Читать книгу The Complete Conclave of Shadows Trilogy: Talon of the Silver Hawk, King of Foxes, Exile’s Return - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 20

TALON BLINKED.

He was reading another Kingdom language book, this one a chronicle of the life and times of a merchant of Krondor, named Rupert Avery. The merchant before his death had commissioned the tale and had it published, a paean to his own vanity, from Talon’s point of view. The story was badly written and improbable to say the least, for if the tale as told by Avery was to be believed, he was instrumental in Kingdom history, almost single-handedly defeating the agents of chaos attempting to conquer his nation.

Talon judged it a story fit for a talker around the campfire, but only if more attention was paid to the warriors and magicians in the tale and less to a boy who grew rich. He tilted the chair he was sitting on back against the wall. He was beginning to understand the concept of wealth. Other people seemed to delight in amassing it. He was Orosini, and from his point of view anything you couldn’t eat, wear, or use was a luxury. And collecting luxuries after a certain point was a waste of time and energy.

Yet with his understanding of the concept of wealth, he was beginning to understand the concept of power. For reasons alien to him, there were those who lusted after power as much as this Avery had lusted after wealth. Men like the Duke of Olasko who wanted nothing so much as to wear a crown and be called King, though from what Caleb and Magnus had told him, he might just as well be called King in the lands of Olasko and Aranor right now.

Talon rocked his chair forward again and put the book on the table. He had been alone for three days because Magnus was off on one of his mysterious journeys. Talon had been given a set of tasks by the magician, some reading – which Talon enjoyed now that he had been reading for over a year – practising a strange series of moves, almost like dance, which the magician had taught him. Magnus claimed that the dance was a form of open-handed fighting, called Isalani, if Talon had it right, and that years of studying it would make him more proficient in other areas of combat. He also had to keep the hut clean and feed himself.

It filled most of his day, but what time he had left he used to explore, though Magnus had instructed him to stay on the north shore of the island. To the south a ridge of hills rose up, perhaps half a day’s easy walk, and Magnus had instructed him not to climb those hills or pass along the beach south of them. Magnus didn’t explain why he should not go south, or what would happen if he ignored the instruction, but Talon was not inclined to challenge the magician.

A great deal of Talon’s life was now centred around waiting. He was waiting to discover what he was being trained to do, for now he was certain Robert and the others had a purpose for him.

His education was proceeding at a fast pace: languages – he was now almost fluent in the King’s Tongue, (as the main language of the Kingdom of the Isles was known), spoke almost flawless Roldemish, and was starting to learn dialects from the Empire of Great Kesh – geography, history and he had studied music.

Music was what he enjoyed the most. Magnus had a spell he used to conjure up performances by musicians whom he had encountered over the years. Some of the simpler music sounded almost familiar to Talon; but more sophisticated music, played for nobles by accomplished musicians, was just as compelling. To aid in his understanding of music, Magnus had told Talon he would learn to play instruments, and had started him off with a simple pipe, which now lay on the table – a long wooden tube, with six holes cut in it. It was very much like one his father had played and Talon had quickly mastered playing some simple melodies on it.

Talon rubbed his face with one hand. His eyes felt gritty and his back hurt. He stood up and glanced out of the window. The afternoon sun was setting. Talon realized he had been studying the book all afternoon.

He glanced at the hearth where a large cauldron sat half-filled with a stew he had prepared two days before. It was still edible, but he had tired of the same fare. He judged that he had maybe an hour in which to hunt or hurry to the shore and fish.

Sundown was a good time for either activity. The island had a large pond a short distance away from the hut where game would gather to drink at sunrise and sunset, and the fish beyond the breakers seemed to be more active at sundown.

He wrestled with the choice for just a moment, then decided that fishing was more to his liking. The stalking of game required too much concentration and right now he was in the mood to stand upon the sand, with the wind in his face and his eyes focused on something farther away than the end of his arms.

Talon grabbed his pole and creel and headed out of the door.

The sun had set by the time Talon started back up the hill. In a few short minutes he had managed to catch two large jack smelts, more than enough for his supper. He would cook them over the wood fire in the hearth, upon a metal grill, and add some spices Magnus kept in a small chest. He wished he had some rice to cook with it, and realized how much luxury he had been exposed to by Leo in the kitchen at Kendrick’s. His mother often prepared fish, and served it with whatever roots or berries the women had gathered. Sometimes a corncake, hand-rolled and cooked by the fire, made with honey, berries or nuts, would be served along with the game. But Talon now appreciated food far more than his mother would ever have imagined. It was amusing to think he was probably the best cook in the history of his people.

