Flight of the Nighthawks (18 page)

“Yes, they did.”

Bek smiled, then said, “But it feels good when things get out of control, you know?”

Nakor stood. “I do.” He stepped over to stand next to Bek, who looked up at him with no change in his mad expression.

“You're going to hurt me now, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am,” said Nakor, putting out his hand over Bek's head. As Bek began to move to defend himself, a light sprang from Nakor's palm, freezing the large young warrior where he sat. His teeth clenched and his eyes started to roll into his head, and he began to make an odd sound. It began deep in his chest, a low grunting noise that rose in pitch as it made its way up to his throat where it became a raspy exhalation. The noise became louder, a higher-pitched shout of pain, which rose into agony.

It continued until Bek had no air left in his lungs to exhale, and could only shake uncontrollably. His teeth were still clenched and his face turned red. His eyes had now completely rolled backward
into their sockets, showing only the whites. Then he started turning a darker color—from red to purple—and when his complexion approached blue, Nakor removed his hand.

A ragged gasp cut through the quiet as Bek shuddered and he fell over backward. He lay on the ground quivering and twitching, his eyes finally closed.

Nakor remained motionless, watching the huge youth shake like a man in a seizure. After a full five minutes, the frenzy subsided. Then Bek's breathing slowed and he became still. He lay as if asleep for another five minutes, then groaned and opened his eyes.

He blinked twice, then settled his gaze on Nakor. Sitting up slowly, he said, “That was…amazing.” He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then he grinned. “I liked it!”

Nakor extended his hand and helped Bek to his feet. “You enjoy pain?”

Bek patted his body to ensure that nothing was damaged as he said, “Sometimes I do. Pain…wakes things up. It makes you alert, aware. At first there's that desire to pull away, to make it stop, but when it doesn't stop, you can…go deeper into it, I suppose you could say. You break through the pain and on the other side there's…” He looked at Nakor as if fighting for the concept or word.

“Clarity.”

Bek's eyes widened and he nodded. “Yes! Clarity. Then you see things differently! It's like nothing else. The pain turns into a feeling like nothing I can describe. But you know what I mean!”

Nakor nodded. “Sadly, I do.”

“What did you do to me?”

“It's just a trick I know,” said Nakor. “There's something inside of you, the thing that makes you the way you are. I had to find it, then I had to…confine it.”

Bek stood with his hands on his chest as if feeling for something. “Confined? I don't feel any different.”

Nakor turned, looking over the horizon. “I know. But for a while you'll find yourself less inclined to cause trouble. And you won't dream, either.” He turned back toward Bek. “The day is still
young and I need to do some work. I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes. I'll be back shortly.” He reached into his rucksack and took out a golden-colored orb. He pushed a preset button and vanished.

 

Pug looked up as Nakor appeared in his study. “What is it?”

“Remember that youth I mentioned in my message yesterday?”

“The one who tested Tomas? Of course.”

“I've had suspicions about him since the moment he arrived at the cave, and now I'm certain.”

“Certain of what, Nakor?”

“I told you about the god's dreams and memories. But what have I told you of…fragments?”

Pug said, “That occasionally a god will manifest his power directly in a mortal. A tiny piece of the god is placed within the soul of a person. Why?”

“I don't believe it any longer. I know it. Bek is such a person.”

“You're certain?”

“Yes, and he is both a great opportunity and a great danger.”

Pug's eyes narrowed as he stared at Nakor. “Go on.”

“I used a trick that I have to…touch something inside a person. It's handy when you want to know if someone has something unusual inside them, like being possessed by a demon.”

“I can see where that would be handy.”

Nakor said, “It also helps you know when someone's lying to you. But that's not what's important. When I searched Bek, I found the tiniest fragment of a god. The smallest possible manifestation of divine consciousness, and with it the powers that make Bek so dangerous and unpredictable.

“Pug, Bek possesses a fraction of the Nameless One.”

Pug sat back, his face an expression of pure astonishment, followed an instant later by alarm. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely. I am certain.”

Pug sat back. “What does this mean?”

