Flight of the Nighthawks (23 page)

“Maybe I was just a simpler man,” said Pug, fatigue evident in his voice.

“Hardly. I'll accept you had a simpler understanding of things years ago. We all did, in our youth.”

“Fantus had a capricious nature; he could be as unpredictable as a cat or as steadfast as a dog. But I think the reason that I dwell on him today is because he and William were inseparable.”

“And you think of William?”

“Often. And my adopted daughter, Gamina.”

“Why this reflection now, Pug?”

“Because my children are in harm's way again.”

Nakor laughed. “I know they are your sons, Pug, but the term ‘children' hardly applies to Magnus and Caleb any longer. They are not only men, but men of great resolve and strong character—men whom any father would be proud of.”

“I know, and I do feel proud,” said Pug. “But I am fated to watch all those I love die before I do.”

“How do you know this, Pug?”

“When I fought the demon Jakan as his fleet sailed into the Bitter Sea, I attempted to destroy his armada single-handed—one of my
more arrogant moments. As a result, I was almost killed by a powerful magical ward.”

“I remember that,” said Nakor.

“In the hall of Lims-Kragma, I was given a choice by the goddess. Only my family know of the decision I made, and then only part of it. In short, I was allowed to return and continue my work, but in exchange I must watch everyone I love die before me.”

Nakor sat on the rock next to Pug and was silent. After a long minute, he said, “I don't know what to say, Pug. But perhaps there is one other thing to consider.”

“What would that be?”

“I am older than you, and everyone I knew as a young man is also dead. Everyone. Sometimes, I remember faces yet cannot put names to them. It is the curse of being long-lived. But you might have been cursed even before you spoke to the goddess.”

“How so?”

“As I said, I have also outlived everyone I knew in my youth. My family was never much of one; my mother died before my father, but he died soon after her. It didn't matter, for I hadn't seen them for more than thirty years, and I didn't have any brothers or sisters, either.” He shrugged. “But that doesn't mean I haven't come to love people, Pug. And losing them is always painful.

“There is an ancient Isalani blessing intoned at the birth of a baby: ‘Grandfather dies, father dies, son dies.' It is a blessing because it expresses the natural order. I have never been a father so I can't imagine what it was like to lose William and Gamina. But I remember how it affected you. I saw that. I saw what it meant for you to lose them.”

Nakor shook his head as if struggling to find the words he sought. “But I have lost a wife, twice. The first time I lost her when she left me to seek more power. And the second time…I killed her, Pug. I killed Jorma. The body I knew her to possess had died decades before, and she occupied a man's body when I ended her life,” said Nakor with a slightly rueful laugh. “But that didn't change the fact that she was someone whom I once had loved, in whose arms I had lain, and whose presence made me more than I was without her.” He looked at Pug and his eyes were shining with moisture as he contin
ued. “You, I, and Tomas have been chosen for something by the gods, and that honor has its price.

“But I have to think it is because it must be done. Maybe it's vanity, but only we three. Not Miranda, not Magnus, not anyone else. Just we three.”

“Why?”

“Only the gods know that,” said Nakor with an evil chuckle. “And they're not telling us the truth.”

Pug stood up, motioning to Nakor that it was time to return to the villa. “They're lying to us?”

“Well, they're certainly not telling us everything. Consider who Kaspar met on the peaks of the Ratn'garies.”

“Kalkin.”

“Yes, Ban-ath, the God of Thieves…and tricksters, and liars…”

“So you think the Dasati may not be as big a menace as Kalkin portrayed?”

“Oh, I still think they are all that and more, but I think Kalkin showed Kaspar only what he wanted Kaspar to see. The gods have their reasons, I'm sure, but I'm a cynical bastard at times and I'd like to know what Kaspar didn't see in that vision.”

Pug stopped and put a restraining hand on Nakor's shoulder. “You're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting, are you?”

Nakor grinned. “Not yet, but in days to come, we may have to visit the Dasati world.”

Pug stood motionless for a moment, then started walking again. “Intentionally opening a rift to the Dasati homeworld? Could there possibly be a more reckless act?”

