Flight of the Nighthawks (20 page)

“What?”

“It's a rift!”

“Where?” said Nakor.

“At the end of that energy thread. It's tiny beyond imagining, but it's there. Varen made his rift work. At first I thought he was storing vast energy to create a rift of normal size, but I was wrong. He just wanted a tiny rift, but one left open…for years.”

Nakor took a deep breath. “You know more about rifts than any man living, Pug, so I'll not doubt you, but how can one exist that's so tiny?”

“The level of control to fashion one like this, and to keep it stable, in place, for the year or more we've been seeking this…it's unbelievable.” Pug stood upright and said, “Someone out there knows more about rifts than I do, Nakor. I could never fashion something this delicate, this precise.”

“We better get back to Bek,” said Nakor, “before he sets fire to the grass just to have something to watch. What do you want to do about this?”

“I'm going to send a few of our better scholars and ask Magnus to see if we can entice a pair of Tsurani Great Ones to come examine this thing. We will not have unraveled the mystery of what Leso
Varen was doing in Kaspar's citadel until we find the other end of this energy thread, and that means the other side of the rift.”

Nakor put his hand on Pug's shoulder and squeezed slightly, as if reassuring him. “The other side of the rift could be a very bad place.”

“It almost certainly is,” said Pug.

Nakor said, “And we still need to talk about those messages you've shown me.”

“I don't know what more to say, Nakor.” Pug's expression grew thoughtful. “I may have erred in showing them to you. I haven't even told Miranda.”

Nakor lost his smile. Pug rarely saw the little man look this thoughtful, so he knew whatever was said next would be something serious. Suddenly the grin was back, and Nakor said, “Then you are in very serious trouble when you do.”

Pug laughed. “I know, but she's got the worst temper of anyone in the family, and if she read those messages…We both know that time travel is possible. I journeyed to the dawn of time with Macros and Tomas, but I don't know how to do it.”

“Apparently, in the future, you do.”

“But you know what the big question is, don't you?”

Nakor nodded as they turned away from the tiny glowing thread of magic. “Are you sending messages to yourself to ensure a thing happens, or are you sending a message to prevent a thing that has happened to you from coming to be.”

“I thought about the very first message that appeared to me, the morning before Earl James and the boy princes left for Kesh.”

“Tell James if he meets a strange man to say, ‘There is no magic.'” Nakor nodded. “How do you think you knew that would be me?”

“My theory is that we met much later in life, perhaps sometime yet in the future, and when things were much more dire than they are now. Perhaps it was my way of ensuring we had years to work together.”

“I wondered much the same thing,” said Nakor. “But we'll never know, will we?”

“If the future is fluid, then whatever I did changed things…” He laughed. “Macros.”

“What about him?”

“His hand is in this, I know,” said Pug. “Like everything else in my life…” He shrugged. “If you get the chance, next time you see Tomas, ask him about the armor he wears and his dreams from the past, and…well, let him tell you. But that was Macros, and it also involved time travel.”

“I will.”

They walked out of the woods, and neither man spoke a word until they reached Bek. The young man grinned. “Find it?”

“Yes,” said Pug. “How did you know it was there?”

Bek shrugged. “I don't know. I just felt it was there.”

Pug and Nakor exchanged a look, then Nakor said, “Let's go.”

“Can we get something to eat?” asked Bek. “I'm starving.”

“Yes,” said Pug. “We'll feed you.” Silently, he added to himself, And we'll care for you as long as you don't become a threat. Then we'll kill you.

Pug took out a Tsurani orb and the three of them vanished from the grassy plain.

K
aspar strode into the room.

Talwin Hawkins and Caleb both nodded greetings.

“It's done,” said Kaspar.

“Political asylum?” asked Caleb.

“Of a sort. But it will do for our purposes.”

“It's good to have friends in high places,” said Tal.