“It means that forces are at play on a larger scale than we sus
pected, for if the Nameless One can manifest even the tiniest part of his being here—”

“Eventually he will be able to manifest his full being.”

“Yes, Pug.” Nakor looked at his friend of many years. “He has found his way back into Midkemia. And we must find a way to prevent his return.”

T
he riders came to a halt.

The three dust-covered figures stood on the crest of a rise on the road from Khallara to the city of Kesh. Caleb pointed to the lights playing against the underside of clouds in the distance and said, “That's Kesh.”

Zane asked, “How big is it?”

Caleb dismounted. “Very big. It's the biggest city in the world.”

They had been riding for four days—long enough for the boys to gain more experience on horseback and cover themselves in enough road grime and sweat to convince the guards at the city gates that they had ridden all the way from the Vale of Dreams. Even if they had traded for fresh mounts along the way, the journey should have taken three months or more. But the boys were quickly learning that
their stepfather had resources they could not have possibly imagined a year before.

They had all left Stardock the day after the wedding, ostensibly returning north to some vague destination where Caleb's family lived. Instead, once they were clear of the town, Caleb had used one of those spheres that the boys had come to think of as “travel orbs,” to transport himself, Marie, and the boys to Sorcerer's Isle.

Caleb had taken a full day to acquaint his new wife with his family and the decidedly unexpected inhabitants of the island. Most of the concepts behind the place—great magic, alien worlds and travel to them, races not of Midkemia—were understandably lost on her, though he knew that she'd come to understand in time. But her poise when confronting the many unexpected sights pleased Caleb, as did her attempts to be at ease with his parents. He was even more pleased by her obvious joy at their living quarters, which were palatial compared to what she had known in Stardock, and that she gained the affection of his parents easily.

The one tense moment had arrived with the appearance of the six sisters of the Pithirendar, bedecked in garlands of white oleanders and little else, to welcome the boys back to the island. Their overt displays of affection were more than Marie could bear to watch.

Caleb had steered her away from the reunion and had said, “Much of what you see here will be strange, but keep one thing in mind above all others: there is no one on this island who wishes you or the boys naught but good.”

Glancing over her shoulder at the girls, who had thrown their arms around her sons' necks, she had frowned. “That appears to be a little more than good, Caleb.”

“You're from Stardock, Marie. You've seen different people from the Kingdom and the Empire. Each nation has different customs and beliefs. You've already seen everything one can imagine about people.”

“I've not seen green-skinned girls trying to undress my boys in broad daylight!”

Caleb had laughed at that. “They only want the boys to go swimming with them.” He pointed. “My father built a lake down there before I was born—”

“He built a lake?”

“—because my mother hated walking all the way to the beach to go swimming. Anyway, the youth of the Pithirendar need to spend a great deal of time in or near water. It's vital for their health.”

Marie hadn't look convinced, but Caleb had understood that for mothers, sons never truly grow up. He knew that from personal experience.

They had spent one more night together, and the next morning, Caleb and the boys had left Sorcerer's Isle. They had used an orb to reach a stable in Landreth owned by the Conclave and then used it again to transport themselves to the road upon which they now traveled.

Caleb unsaddled his horse and the boys did the same. “Why aren't we pushing on now?” asked Tad. “The lights look close.”

“Because they're not. It's half a day's ride to the foul borough—outside the ancient wall—and then another two hours of riding to reach the gates. We'll be there by late afternoon tomorrow.”

Zane put his saddle down and tied off his horse where he could crop grass by the road. Kneeling, he said, “It must be big. I've never seen so many lights in the sky.”

“Thousands of lanterns and torches, Zane,” said Caleb.

Tad joined his foster brother and they both watched the city in the distance which appeared brighter in contrast to the darkening sky.

Caleb made a fire, and after they had eaten their rations, he sat back and said, “Again.”

The boys looked at one another, and Tad gestured that Zane should begin.

“You're a trader from the Vale, by the name of Caleb.”

Tad added, “I think we can remember that much.”