“I'm sure there is. We just haven't thought of it at the moment,” said Nakor with a laugh.

Pug laughed with him. “I'm not convinced, Nakor. That could be the worst idea in the history of really bad ideas.”

Nakor continued laughing. “Perhaps, but what if traveling there prevents the Dasati from coming here?”

Pug's laughter stopped abruptly. “What if—” He walked with his eyes down as if he were lost in thought, then he said, “Perhaps it is something we need to discuss.”

“Good. And while we're at it, when are you going to tell me more about these messages from your future self?”

“Soon, my friend,” said Pug. “Soon.” He looked up at the afternoon sun sparkling across the waves. “I wonder how Caleb and the others are doing down in Kesh? We've not had word from them in days.”

“Oh, I'm sure we'd have heard if there was anything of importance going on.”

 

Caleb lunged to his left as the assassin drove the point of his sword through the air, barely missing his chest. Caleb ignored the burning pain in his left shoulder as it slammed into the moss-covered stones of the sewer, and drove his own sword point into the Nighthawk's stomach.

The trap had been diabolical in its planning and execution. Caleb cursed himself for being a smug fool. Not only had he and Chezarul's men failed to stay one step ahead of the Nighthawks, they were now clearly at a disadvantage.

The only reason they were still alive was blind luck.

Chezarul had agents following the merchant and other men watching the house where Zane had spied Mudara speaking with the Nighthawk. The night before, one of Chezarul's agents had reported uncovering the Nighthawks' base. It had taken days, but now it seemed that their patience was paying off.

Chezarul had identified a basement of an abandoned warehouse as the Nighthawks' headquarters, and had planned a double-pronged assault on them, with men emerging from the sewers, while others attacked the building from the street.

As the Nighthawks were the most active after sundown, it was decided that a mid-afternoon attack would catch the majority of the assassins as they slept.

Guided by one of Chezarul's men, Caleb had taken his group through the sewers, taking an entire morning to work their way to positions surrounding the Nighthawks' suspected lair.

What they had found instead of the nest was a trap, which had
only been revealed because a company of rats had been disturbed and one of the men felt a stray gust of breeze that had carried a faint hint of smoke. Caleb barely had time to call out a warning before the sewer swarmed with black-clad Nighthawks. Three of Caleb's men had died before they realized what was occurring and the rest fell back in a disordered manner.

The attack had been turned into a rout, and now Caleb's only concern was getting the surviving men out of the sewers alive. He urged them past him while battling the Nighthawks at a slower pace, so that eventually only he and four others held the mouth of the tunnel at the entrance to a large junction.

Caleb knew that he needed to keep the intersection clear for at least another couple of minutes so that the rest of the Conclave's agents could flee into the city above.

He had no doubt that other Nighthawks would be waiting in the vicinity, but he doubted that any of them would assault Caleb's men in broad daylight. The City Watch was usually disinterested, but proved aggressive and brutal when it came to public unrest. Armed conflict in the streets of Kesh was close enough to rebellion to provoke a swift reaction, and if the fighting got out of hand the Inner Legion would answer their call. If that happened, the only options would be to run or die.

The man next to Caleb gurgled as his lungs filled with blood from a puncture wound to his chest. Caleb slashed down hard and removed the offending Nighthawk's arm at his elbow and he fell back into the foul water screaming. Caleb stood his ground with two of Chezarul's men at his side, and for a brief moment the Nighthawks gave them respite as they regrouped.

A scream from farther down the tunnel told Caleb that another of the Conclave's men had been slain. Caleb could only hope that the end had come swiftly, for the Nighthawks would think nothing of peeling the skin from a man inch by inch to extract whatever information he might have before finally killing him.

Caleb had lost his lantern when they had retreated. Some light filtered through a distant grating in the ceiling twenty yards to his left, otherwise the tunnel was shrouded in murk.

The three men at the junction stood fast as the Nighthawks rushed at them. The lack of light and their black clothing made it difficult for Caleb to judge how many there were until they were almost upon him.

