rummaged around in the pouch, finding what she sought. She removed a folded parchment and when the wine was produced, she unfolded it, letting a fine powder fall into the wine. To Zane, she said, ‘You, boy, hold his head up and don’t let him choke as I give him the wine to drink.’

Zane did as she instructed and Caleb’s lips moved slightly as she administered the potion. Then she went to the fire to check the cauldron. When the water began to boil, she put the bandages that had been cut from some spare bedding into it, and said, ‘You, girl, fetch me soap and cold water.’

Margaret brought a bucket of cold water and the soap. The tiny woman ladled some hot water out of the cauldron into the bucket to warm the water then told Tad to put the bandages into the water.

She set to with surprising vigour and washed Caleb’s wounds. She instructed McGrudder to use the metal ladle to fish out the bandages and let them drip on the floor, holding them before the fire so they would dry. When she was satisfied they were dry enough, she bound Caleb’s wounds and said, ‘Now, carry him up to a room and let him sleep.’

McGrudder picked up Caleb as a man might a child and lugged him up the stairs. Zane asked, ‘Will he live?’

The old woman fixed him with a sceptical eye and said, ‘Probably not. But he’ll linger, and that’s important.’

‘Why?’ asked Tad.

The old woman gave him a faint smile and said, ‘Wait.’

McGrudder returned and asked, ‘What more can we do?’

‘You know what you must do,’ and she turned to leave.

‘Wait!’ said Zane. ‘That’s all? A cup of wine and bandages?’

‘My potion is more than a cup of wine, boy. It’ll keep him alive long enough for McGrudder to fetch more help, and that help will save Caleb, son of Pug.’

‘What help?’ asked McGrudder.

‘Don’t dissemble with me, you old fraud,’ said the woman. ‘I know who your true master is, and I know if an emergency warrants you can send word in haste.’ She hiked a thumb towards the stairs and said, ‘His son lies dying, and if that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.’

McGrudder looked hard at the old woman and said, ‘For a simple woman who claims to practice only herbs and root lore, you know a great deal more.’

‘Live a long time and you learn things,’ she said as she reached the door. ‘But Caleb did me a favour, and his father did one years ago, and there was another, a friend of his father’s who did me a great service as well, so that in the end, there is a great debt still. But to you and your masters I owe nothing; let us not be confused on that matter, McGrudder. The next time you disturb my sleep, you do so at risk.’

Saying nothing more, she left the inn and Tad and Zane exchanged glances. McGrudder saw the look and said, ‘You boys can sleep in the room with Caleb, the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. He’s in the only bed, but there’s a large mat rolled up under the bed you can share.’ He glanced at the girl and said, ‘Get yourself back to bed, girl, we have a long day tomorrow.’ He then motioned to his wife who had been quietly washing the blood off the table and floor and said, ‘I’ll help you in a moment, Elizabeth.’

She nodded. ‘I know. You need to send that message.’

He returned the nod and left the common room through the door in the rear. The innkeeper’s wife looked at the boys and said, ‘Go up and get what rest you may. It is only three hours until sunrise, and there will be work for all tomorrow.’ She indicated a candle on the bar.

Zane picked up the candleholder and the boys mounted the stairs without a word and paused a moment before the door, then entered. Caleb lay in his bed, a heavy down comforter pulled up to his chin, his face pale and drawn.

Tad knelt and pulled the rolled-up mat, and the boys lay on it.

‘What do we do now?’ whispered Zane after a while.

• CHAPTER FOUR •
Dark Goddess

TAD CAME AWAKE SUDDENLY.

Someone was opening the door and he nudged Zane awake as it swung aside. It was near sunrise; the sky outside the window displayed a slightly rose-tinged grey light, but it was still too dark in the room to make out the features of the man who stood there.

‘Huh?’ said the half-asleep Zane as Tad fumbled to where he put the candle.

‘You won’t need that,’ said the figure in the doorway as he held up his hand. Suddenly light filled the room, an unnatural white glow that held a hint of blue. Zane blinked and Tad stood up as the figure entered the room.

He matched Caleb in height and resembled the hunter, but his skin was fair and his hair was white. He had eyes of the palest blue, but their set and expression were exactly like Caleb’s. As he entered the room, another figure, McGrudder, stepped into the doorway.

Zane scrambled to get out of the way as the stranger knelt to examine Caleb. After only a moment, the man said, ‘You did well to contact me. His breathing is shallow, his heartbeat is weak, and he burns with fever. If nothing is done, he’ll be dead by noon.’

The man looked at Tad and said, ‘Who are you?’

‘Tad,’ he answered. ‘That’s Zane. We were travelling with Caleb.’

‘What are you to my brother?’

Zane exchanged glances with Tad, then he said, ‘I suppose you would say Caleb was taking us to be apprentices.’

The pale man frowned and said, ‘I wouldn’t say. What you are to him will be sorted out later, now I must take him with me to save him. You stay here.’

‘Wait a minute, Magnus,’ said McGrudder coming into the room. ‘You know they can’t stay here.’

‘Why not?’ asked Magnus, standing up. ‘You know I can’t take them with me.’