They were in a small room in the back of an inn, located in a different district of the city from where Caleb and the boys were staying, one frequented by foreigners and those from distant corners of the Empire. The coming and going of three men who were obviously non-Keshians would not draw attention here. It was late and the city was quieting down, though this area was replete with revelers, as the plaza outside was frequented by the youth of this district. Against his better judgment, Caleb had left the boys outside near a
fountain where a dozen or so young boys and girls had gathered. Still, he suspected they would find less trouble out in the open than if he left them in their room next to the two Trueblood girls, their excitable mother, and their personal bodyguard.

When he had finally seen the man, he wondered, like Tal had said, if he was really human.

“Turgan Bey has told me what his agents have discovered, so far,” said Kaspar. A pewter pitcher rested on the table and he poured himself a cup of wine. Drinking it, he made a face. “We should chuck this business and set up a wine importer from Ravensburg and some of the districts in the Eastern Kingdoms. We'd make a fortune if this is the best they have.”

“This is not the River House,” said Tal with a smile, referring to the restaurant he had established in Roldem. “And this is not the best wine that can be had in Kesh, as you know.”

Caleb took a sip. “It is, however, the best that can be had here.”

Kaspar leaned forward. “There is no pattern in the deaths, save one. Every murdered noble, Trueblood or not, is part of a loose alliance of Lords and Masters who are favorable to the ascension of Prince Sezioti to the throne when Diigai finally dies.”

Caleb said, “And is that supposed to happen any time soon?”

“You tell me,” said Kaspar. “Your father and brother are more likely to understand the information on the Emperor's use of magic to extend his life than anyone.

“But it's clear from what Bey told me that many of the Lords and Masters are unhappy with him being the first Emperor to do so. His predecessor, Empress Leikesha, made it to over ninety on sheer spite—according to what I've been told she may have been the toughest old boot to ever sit that throne—so the extra ten years or so for Diigai isn't a problem yet, but it's his use of magic that is. Seems the opinion of a majority of the rulers of Great Kesh is the old boy is losing his political edge. He spends most of his time with his courtesans—which at his age, I think, is heroic—and many of his edicts seem capricious. But none of them alter significant policy, so the level of distress over his current rule hasn't reached a critical juncture, but the Gallery of Lords and Masters' collective patience is
wearing thin, and eventually the Emperor will be pressured to name an heir.”

“Sezioti is a scholar who is respected, but not admired.” Kaspar went on to tell them the rest of what Turgan Bey had shared about the politics of the Empire.

“So,” said Tal, “we can assume someone is trying very carefully to reduce Sezioti's chances to rise to the throne, in favor of Dangai. Why?”

“If the Nighthawks were not involved,” said Caleb, “I would assume it's the usual bloody Keshian politics. But with the Guild of Death working here, we must assume Leso Varen's hand is in there somewhere, which means whatever he wants, we want the opposite.”

Kaspar stood. “I can't stay. I am no doubt being followed, and while they know Tal and I are in contact, they don't know about you. I suggest you leave last.” Caleb nodded. “There's a reception at the town house of Lord Gresh in a week,” Kaspar said to Tal. “See if you can get yourself invited. It's just your sort of crew: a lot of libertines, bored noble wives, curious daughters, degenerate gamblers, and hot-blooded boys looking to make a name for themselves by killing someone famous. You should be able to make half a dozen enemies in one night with some luck.”

Tal regarded Kaspar with a dour expression. “I'll try my best.”

“I'll send Pasko with word as soon as I know anything worth reporting to you,” said Kaspar, and he left.

Tal said, “He's almost certainly right about being followed. I'll leave next, and then you should wait a bit. Do you think you can get through the commons without being spotted?”

“If no one saw me enter, yes,” said Caleb. “And I was here for a full half hour before either of you arrived, so I think I'm safe.

“Still, now that we know Kaspar and you are being watched, I should undertake to be more cautious in the future. I'll make arrangements so our next meeting is more secure.”