As he rounded a small bend in the trail near the summit of the bluff, he stopped. The sky was still light with the just-set sun, but darkness was quickly descending. He sensed something.

He listened. The woods near the hut were silent. There should have been noises, the scurrying of the day animals seeking out their lairs as the night predators made their presence known. Night birds should have been flitting about, seeking insects.

Instead, there was a stillness that could only mean one thing: men were nearby.

For an instant Talon wondered if Magnus had returned, but somehow he knew this wasn’t the case. It just felt wrong.

Talon suspected there might be others on this island, people living south of the ridge whom Magnus didn’t want him to meet, at least not right now, but Talon didn’t think it likely they’d come calling unexpectedly. He put down the fishing rod and creel, then realized he had left his weapons in the hut.

He pulled a scaling knife out of the creel, a poor weapon, but better than nothing, and advanced slowly towards the hut, his every sense extended. He listened, he looked, he sniffed the air.

There seemed to be a presence near the hut, something unfamiliar, outside his experience. He had thought it might be someone at or in the hut, but now he considered it to be some thing.

A figure stepped out of the door, almost too quickly for his eye to have caught the motion, but in that instant he recognized a human-like form, but one devoid of features. Detailless black from head to toe it was a silhouette that flickered past his consciousness into the darkness of night.

He halted, keeping his breath as shallow as possible, using every sense to determine where the creature had gone. A slight shift in the air behind him alerted him to someone moving rapidly and silently at his back, and he dropped to his knees. Without hesitation, he struck backwards with the scaling knife, a slash that would have taken any man somewhere between knee and groin.

An inhuman warbling cry erupted through the night as the blade struck something, and Talon was knocked over by a tremendous blow to the right shoulder, as if a large body had fallen into him.

Talon used the momentum of his fall to tuck and roll back up to his feet, and as a gust of air went past him, he knew he had somehow dodged a blow from another unseen assailant. By instinct alone, he sensed that two attackers were behind him, and he leapt forward, towards the hut. If he had any hope of surviving this attack, he had to reach his sword.

The hair on the back of his neck rose up as he neared the door of the hut, and without looking back he dived through the door, landing hard upon the floor as something invisible cut through the air where his chest should have been.

He slid on his stomach under the table and turned, coming up quickly with his sword. He cast aside the scabbard and kicked the table towards the door, to slow whoever might be coming through.

The table struck something just inside the door and Talon saw the darkness in the doorway move. A figure appeared framed in the door, one he could see only because of what it blocked out behind, for light from the early evening sky still illuminated the branches and leaves, but the silhouetted form blotted out all detail.

Then the thing was in the hut. Talon saw only a man-shape of featureless black as if light was not reflected off its surface. He knew there was another, still outside, so he retreated to the hearth and impulsively grabbed a burning brand from out of the fire, holding it aloft in his left hand.

The creature’s hand lashed towards him and Talon ducked to his right. Pain erupted across his left shoulder. The creature’s hand retracted and for a brief instant Talon thought he saw a faint movement in the air, as if a lash was being drawn back. Talon didn’t have to look to know he had been cut by some invisible weapon. He could feel burning on his shoulder and feel dampness spreading as blood seeped from the wound.

There came a flicker near the door and Talon knew that another of his unseen assassins had entered the room. Another flicker out of the corner of his eye warned him and he fell to the right. More pain shot down his arm, but he knew that had he not moved, it would have been his throat bleeding instead of his arm.

He fell hard against the wing-arm holding the kettle as he hit the floor, rolling away from where he assumed the assassin to be. The kettle swung back hard into the fireplace and overturned, dumping the remaining stew upon the blazing fire, and the room erupted in steam and soot.

Suddenly Talon could see a leg before him, outlined in the air. Without hesitation, he lashed out with his sword at the creature’s leg, and the same warble of pain he had heard outside was repeated inside, at greater volume.

The hut filled with smoke and now Talon could see three figures clearly outlined. They were man-shaped, and they seemed unarmed, yet he knew that to be a false impression. Talon scooted back against the wall.

The others seemed to be casting about, as if unable to see him. Talon gripped his sword, ignoring the fire in his left shoulder, and pushed himself upright, his back against the wall. He was partially hidden by a floor-to-ceiling shelf that Magnus had made him install in which to house the books he studied.