Caleb picked up a pebble and tossed it at him. Tad grinned as he dodged it easily. “We are your two very talented, very bright and able, handsome, and very brave apprentices, Tad and Zane.”

Zane nodded. “Also easy enough to remember.”

“What do we trade?”

Tad said, “Anything and everything. We are always looking for rare items of great worth to sell in the Kingdom. Gems, jewelery, fine
craftsmanship, anything that is easy to transport and renders a large profit.”

“But we don't carry large amounts of gold,” Zane added. “We deal in letters of credit, and know moneylenders from here up to Krondor.”

“Why are you not with your master?”

Zane said, “He has sent us out into the bazaar to seek out items that nobles and wealthy commoners in the north might wish to purchase. If we see something noteworthy, we report it to our master who returns to judge if the item is worth purchasing.”

Tad added, “We are not permitted to bind our master to any transaction and if we give the impression of committing to a sale we shall be severely beaten.”

Caleb kept drilling the boys in their story and provided them with enough basic questions and things to look out for to allow them to pass as traders' apprentices. Then he started running them through the other things they needed to know: who to contact if something happened to him, places they could find a safe haven, and finally, what to do if they knew he was dead.

He saved that point for last, for he wanted to impress on the boys just how dangerous the way before them might prove. It had taken several conversations to convince them that he was not overstating the danger of belonging to his family and working on behalf of those on Sorcerer's Isle.

The boys turned in and Caleb took the first watch. He noticed how quickly Tad and Zane fell asleep. In the flickering light of the campfire, they looked like the boys they had been, rather than like the men they were becoming. For not the first time he silently prayed he had not overestimated their potential, or underestimated his own ability to keep them safe.

 

The three rode slowly through the crowds, trying to navigate while the boys gawked at the exotic sights of Kesh. It was just as Caleb had promised—a city unlike any other on the world of Midkemia.

They had come to appreciate the incredible scale of the place
about mid-morning, after they had seen the upper city and the citadel on top of the plateau overlooking the lower city and the shores of the Overn Deep. From a distance it had looked like the top of a faraway mountain, but as they approached, the view resolved itself into what it was—a massive palace surrounded by a fortress-city, built high above every approach from land or by water: the heart of the Empire of Great Kesh.

The day had been clear and their view of the great citadel was unencumbered by fog, haze, or clouds. The boys remarked at least half a dozen times on how large the building was. Caleb explained that the vast structure had been erected over generations, and that it housed a virtual city itself. He told them of the cavernous halls and many apartments occupied by the Imperial family, the administrators of the Empire, the entire household staff—under the watchful eye of the Master of the Keep, the overseer of the building—and how it still had enough space for apartments and suites of rooms for the Lords and Masters of Kesh, as well as the great Gallery of Lords and Masters itself. Gardens were also scattered throughout the building, some encompassing fountains and pools.

At one time, only the Trueblood—the original Keshian tribe that had occupied this region around the great Overn Deep—had been permitted within the building after sundown. The only exception had been visiting royalty, ruling nobles, and ambassadors, and they had been confined to a specific corner of the Imperial palace from sundown to sunrise.

Now, Caleb said, things were a little less formal, for certain non Trueblood nobles were now permitted to stay within the upper city, but it was rare and counted as an enormous privilege. Caleb had never visited the upper city, but knew many who had.

As they made their way through the crowded streets, the boys turned this way and that trying to make sense of the confusion of images, smells, and sounds around them. Caleb had pointed out a few major landmarks for them to remember, so that they would learn the layout of the city and be able to navigate it quickly, but the boys were overwhelmed by the newness of everything and Caleb knew they had no idea where they were.

Tad and Zane were in awe. Everywhere they looked they encountered novelty: the Keshian garb, the cacophony of languages, the smells, the sights. Citizens from every corner of the Empire and travelers from all over the world flocked to Great Kesh. Proud Ashunta horsemen with their broad-brimmed felt hats bedecked with feathers, Cosodi traders with their bright robes of orange, red, yellow, and lime patches, and Jajormir mystics dancing in circles with their beggar bowls at their feet all slowed the three riders to a crawl. A slave coffle made its way through one of the smaller markets, and both boys stared in horror at the abject misery of the unfortunates on their way to the slave block.