Tal glanced around the room. “What about being observed by…other means?”

Caleb reached into his belt purse and pulled out a small item. He
handed it to Tal who looked at it. It appeared nothing more than a carved bone icon, some obscure household god, perhaps. “Nasur, a magician of the Lesser Path on my father's island, made this. It prevents scrying or other magical eavesdropping. As long as I have it, no one can see or hear us by magical arts.”

Tal said, “A good thing to have. You wouldn't have an extra one, would you?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you. If you are being marked by Varen's agents, they might be using arts to see or hear you. If you vanish from their ability to detect you here, why, it's simply a case of something not working right, or perhaps you or Kaspar ensuring this room was safe. If you vanish from sight all the time, they'll know you're more than what you appear to be.”

“And what do I appear to be?”

“Right now both you and Kaspar are agents of the Crown of Roldem, and not very good ones at that. It took some very aggressive rumormongering to get that one spread in the right quarters.

“Kesh is always nervous about Roldem, because of their navy. Give them something obvious and reasonable to worry about, and they won't spend a lot of time concerning themselves with the subtle. No one who isn't working for Varen even suspects the Conclave exists here in Kesh.”

“Except for those agents in the government who work for the Conclave.”

Caleb nodded. “It's taken my father years to get to the place he is right now. We have friends in very high positions in courts all over the world, without the entanglements of being obliged to any one government.

“Now, it's time for you to go, and should I need to see you, I'll send one of the boys with a message.”

Tal rose, shook hands with Caleb, then left. As he reached the door he turned and said, “When this is all over, would you like to head up to Kendrick's and do some hunting for a few days?”

Caleb grinned. “After we see the wives for a bit, yes. That would be welcome.”

Tal returned the smile and left.

Caleb sat back, content to wait for another hour before leaving, to ensure he wasn't being followed. He idly wondered how the boys were doing.

 

Zane hit the ground, sliding backward on his rump. He struck the edge of the fountain hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. Tad shouted, “What was that for?” as he leapt toward the young man who had just pushed Zane hard enough to knock him over.

The fellow stopped and said, “What's it to you?”

“That's my brother you just shoved.”

The fellow was large, and brutish-looking, with massive shoulders and a thick brow. His chin receded slightly, which gave him an almost malevolent expression when he grinned. “And that's my girl he was talking to.”

The girl in question, a plump but very pretty blonde who had moments before been flirting with both boys, shouted, “I am not your girl, Arkmet. Stop telling people I am.”

“You're my girl if I say you are,” he said with a sound that came close to an animal growl.

Tad smiled. “She says she's not your girl.”

Arkmet pushed at Tad, but unlike Zane, he was ready. He bent his right knee, while extending his left leg, grabbed Arkmet's outstretched left hand at the wrist and gave it a tug before releasing it. Meeting no resistance, the heavier boy went crashing facedown on the cobbles.

Zane was back on his feet and standing next to Tad when the larger youngster rolled over. His face was flushed and he said, “You shouldn't have done that!”

Standing side by side, both boys were ready for a fight, and Zane said, “We're not starting anything, fellow, but if you want to take us on alone, we're ready.”

With another evil grin, the young man on the ground slowly rose and said, “Who said I was alone?”

The boys looked behind themselves and saw that a group of large boys had gathered. “And who are you?” asked Tad.

A blond lad said, “We're the apprentices of the Bakers' Guild.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder to the four boys who stood behind him. “Arkmet is an apprentice baker.”

Tad looked at Zane and rolled his eyes. “So he's a friend of yours?”

The blond lad said, “No, pretty much none of us can abide the slug, but we have a rule. You hit one Baker's Boy, you hit all of us.”

Zane said, “Wish someone had told us that before we got here.”

Until a moment ago, Tad and Zane had been lazing around the fountain, flirting with some approachable local girls. The plaza seemed to be frequented by young men and women from other parts of the Empire, youngsters who were far more amenable to speaking with two boys from the distant Vale of Dreams.