The two creatures who had come in through the door stepped forward, one blocking the door, the other coming towards him. The one nearest the door was limping visibly, and Talon knew instinctively that was the one he had cut with the scaling knife.

Now that he had his sword, Talon felt too confined to fight. He needed to be outside, but only just outside, blocking the door so the creatures could come at him only one at a time. The figure nearest him reached back, as if about to attack with its flail again, and he leapt out, striking with his sword, seeking to drive the thing back. He jumped the fallen table, lowering his uninjured shoulder and slamming into the midsection of the one waiting before the door.

Pain exploded along his back and ran down his left hip. He gasped in agony. The creature to his left had managed to get in a strike, and Talon felt his knees go weak.

As he fell to the ground, he lashed down with his sword and was rewarded with a deep, meaty bite and an inhuman shriek that ended abruptly.

Rolling away, he tried to come to his feet as something flickered through the door. There was a third assailant! He swiped backhanded with his sword in the general direction of the door, and had made it almost to an upright position when pain seared down his left cheek, shoulder and chest.

Shortness of breath, a soaking tunic, and shaking knees meant he was losing too much blood, too fast. His heart pounded and Talon knew that unless he somehow killed the remaining two creatures he was doomed.

There was another flicker at the door and Talon knew that both of them were now outside with him. He blinked and turned his head this way and that, trying to see something of their dark shapes in the night, but to all intents and purposes, they were invisible.

He had a sense of motion to his right and so fell to his left. He had meant to catch himself and come upright, but his left leg failed to obey him, and he crashed to the ground. A searing pain ripped down his right leg. He lost his grip on his sword; and as much as his mind willed his body to roll away, to put distance between himself and the two creatures, he could not force it to do so.

There was another searing line of fire across his right shoulder and Talon screamed out. He was about to die.

His people would go unavenged, and he would never know who his murderers were or why he had been chosen to die.

His final thoughts were of dark despair and deep regret as a blinding white light exploded around him, and he fell into oblivion.

Talon was adrift in a sea of pain. Fire burned his skin and he was bathed in torment. Yet he couldn’t move. Voices and images came and went, a few familiar, most alien.

‘… too much blood. I don’t know …’

Blackness folded over him and then more pain.

‘… survived is beyond my understanding …’

A strange sound rang in his ear for what seemed to be the longest time, then suddenly it resolved itself into music. Someone nearby was playing a flute.

Then more darkness.

Time passed in fits and starts, vaguely remembered images, sounds, smells, and textures. A woman’s face appeared before him repeatedly. Her features were lovely, but her expression was stern, even harsh. She spoke to others nearby, but often he couldn’t hear or understand the words.

Fever dreams gripped him in which creatures of nightmare appeared. A blue being with silver horns hovered over him for a time, speaking in a language of hoots and whistles. Other faces came and went, some clearly human, others with subtle differences, an ear too long, an eyebrow of feathers, or a nose with a small thorn at the end.

Other dreams came, dreams of his childhood at the village of Kulaam. He saw the face of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, her honey-coloured eyes looking down on him with sadness. He saw his grandfather, Laughter in his Eyes, living up to his name, smiling at him with amusement. He saw his mother and sister, and the other women going about their chores.

He saw himself coming down the mountain, exhausted yet running as fast as he had ever run.

He saw smoke, and death, and fire. And he saw a man on a black horse.

‘Raven!’ he shouted as he sat up.

A woman gripped his shoulders and said, ‘Calmly. Relax. You’re going to be fine.’

Talon realized that he was drenched with perspiration. He felt light-headed. His bandaged body shook with a sudden chill as bumps rose on his arms. He looked around the room.

The room he was in was white with several finely made pieces of furniture, and through a large window he could see a blue sky, a warm day. A scented breeze blew through the window and he could hear voices in the distance.

‘Where am I?’

The woman stood up. ‘You’re among friends. I will get Magnus.’

Talon fell back against a trio of heavy pillows stuffed with soft down. He rested naked between sheets of fine white cloth, unlike anything he had seen before. The sheets were drenched, and he knew he had just broken a fever. Bandages covered his shoulder, back, his ribs on the left side, both thighs, and his right calf.

A few minutes later, Magnus appeared with the woman a step behind him. ‘How are you feeling?’ asked the white-haired magician.

Lying back on the pillows, Talon said, ‘I couldn’t fight a kitten.’