Each corner they turned brought them new sights, and they were constantly besieged by beggars, hawkers, and thieves. The boys often batted away curious hands that were reaching to see if a purse might be tucked away behind a saddle or at the girth.

Charioteers of the Trueblood forced their way through the streets by cracking their whips above the heads of the commoners, who ducked out of the way to let the nobles pass. The heavy thud of boot heels hitting cobblestones caused the boys to turn in their saddles. They saw a full company of black-armored soldiers heading their way.

Caleb motioned for them to move their horses to the side of the road, and by the time they had reached the street's verge, the soldiers were passing them. Even the Charioteers moved out of the way of the hundred men who marched toward them. They were armored from head to foot—black pointed helms with nose bars and chain neck guards, black chest plates over black leather jackets, decorated with a single Keshian royal hawk, grieves and leggings—all fashioned from black steel. Their shields were square and slightly curved, so that they could form an interlocking shield wall, and each soldier carried a short spear over one shoulder and a short-sword at his side.

The sergeants' helms had short ridges across them and were topped with a horsehair bristle. The officers rode behind them in matching uniforms save that their crests sat fore to aft, and their horsehair bristles were a hand's span taller than the sergeants'.

“That's the Inner Legion,” said Caleb as the boys watched in awe.
“Kesh's dog soldiers are stationed from here to the Vale, but these lads are given the protection of the capital and the Imperial palace. They'll not budge from this city, which is a good thing for their neighbors, as they tend to pick the toughest bastards in the army for that legion.” He pointed up toward the citadel on top of the plateau.

When the soldiers had passed, he motioned for them to start moving again, and after another half an hour they reached an inn. Its sign showed three willow trees in a row. Caleb led Tad and Zane through the gate into the stabling yard and a boy hurried to meet them.

Once the horses were turned over to the lackey, they entered the inn. It was a spacious, clean, and quiet common room, and they headed straight for the bar, where they were greeted by a tall, thin man with iron-gray hair and a full beard. “Caleb!” he cried out. “It's good to see you again. Who are the lads behind you?”

“This is Tad,” Caleb said, putting a hand on Tad's shoulder, “and this is Zane,” he added, putting his other hand on Zane's shoulder. “They are my sons.”

“Sons!” said the barman, coming around to extend his hand in greeting. “All these years I've known you and never one word about being married, let alone having sons.”

“It's a recent thing. I've adopted them.” He gave their shoulders a playful squeeze and slapped them on the back, then said, “Boys, this is Pablo Maguire, owner of the Three Willows.”

The boys exchanged glances at the names—for they were as alien to Kesh as Tsurani names would have been—and the old innkeeper noticed. Smiling, he said, “My mother is from Rodez—hence Pablo, after my grandfather—and my father came from Kinnochaide,” he said, using the Kinnochman's name for Kinnoch Province. “Which is why I'm a Maguire, and as for how I came to be running a tavern in the heart of Great Kesh, that is another story for another time.” He spoke with the lilting rhythm the people of Kinnoch gave to their speech, and apparently to any language, as he spoke Keshian.

“I'll need two rooms,” said Caleb. “Or the one big one at the end of the hall if it's free.”

“It's not, sad to say, for it's already occupied by a great lady and
her daughters.” He glanced at the boys and said, “Better steer a wide course away from them, lads, for they are Truebloods.”

Caleb's eyebrows went up in silent question, and Maguire feigned offense. “What? A fine lady can't heave to at my inn?”

Caleb laughed. “Obviously one can and has.”

Pablo's eyes were merry as he said, “I know what you're thinking: with all the great residence houses in the city, why here? Well, truth to tell, they're not all wealthy or highborn, though”—he directed his remark to the boys—“they all act as if they're related to the Emperor, and even the lowest Trueblood is still higher born than the highest of the rest of us!” Looking at Caleb, he continued, “This lady's in for the Midsummer Festival.”