Читать книгу Silverthorn - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 13

ARUTHA ATTACKED FURIOUSLY.

Laurie exhorted Gardan to better efforts as the Prince forced his duelling companion into a retreat. The singer had willingly surrendered the honour of the first bout to Gardan, for he had been Arutha’s partner every morning upon the journey from Salador to Krondor. While the practice had sharpened sword skills grown rusty in the King’s palace, he had tired of always losing to the lightning-quick Prince. At least this morning he would have someone with whom to share his defeat. Still, the old campaigner wasn’t without a trick or two and suddenly Gardan had Arutha backing up. Laurie whooped when he realized the captain had been lulling the Prince into a false sense of control. But after a furious exchange the Prince was again on the offensive, and Gardan was crying, ‘Hold!’

The chuckling Gardan backed away. ‘In all my years there have been only three men who could best me with the blade, Highness: Swordmaster Fannon, your father, and now yourself.’

Laurie said, ‘A worthy trio.’ Arutha was about to offer a bout to Laurie when something caught his eye.

A large tree was situated in the corner of the palace exercise yard, where it overhung a wall separating the palace grounds from an alley and the city beyond. Something was moving along the branches of the tree. Arutha pointed. One of the palace guardsmen was already moving towards the tree, his attention drawn there by the Prince’s stare.

Suddenly someone dropped from the branches, landing lightly on his feet. Arutha, Laurie, and Gardan all stood with swords held ready. The guardsman took the youth, as they now clearly saw him to be, by the arm and led him towards the Prince.

As they approached, a flicker of recognition crossed Arutha’s face. ‘Jimmy?’

Jimmy executed a bow, wincing slightly at the pain in his side, poorly bandaged by himself that morning. Gardan said, ‘Highness, you know this lad?’

With a nod, Arutha said, ‘Yes. He may be a little older and a bit taller, but I know this young rogue. He’s Jimmy the Hand, already a legend among brigands and cutpurses in the city. This is the boy thief who helped Anita and me flee the city.’

Laurie studied the boy, then laughed. ‘I never saw him clearly, for the warehouse was dark when Kasumi and I were taken from Krondor by the Mockers, but by my teeth, it’s the same lad. “There’s a party at Mother’s.” ’

Jimmy grinned. ‘ “And a good time will be had by all.” ’

Arutha said, ‘So you know each other as well?’

‘I told you once that when Kasumi and I were carrying the peace message from the Tsurani Emperor to King Rodric, there was a boy who had guided us from the warehouse to the city gate and led away the guards while we escaped Krondor. This was that boy, and I never could remember his name.’

Arutha put up his sword, as did the others. ‘Well then, Jimmy, while I am glad to see you again, there is this matter of climbing walls into my palace.’

Jimmy shrugged. ‘I thought it possible you’d be willing to see an old acquaintance, Highness, but I doubted I could convince the captain’s guards to send word.’

Gardan smiled at the brash answer and signalled the guard to release his hold upon the boy’s arm. ‘Probably you’re right, Jack-a-rags.’

Jimmy suddenly became aware he looked a poor sight to these men, used to the well-dressed and -groomed inhabitants of the palace. From his raggedly cut hair down to his dirty bare feet he looked every inch the beggar boy. Then Jimmy saw the humour in Gardan’s eyes.

‘Don’t let his appearance mislead you, Gardan. He’s far more capable than his years indicate.’ To Jimmy, Arutha said, ‘You throw some discredit upon Gardan’s guards by entering in this fashion. I expect you’ve reason to seek me out?’

‘Yes, Highness. Business most serious and urgent.’

Arutha nodded. ‘Well then, what is this most serious and urgent business?’

‘Someone has placed a price on your head.’

Gardan’s face registered shock. Laurie said, ‘What – how?’

‘What leads you to think so?’ asked Arutha.

‘Because someone has already tried to collect.’

Besides Arutha, Laurie, and Gardan, two others listened to the boy’s story in the Prince’s council chambers. Earl Volney of Landreth had formerly been the assistant to the Principate Chancellor, Lord Dulanic, the Duke of Krondor who disappeared during the viceroyalty of Guy du Bas-Tyra. At Volney’s side sat Father Nathan, a priest of Sung the White, Goddess of the One Path, once one of Prince Erland’s chief advisers and there at Gardan’s request. Arutha did not know these two men, but during the months of his absence Gardan had come to trust their judgement, and that opinion counted for much with Arutha. Gardan had been virtually acting Knight-Marshal of Krondor, just as Volney had been acting Chancellor, while Arutha had been gone.