Magnus sat on the side of the bed and put his hand on Talon’s forehead. ‘Fever’s gone.’ He put his thumb on the top of Talon’s left eyelid and lifted it slightly. ‘So is the jaundice.’

‘What happened?’ Talon asked.

Magnus said, ‘It’s a long tale. The short version is that someone sent three death-dancers to kill me. They found you instead.’

‘Death-dancers?’

‘I’ll explain it all, at length, but for now you need to rest. Are you hungry?’

Talon nodded. ‘I could eat.’

The woman said, ‘I’ll get some broth,’ and left the room.

‘How long have I been like this?’ asked Talon.

‘Ten days.’

‘I’ve been here ten days?’

Magnus nodded. ‘You almost died, Talon. Had you been just about anywhere other than this island, you almost certainly would have done. Perhaps a powerful temple priest might have saved you, but few apart from those living here would have possessed the skills to keep you alive.

‘The death-dancer’s touch is poison, so even if the kill isn’t clean, the victim rarely survives.’

‘How did I get here?’

‘When the death-dancers set foot upon the shore, some of us knew instantly something was amiss. We hurried back to the hut once it was clear no attack was mounted here. The death-dancers expected to find a magician, alone in the hut, and instead they found a swordsman.

‘Had they been hunting you, you would have died without knowing who struck you down. But they were prepared for magical resistance rather than cold steel and that bought you enough time for us to rescue you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Talon. ‘Who is “us”?’

‘Myself, and others,’ said Magnus. He stood up as the woman returned with a large bowl of broth and a slice of bread on a tray.

Talon elbowed himself up so that he could eat, but the exertion made his head swim. The woman sat down next to him and picked up the spoon and rather than object, he allowed her to feed him. She was a beautiful woman, possibly in her middle thirties, with dark hair, striking blue eyes and a firm set to her mouth that made her appear stern.

He glanced from her face to Magnus’s and between spoonfuls of steaming broth, said, ‘I can see a resemblance. You never said you had a sister.’

The woman smiled and Magnus did as well, and the resemblance became even more pronounced. The woman said, ‘You flatter me.’

‘Talon, meet Miranda, my mother.’

Talon swallowed and said, ‘I find that difficult to believe.’ If anything, she looked younger than her son.

‘Believe it,’ said Miranda. ‘This is a very remarkable place.’

Talon said nothing and continued to eat. When he was finished, Miranda set aside the bowl. At once he started, ‘What—’

‘Not now,’ she interrupted. ‘You will have time to ask questions, later, but for now you must rest.’

Talon’s curiosity was overwhelmed by his fatigue, and even before she had left the room, his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and rhythmic.

Two days after he had regained consciousness, Talon was allowed to get up and walk about. Magnus lent him a staff, which Talon leaned on, since both his legs were weak and sore from his injuries, and he hobbled along next to the magician, who said: ‘Welcome to Villa Beata.’

‘That’s the name of this place?’

‘Yes, it means “Beautiful home” in an ancient tongue.’

They were in a large courtyard, surrounded by a low wall. The buildings around them were all white plastered, with red tile roofs.

‘I’ve never imagined a place like this.’

‘Those who built it were less worried about defending this place than they were about comfort. There are many stories about how it came to be.’

‘Do you know the truth?’

Magnus smiled. ‘I don’t. My father claimed to have heard the truth on the subject, but the man who told him the story was known to make inventions when it suited him, so we may never know how this place came to exist.’

‘Is this your home?’

‘This is where I grew up, yes,’ said Magnus.

Talon looked around and his eyes grew wide as he saw a creature with blue skin and silver horns carrying a large basket of wet laundry around the corner and into a building. ‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘That was Regar, a C’ahlozian. You will find many people here who look nothing like you or me, Talon. Just remember they are still people. You would be as out of place in his homeland as you think him to be here.’

Talon said, ‘Before I met you, Magnus, I would have thought him a thing of campfire tales, and when I saw him during my illness, I thought him part of a fever dream. Now, I begin to think little can surprise me.’

‘Oh, just wait a bit, my young friend. There are surprises aplenty waiting for you. But for now, just enjoy the warm afternoon and walk around these grounds for a while. You need to rebuild your strength.’

As they walked slowly around the compound, Talon caught a glimpse of people scurrying here and there upon errands, most looking very normal, but one or two decidedly not. The walk caused him some shortness of breath, so he saved his questions for later, but he did manage to pause long enough to ask, ‘Magnus, who was trying to kill you?’