‘But you must,’ said McGrudder. ‘They’ve seen you, and even a chance remark to the wrong person …’ He inclined his head towards the boys. ‘You know.’

‘Put them to work,’ suggested Magnus.

‘I can’t. You know your father will move all of us out of here in a day or two. Those men might have been bandits, as the boys told me, or they may have been more than that. Either way, Pug will move us, just in case, and there will be another innkeeper and his family. They’ll say that they’re distant relatives, or that this place was purchased, or some story.’ He glanced around, as if already regretting the need to leave this cosy little inn. ‘The villagers know better than to say anything to strangers, but the old witch already knows too much and no one can keep her from doing whatever she wishes to; these boys just add two more potential problems if you leave them here. If they were followed, and if they were known to have travelled with Caleb … it’s best if all of us were gone from here as soon as possible.

‘Besides, if Caleb was apprenticing them as they say, you know what that means.’

Magnus glanced at the two boys and said, ‘He sees something in them. Very well.’ To the boys he said, ‘Stand close to me after I pick up my brother.’

He reached down and even though Caleb was equal in size and weight, Magnus picked him up as effortlessly as if he were a child. ‘Now, stay very close,’ he said.

Tad and Zane did as instructed and were suddenly swept into darkness for an instant. The next second, they stood in a hall.

Zane almost fell over, so sudden was the change and following disorientation. Tad looked around, blinking like a barn owl blinded by a lantern.

The man McGrudder had called Magnus started walking down the hall, leaving the boys standing alone. They glanced at one another, each seeing a reflection of his own shocked, pale expression. Then Zane nodded and they were off, following after the man, for they had no desire to be left alone in this alien place.

Even carrying his brother, Magnus moved rapidly, and the boys had to hurry to catch up. Their surroundings were lost on them until they realized that they were in some sort of massive building, for all the hallways they passed through had granite or marble walls and floors, illuminated by torches bolted by iron fittings to the walls on either side of a series of heavy wooden doors. Each door had a small covered window, barely more than a peephole, in its centre.

‘This looks like a dungeon,’ muttered Zane.

‘And how would you know?’ asked Tad in a whisper. ‘You ever see one?’

‘No, but you know what I mean. This is what dungeons are supposed to look like – from stories.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Zane as they turned a corner around which Magnus had just vanished.

The boys came to an abrupt halt. Before them a large corridor emptied into a vast hall. The vaulted ceiling could barely be seen, its surfaces darkened by the rising soot from at least a hundred torches ringing the expanse. Against the far wall rose a heroic statue of a woman, her arms outstretched as if bidding those standing below to come into her embrace. Behind her, on either side, smaller bas-relief figures had been carved into the wall.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ whispered Tad.

‘Must be, look at the net over her right arm,’ said Zane.

Both boys made every ward of protection sign they had ever seen a gambler, teamster, or porter make and then slowly followed the rapidly hurrying Magnus. They were in the temple of Lims-Kragma: the Drawer of Nets, the Death Goddess.

Several black-robed figures were emerging from a couple of doors to the left of the statue, and suddenly two men appeared behind the boys. One hurried past them, but the other paused and asked quietly, ‘What is your business here, boys?’

Tad pointed to Magnus, who was now laying his brother at the feet of the statute, and said, ‘We’re with him.’

‘Then come along,’ said the man.

They nodded and hurried after him.

Zane studied the man out of the corner of his eye, afraid to look directly at him. He had plain features and was almost bald, save for stubble around the back of his head to his ears. He was otherwise unremarkable. Except for one thing; he wore the robe of a priest of the Goddess of Death.

An elderly man entered the hall from a door to the right, walking slowly with the aid of a white staff taller than himself. His white hair flowed to his shoulders and it wasn’t until he was almost at Magnus’ side that the boys saw that his eyes were filmed over; he was blind.

‘Why do you disturb our slumber, Magnus?’

‘My brother lies dying,’ Magnus replied, standing to face the old man as the boys reached them. ‘You know my father, and you know what we do. We need my brother’s life spared.’

The old man stared into space, looking frail, but his voice was deep and strong. ‘Our mistress gathers us all to her when it is our time. I may do nothing to alter that.’

‘You can heal him!’ said Magnus. ‘I know what arts you are capable of, Bethanial.’

‘Why didn’t you take him to the temple of Killian or Sung? Healing is their domain.’

‘Because my family made a pact with your mistress years ago, and she can choose not to take my brother. He is needed. It is not time yet.’

‘When is it ever the time for those left behind?’ asked the old High Priest.

Magnus stepped closer to him and said, ‘It is not his time yet!’

‘When is his time?’ echoed a voice through the hall, and the boys instinctively clung to one another, for there was a cold note of hopelessness in it. Yet it also held a faint echo of reassurance, that left a feeling of certainty that all would be well in the end.

Magnus turned to look at the gigantic statue. ‘When this world is safe,’ he answered.

For a moment, all the torches flickered and dimmed.

Magnus found himself within a vast hall, with a ceiling so high it was lost in darkness above, while the walls were so distant he could only see the one to his right; the other boundaries had vanished in the distance.