Both men were stocky, but while Volney seemed one who had never known labour, simply a man always stout, Nathan looked like a wrestler now going to fat. Under that soft appearance strength still waited. Neither spoke until Jimmy had finished recounting his two fights of the night before.

Volney studied the boy thief for a moment, looking at him from under carefully combed, bushy eyebrows. ‘Utterly fantastic. I simply don’t wish to believe such a plot can exist.’

Arutha had sat with his hands forming a tent before his face, the fingers restlessly flexing. ‘I’d not be the first prince targeted for an assassin’s blade, Earl Volney.’ He said to Gardan, ‘Double the guard at once, but quietly, with no explanation given. I do not want rumours flying about the palace. Within two weeks we’ll have every noble in the Kingdom worth mention in these halls, as well as my brother.’

Volney said, ‘Perhaps you should warn His Majesty?’

‘No,’ said Arutha flatly. ‘Lyam will be travelling with a full company of his Royal Household Guard. Have a detachment of Krondorian Lancers meet them at Malac’s Cross, but no word that it is other than a formal honour company. If a hundred soldiers can’t protect him while he rides, he can’t be protected.

‘No, our problem lies here in Krondor. We have no choice in our options.’

‘I’m not sure I follow, Highness,’ said Father Nathan.

Laurie threw his eyes heavenward while Jimmy grinned. Arutha smiled grimly. ‘I think our two streetwise companions have a clear understanding of what must be done.’ Turning to face Jimmy and Laurie, Arutha said, ‘We must catch a Nighthawk.’

Arutha sat quietly while Volney paced the dining hall. Laurie, who had seen years enough of hunger to take food when it was available, ate while the stout Earl of Landreth stalked the hall. After watching Volney make another circuit before the table, Arutha, in weary tones, said, ‘My lord Earl, must you pace so?’

The Earl, who was caught up in his own thoughts, stopped abruptly. He bowed towards Arutha slightly, but his expression was one of irritation. ‘Highness, I’m sorry to have disturbed you’ – his tone showed he wasn’t in the least bit sorry, and Laurie smiled behind a joint of beef – ‘but to trust that thief is sheer idiocy.’

Arutha’s eyes widened and he looked at Laurie, who returned his amazed expression. Laurie said, ‘My dear Earl, you should cease being so circumspect. Come, just speak your mind to the Prince. Be direct, man!’

Volney flushed as he realized his gaffe. ‘I beg your pardon, I …’ He seemed genuinely embarrassed.

Arutha smiled his crooked half-smile. ‘Pardon granted, Volney, but only for the rudeness.’ He studied Volney for a quiet moment, then added, ‘I find the candour rather refreshing. Say on.’

‘Highness,’ Volney said firmly, ‘for all we know, this boy is but a part of some confidence game designed to capture you, or to destroy you, as he claims others intend.’

‘And what would you have me do?’

Volney paused and shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know, Highness, but sending the boy alone to gather intelligence is … I don’t know.’

Arutha said, ‘Laurie, tell my friend and counsellor the Earl that all is well.’

Gulping down a mouthful of fine wine, Laurie said, ‘All is well, Earl.’ When Arutha threw the minstrel a black look, Laurie added, ‘In truth, sir, all possible is being done. I know the ways of the city as well as any man can who is not one of the Upright Man’s own. Jimmy’s a Mocker. He may discover a lead to the Nighthawks where a dozen spies will find none.’

‘Remember,’ said Arutha, ‘I met Guy’s captain of secret police, Jocko Radburn, and he was a cunning, ruthless man who stopped at nothing to try to recapture Anita. The Mockers proved his match.’

Volney seemed to sag a little, then indicated he required the Prince’s permission to sit. Arutha waved him to a chair, and as he sat he said, ‘Perhaps you are right, singer. It is just that I have no means to answer this threat. The thought of assassins running loose gives me little ease.’

Arutha leaned across the table. ‘Less than myself? Remember, Volney, it appeared I was the intended target.’

Laurie nodded. ‘It couldn’t have been me they were after.’

‘Perhaps a music lover?’ countered Arutha dryly.

Volney sighed. ‘I am sorry if I am acting poorly in all this. I have wished upon more than one occasion to be done with this business of administering the Principality.’