‘That, my young friend,’ replied the magician, ‘is a very long story.’

Talon smiled; it hurt too much to laugh. ‘I don’t seem to be going anywhere for a long while.’

From behind him, a voice said, ‘A sense of humour. That’s good.’

Talon turned and saw a small, frail looking man standing behind them. He was bald-headed and wore a simple tunic that closed over his left shoulder, leaving the right bare. Upon his feet were cross-gartered sandals, and he held a staff in his left hand. Across his shoulder hung a bag, and his face appeared ancient, yet possessed an almost childlike quality. Dark eyes studied Talon, eyes with a strange, almond-shaped cast to them.

Magnus said, ‘Talon, this is Nakor.’ With a slight change in tone that Talon didn’t quite understand, Magnus added, ‘He’s one of my … teachers.’

Nakor nodded and said, ‘Some of the time. At other times I felt more like a cell guard. Magnus when young was quite a troublemaker.’

Talon glanced at Magnus, who frowned, but didn’t dispute the claim. Magnus appeared about to say something, but it was Nakor who spoke.

‘As for your question, young fellow, it’s quite a tale, and one that you’ll need to hear, but not right now.’

Talon looked from face to face, saw a silent exchange between the two men, and realized that somehow Nakor was telling Magnus not to speak any more on the subject of the attack.

Nakor said, ‘Magnus, I believe your father wanted to speak to you.’

Lifting an eyebrow slightly, Magnus replied, ‘No doubt.’ Turning to Talon, he said, ‘I’ll leave you to Nakor’s tender mercies and advise you not to wear yourself out. You’ve been badly injured and need rest and food more than anything.’

Nakor said, ‘I’ll see him back to his room.’

Talon bid Magnus good day and turned back towards his own quarters. His legs were trembling by the time he got back to his bed, and Nakor helped him get in.

There was something about the seemingly frail little man that intrigued Talon. He was certain there was a great deal of strength to him, and more. Yet Magnus’s former teacher had said nothing as they walked back.

‘Nakor?’

‘Yes, Talon?’

‘When will I know?’

Nakor studied the young man’s face, and saw how he fought to keep his eyes open. When fatigue finally overwhelmed Talon, and his eyes closed, Nakor answered. ‘Soon, Talon, soon.’

A week went by and Talon’s strength returned. He watched with interest as his bandages finally came off and discovered a set of scars which would have done any senior member of his clan proud. Not yet twenty years of age, he looked like a veteran of many battles, a man twice his age. For a moment he felt a profound sadness, for he realized there was no one among his people to whom he could reveal these marks of a warrior. And as his hand strayed absently to his face, he realized that even if any such survivor existed, he had no tattoos upon his face to reveal that he was of the Orosini.

Miranda removed the last bandage and noticed the gesture. ‘Thinking of something?’

‘My people,’ said Talon.

Miranda nodded. ‘Many of us come from hardship, Talon. The stories you might hear on this island alone would teach you that you are not alone.’ She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. ‘Some here are refugees, fleeing from murder and bloodshed, much as you have, and others are survivors, as you are, who have also lost everything of their homes.’

‘What is this place, Miranda? Magnus avoids my questions, and Nakor always turns the conversation to something …’

‘Frivolous?’

Talon smiled. ‘He can be funny at times.’

‘Don’t let that grin fool you, boy,’ Miranda said as she patted his hand. ‘He may be the most dangerous man I’ve met.’

‘Nakor?’

‘Nakor,’ she echoed, standing up. ‘Now, wait here and rest a bit longer, and someone will be along shortly.’

‘For what?’ he asked, feeling very restless and wanting to get out of the room.

‘To take you somewhere.’

‘Where?’

As she left his quarters, she said, ‘You’ll see.’

Talon lay back upon his bed. His body was stiff and aching, and he felt the need to be out doing something, if only for a little while, to stretch his muscles and force air deep into his lungs. He wanted to run, or climb, or stalk a deer in the woods. Even fishing would be welcome, for the hike down to the beach and back would work up a sweat.

Talon closed his eyes and drifted off into his memories – of the men sitting around telling stories before a bright fire in the long house. He thought of the cleansing rituals, for which special buildings were constructed as the snows receded from the slopes of the mountains, where billowing steam from heated rocks would engulf the gathered groups of ten or more men and women, boys and girls who would chant a welcome to the spring and then remove the winter’s accumulated dirt and grime.