He stood amidst a chessboard of stone biers. Men, women, and children rested upon them, though many were empty. As he watched, he saw a woman sit up and dismount her bier in the distance, and then start to weave her way through the maze of stone.

An empty bier next to Magnus was suddenly occupied by a baby, no more than a few hours old. Magnus paused to wonder how this infant, who obviously had not survived for long after its birth, would manage the feat of climbing down and walking to meet the Goddess. Then he reminded himself that none of this was real. Magnus knew that he was seeing an illusion of the gods – an image made so he could apply some reference and logic when dealing with a power far beyond his own. Magnus’ patience was thin at the best of times, now it was slighter than parchment. He waved his hand and said, ‘Enough!’

The hall vanished and he stood on top of a mountain, in another vast hall. It appeared to be fashioned from ivory and white marble. Columns supported a vast ceiling high above, but now Magnus could see the walls.

The hall opened on a vista of the distant mountain peaks, and the air was bitterly cold and thin. Magnus adjusted the air around his body so that he felt warm and could breathe easily. Outside, a sea of white clouds lingered just below the lower edge of the floor and he knew he stood in the Pavilion of the Gods, a place his parents had told him of. He smiled, for it was here they had first spoken together, and it seemed a reasonable choice for his meeting with the Goddess.

A figure in black robes sat alone on a simple marble bench. It was a young woman, and as Magnus approached, she pulled back her hood. Her skin was as white as the finest porcelain, yet her hair and eyes were black as onyx. Her lips were the colour of blood, and her voice was like an icy wind as she said, ‘Your powers are prodigious for a mortal’s, Magnus. You may someday eclipse your father and mother in your mastery of magic. You also have far more arrogance than either of them.’

‘I lack my father’s gift for patience and my mother’s acceptance of expediency,’ said Magnus, with a defiant note in his voice. ‘My brother is needed. You know that.’

‘I know no such thing,’ answered the woman. ‘Your father once came to me with his friend, the human who became Valheru,’ she said, standing.

Magnus was surprised to discover that she was taller than him. For some reason that annoyed him. With one thought, he stood taller than the Goddess.

The woman laughed. ‘Vanity, too?’ She nodded. ‘Your father then came to me a second time.’

‘I know,’ said Magnus. ‘He told us of your bargain.’

‘Did he?’ She turned her back and walked away, as if studying the mountain peaks below. ‘I remember no bargain. I do, however, remember giving him a choice.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Magnus.

‘I know you don’t. I do not know what your father has told you about what is coming, but I have no debt to you or your family, just an understanding which I struck with Pug years ago. Your brother stands with no exemption from fate; he lies at the entrance to my realm and I am under no obligation to refuse him. It is his time.’

‘No,’ said a voice from behind Magnus.

He turned and saw a thin, frail old woman with skin like translucent bleached parchment stretched over ancient bones. Her hair was white and she wore a robe the colour of the snow on the distant peaks. Her robe and hair were arranged with ivory clasps and rings, and her feet were hidden by the hem of her robes. ‘You may do as you wish, daughter, for you are ruler of your domain, but that is just the point: you may do as you wish.’

‘I have an obligation to keep order, and don’t call me “daughter”, old woman. You do not belong here.’

‘I belong nowhere, it seems.’ She glanced at Magnus and smiled.

Magnus studied the old woman and said, ‘You’re the witch from the village.’

‘No,’ said the old woman. ‘But I know her, as I know many others.’

Magnus revealed confusion, for the two women were identical, save that the witch had iron-grey hair and her skin was like leather. ‘Then who are you?’

‘I am one who once was and one who will be, but now …’

‘She is no one,’ said Lims-Kragma.

‘Yes,’ said the old woman, and suddenly she was gone. But her next words hung in the air. ‘You may do as you wish.’

For a moment, neither Magnus or the Goddess spoke, then the Goddess of Death said, ‘Very well. I refuse your brother entrance to my realm. His judgment shall await another time; take him to your island.’

‘Who was that?’ asked Magnus.

‘One who was,’ said the Goddess, then with a flicker of expression that suggested turbulent emotions, she added, ‘and perhaps, as she says, one who will be again one day,’ and with a wave of her hand she took the two of them back to the temple. Everyone stood frozen in time, likes flies caught in amber, and the Goddess said, ‘Ask Nakor or your father about echoes.’ Then suddenly she was gone, and everyone around Magnus began moving.

With a groan, Caleb opened his eyes. He blinked, then said weakly, ‘Brother?’

‘The Goddess answered your prayer,’ said the high priest, bowing his head. The other priests followed his example and also bowed.

‘Come,’ said Magnus to the boys as he picked his brother up from the floor. Caleb’s eyes closed and he fell unconscious again, his head resting against his brother’s shoulder. The boys stood close to Magnus and again felt a sensation of darkness followed by a moment of disorientation.

They stood near the ocean. Tad and Zane could smell the tang of sea salt in the night air. Tad pointed to the two moons in the sky and the boys knew that they were some miles northwest of McGrudder’s inn. Magnus said nothing as he walked towards a large, square building.

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