“I don't suppose there's a Guild of Boys from Other Parts of the Empire around here,” said Zane, glancing first one way, then the other. Several young men were giving the coming battle a wide berth, but one boy of roughly the same age as Tad and Zane came and stood beside them.

“Six to two's no kind of fair dustup.” He was large, with powerful shoulders, a redheaded boy with a preposterous amount of freckles across his face, green eyes, and hands the size of a smith's hammer. With an almost demonic grin he said, “But six to three seems a little better.”

One of the Baker's Boys said, “Ah, Jommy, not again?”

The redheaded boy cocked his right fist next to his ear, and with his left hand beckoned the bakers' apprentices to approach. “Always, mate. I love a chance to put your flour-dusted butts in a sling. C'mon!”

The resolve seemed to leach out of the five apprentices, just as a bellowing shout came from behind. Zane and Tad turned, but nothing as fast as the redhead, who turned with stunning speed and with a straight punch caught Arkmet right in the face. The bully's eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed to the ground, blood fountaining from his broken nose.

Jommy turned and said, “Five to three; even better!”

“You're a madman,” said the blond bakers' apprentice.

Tad held up his hands, palms out. “I realize you boys have your sense of honor and duty, but come on. Do you really want to bleed for that lout?”

The blond lad looked at the four who stood behind him, and just from the way they exchanged glances Tad and Zane knew the fight wasn't going to start. “Not really,” said the blond boy. “The last time you hit me I couldn't hear out of my left ear for three days.”

“Well, you bully boys of the Bakers' Guild should realize that you're not bloody damn cocks of the walk around here and start treating others with respect, mate. Now take your idiot friend here home and leave well-meaning strangers alone.”

The five bakers' apprentices helped the still groggy Arkmet to his feet and led him away. Zane turned to see the blond girl had somehow vanished during all the trouble, while Tad stuck out his hand and said, “Thank you, my friend.”

“No worries,” said the affable redhead. “Name's Jommy Kiliroo.”

“You're not from around here, are you?” asked Zane.

“Ha!” said the boy. “Far from home.”

Caleb walked up. “If I recognize that accent, very far,” he said. “I saw what happened.” To Tad and Zane, he said, “You boys managed to avoid a fair beating, it seems.”

“Probably would have taken one, if it hadn't been for Jommy here,” said Zane.

“Ah, most of the bakers' lads aren't really too bad a lot, but that Arkmet is a real canted bastard, if you take my meaning. He's going to end up hung for murder, mark my words.”

“You're from around Serpent River?”

The young man's face went alight. “You've been down there, have you?”

“A couple of times. Where are you from?”

“Mooree, little town a couple of days upriver from Shingazi's Landing.”

“How'd you come to Kesh?”

“That's a long story in the telling. The short of it is my mate Rolie and I got tossed out of our homes by our fathers, who told us to be on
our way and start our own lives. We worked our way downriver to the City of the Serpent River and tried to get jobs, but if you've been there, you know everything is controlled by the clans. Not ashamed to say I took up a little thievery to get by. Ol' Rolie and me got a berth on a Keshian ship, bound for Elarial. We had no better prospects, so we signed on and became sailors. Only one voyage for me to tell it wasn't my kind of life, so when we berthed, we took our pay and left. Got jobs as teamsters and, well, one thing leads to another. Ol' Rolie got himself killed in a brawl up in the town of Chigatha, and I just kept working the caravans, and here I am. Been stranded here for almost a year now.”

“Where do you live?” asked Tad.

“Here and there. Weather's warm most of the time so sleeping in an alley or by a fountain's not a problem. Once in a while I find a girl who takes me home.” He inclined his head to the fountain. “Most of the youngsters from other places come around here, so there's less trouble, unless a bunch like those bakers' lads show up. I've mixed with them before, and they remember.” He grinned. “Now, how'd you find your way to Novindus?”