He thought of his father and mother and sadness rose up in him. The harsh bitterness he had felt for the first year after the destruction of his people had been replaced by a quiet wistfulness, a resignation to the fact that he was the last of the Orosini and that to him fell the burden of revenge, but beyond that point, his future was unknown to him.

He was drifting, half in a doze, when suddenly he felt someone enter the room.

His eyes snapped open and his heart raced, then he looked up into the face of a young woman he had never seen before. Her face was dominated by the most startling blue eyes he had ever seen, large and the colour of cornflowers. Her face was delicate, with a fine chin, full mouth, and almost perfectly straight nose. Her hair was the colour of pale honey, with lighter streaks from the sun. She wore a simple blue dress, with bare arms and a scooped neckline, one he had seen many of the women at this place wearing, but on her it looked magnificent, for she had a tall, slender body and moved like a hunter.

‘You are Talon?’

‘Yes,’ he said, having to force that single word through his teeth, for she took his breath away.

‘Follow me,’ she said.

He rose and followed her as she left the room. Outside, he managed to catch up enough to walk next to her and asked, ‘What is your name?’

She turned and regarded him with a serious expression, dipping her chin slightly as if to see him better. Then she smiled and suddenly her face seemed alight. She spoke in soft tones, her voice almost musical, as she answered, ‘I am Alysandra.’

He could not think of anything to say. She robbed him of words. Any memory he had of Lela or Meggie vanished before the beauty of this young woman and suddenly an ache sprung up in his stomach.

They crossed a large courtyard and moved towards part of the main house that Talon had never visited before.

All too quickly, she turned and said, ‘In there,’ pointing to a doorway. Then, without waiting, she departed, leaving him standing open-mouthed as he watched her retreat across the courtyard, everything about her tightening the knot in his stomach. He watched for what seemed only an instant and then she vanished through a doorway and he was left alone before the door.

After a moment he gathered himself and regarded the door. It was a simple thing of wood with a single handle. He gripped the handle and entered.

Three men stood in an empty room. Two of them Talon recognized: Nakor and Robert.

‘Master!’ Talon said in surprise.

Robert nodded and said, ‘Stand there, Talon.’ He pointed to a spot in the middle of the room.

The third man was short, with a beard and dark hair, and he regarded the young man with a gaze that caused Talon some discomfort. There was no mistaking that this man had power. His bearing alone showed that, but there was more to it than that. In the time spent with Magnus and Robert before him, Talon had come to sense something of the magic arts in a man, and this man fairly reeked of them.

He spoke. ‘My name is Pug. I am also called the Black Sorcerer.’

Talon nodded, saying nothing.

Pug continued. ‘This is my island and all who dwell upon it are my friends and students.’

Robert said, ‘Pug was my teacher, as was Nakor, Talon.’

Talon remained silent.

Nakor said, ‘The attack of the death-dancers has changed things, boy. We had been evaluating your progress and were waiting to judge you.’

Talon again remained silent, but his eyes spoke questions.

Robert went on, ‘You were being judged to see if you were going to stay in my service, until such time as I discharged you from your blood debt, Talon; or to see if you were perhaps gifted enough that you might be invited to join this company, here upon the island.’

Finally Talon asked, ‘What company, Master?’

The three men exchanged glances, and Robert said, ‘We are called the Conclave of Shadows, Talon. Who we are you shall learn in time, if you are accepted into our ranks. What we do will also be made clear to you.’

‘But before you can be told these and many other things,’ said Pug, ‘you must choose to join us. Your debt to Robert will be considered discharged, and you will be a free man, free to do as your conscience bids you – though you will also have obligations to the Conclave.

‘But with those obligations come benefits. We have wealth, enough to provide you with whatever you need for the rest of your life. We have powerful allies, so that you may move easily among nobles and men of power should there be a need.’

Nakor continued, ‘But we also have powerful enemies. The death-dancers represented a single attempt among many to remove one of our more important members. Had they succeeded in killing Magnus, our cause would have suffered for years to come.’

‘What am I being asked to do?’

Robert said, ‘You are being asked to swear an oath of loyalty, not to me, but to the Conclave, Talon. You will leave this room as a member of our society, and with that oath will come benefits and responsibilities we have as yet only hinted at.’

Talon said, ‘It sounds as if I am being given a choice in the matter.’

Nakor said, ‘You are.’

‘What is my other option?’

Pug glanced at Robert and Nakor, then replied, ‘Death.’