He slashed at a man who dodged back, then thrust past the man's retreating form to take another Nighthawk in the thigh. The assassin crumpled with a groan of pain as the man on Caleb's right sliced at another Nighthawk who also fell down.

Then, without any verbal communication, three remaining Nighthawks stepped back. The one nearest to the wounded assassin skewered the man with the point of his sword, sinking his corpse beneath the sewage that swirled around their legs.

The Nighthawks retreated slowly, until they vanished into the gloom. After a moment, Caleb said, “Follow me,” and led his men toward the sunlight streaming from the grate above.

Upon reaching the pool of light, he found the iron rungs fixed to the wall and indicated the two men with him should climb out of the sewer. When they were safely up the ladder, Caleb climbed out.

It was quiet as the three filthy, blood-splattered men emerged from the sewer in the center of a backstreet in the warehouse district.

Caleb said, “Go to your appointed safe havens. If Chezarul has survived, he'll know where to find me. If not, then whoever takes his place will know how to reach me. For now, trust no one and say nothing to anyone. Go!”

The men hurried away, and when they were safely out of sight, Caleb took off in the opposite direction.

He paused at a public fountain and leaned over, ducking his entire head under the water. He came up sputtering and shook the water from his long hair—he had lost his hat somewhere in the sewer.

Caleb glanced around and knew that he couldn't be sure if he was being watched. He could only hope to lose whoever might be following him on the route to his safe house.

As he set off, he wondered about the boys. He had given them strict instructions to follow if he were not back by sundown. They
were to walk out of the Three Willows by the route he had taught them until they came to a particular home. There, they should knock on the back door and say a particular phrase. He prayed they would do as they were told.

Caleb dodged around some crates stacked on the corner of two alleys, and a slashing blade cut deep into his left shoulder. He staggered backward and made ready to receive the attack that would follow.

Two Nighthawks blocked his escape route. Caleb knew the men would have to die in as short a time as possible else he would lose consciousness and bleed to death from his wounds.

The Nighthawk who had caught him by surprise charged first, the other man moved to Caleb's left, so Caleb took the one opportunity presented to him. He ducked, thrust upward, and then with an explosive leap, yanked his sword from the stomach of the first Nighthawk, twisting himself completely around and swinging his sword in an arc. The second Nighthawk saw Caleb duck and instinctively moved his blade to his own left, assuming that Caleb would now swing at him from that side, but with the sword turned in a complete circle, the attack came from his right, and before the Nighthawk could bring his sword around to block, Caleb's blade bit deep into his neck.

The second man fell and Caleb stumbled past him, clumsily putting his sword into his scabbard as he moved in what looked like a drunken stumble. He pushed his hand against his twice-wounded shoulder, to stanch the flow of blood, and turned his mind to one thing: reaching the safe house before he lost consciousness.

 

“Three treys,” said Jommy, laughing as he scooped up the copper pieces.

Zane groaned and threw his cards down on the table.

Tad laughed. “I told you not to bet.”

Jommy was about to say something when the smile suddenly faded from his face. His eyes darted around the room and he lowered his voice. “Heads up. It's about to get nasty in here.”

Tad and Zane glanced around the taproom and saw that four men in matching gray cloaks had entered and now stood around the room, effectively sealing off each exit.

“What is this?” asked Tad.

“Don't know, but it's not good,” answered Jommy. “Stay close to me, lads.” He stood up and waited until Tad and Zane did likewise. He said, “Get ready.”

“For what?” asked Zane, just as Jommy walked toward the nearest man.

The direct approach of the large redheaded boy must have confused the man, for he didn't attempt to draw his sword until Jommy had picked up a chair and sent it crashing toward him, foiling his attempt to pull out his weapon.

While the man ducked under the first chair, Jommy picked up another and smashed it down on the man's head, at about the same time Pablo Maguire came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what the problem was. Before he took two steps, one of the gray-cloaked men had pulled a small crossbow out from under his cloak and fired at the old man. Pablo ducked behind the bar and avoided being killed, and rose up with a sailor's cutlass in his hand.