‘Nonsense, Volney,’ said Arutha. ‘You’ve done a capital job here. When Lyam insisted I make the eastern tour with him, I objected on the grounds that the Western Realm would suffer under any hand but my own – which was because of the effects of Bas-Tyra’s rule and no comment upon your abilities. But I am pleased to see this was not the case. I doubt that any could have done better in running the daily affairs of the realm than you have, Earl.’

‘I thank His Highness,’ said Volney, somewhat less agitated for the compliment.

‘In fact, I was going to ask you to stay on. With Dulanic mysteriously gone, we’ve no Duke of Krondor to act on behalf of the city. Lyam cannot announce the office vacant – without dishonouring Dulanic’s memory by stripping him of the title – for another two years, but we can all assume he is dead at Guy’s or Radburn’s hands. So for the time being, I think we’ll plan on your acting the part of Chancellor.’

Volney seemed less than pleased with this news, but took the pronouncement with good grace. He simply said, ‘I thank His Highness for the trust.’

Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Gardan, Father Nathan and Jimmy. Nathan’s bull neck bulged as he half carried Jimmy to a chair. The boy’s face was drained of colour and he was sweating. Ignoring formality, Arutha pointed to a chair and the priest deposited Jimmy there.

‘What is this?’ asked Arutha.

Gardan half smiled, half looked disapproving. ‘This young bravo has been running around since last night with a nasty cut in his side. He bandaged it himself and botched the job.’

‘It had begun to fester,’ added Nathan, ‘so I was forced to clean and dress it. I insisted on treating it before we came to see you, as the boy was turning feverish. It takes no magic to keep a wound from putrefaction, but every street boy thinks he is a chirurgeon. So the wound sours.’ He looked down at Jimmy. ‘He’s a little pale from the lancing, but he’ll be fine in a few hours – as long as he doesn’t reopen the wound,’ he added pointedly to Jimmy.

Jimmy looked abashed. ‘Sorry to put you to the trouble, father, but under other circumstances, I would have had the wound tended.’

Arutha looked at the boy thief. ‘What have you discovered?’

‘This business of catching assassins may be even more difficult than we thought, Highness. There is a way to make contact, but it is varied and roundabout.’ Arutha nodded for him to continue. ‘I had to cadge a lot with the street people, but here is what I have gleaned. Should you wish to employ the services of the Guild of Death, you must take yourself away to the Temple of Lims-Kragma.’ Nathan made a sign of protection at mention of the Death Goddess. ‘A devotion is said and a votive offering placed in the urn marked for such, but with the gold sewn into a parchment, giving your name. You will be contacted at their convenience within one day’s time. You name the victim; they name the price. You pay or you don’t. If you do, they tell you when and where to drop the gold. If you don’t, they vanish and you can’t reach them again.’

‘Simple,’ said Laurie. ‘They dictate when and where, so laying a trap will not be easy.’

‘Impossible, I should think,’ said Gardan.

‘Nothing is impossible,’ said Arutha, his expression showing he was deep in thought.

After a long moment Laurie said, ‘I have it!’

Arutha and the others looked at the singer. ‘Jimmy, you said they will contact whoever leaves the gold within the day.’ Jimmy nodded. ‘Then what we need to do is have whoever leaves the gold stay in one place. A place we control.’

Arutha said, ‘A simple enough idea, once it’s thought of, Laurie. But where?’

Jimmy said, ‘There are a few places we might take over for a time, Highness, but those who own them are unreliable.’

‘I know a place,’ said Laurie, ‘if friend Jimmy the Hand is willing to say devotions, so the Nighthawks will be less likely to think it a trap.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Jimmy. ‘Things are funny in Krondor. If I’m under suspicion, we might never get another opportunity.’ He reminded them of Jack’s attack, and of his unknown companion with the crossbow. ‘It may have been a grudge thing; I’ve known men to get crazy over something even more trivial than a nickname, but if it wasn’t … If Jack was somehow involved with that assassin …’

‘Then,’ said Laurie, ‘the Nighthawks have turned an officer of the Mockers to their cause.’

Jimmy looked upset, as he suddenly dropped his mask of bravado. ‘That thought has troubled me as much as the thought of someone sticking his Highness with a crossbow bolt. I’ve been neglecting my oath to the Mockers. I should have told all last night, and certainly I must now.’ He seemed ready to rise.

Volney placed a firm hand upon Jimmy’s shoulder. ‘Presumptuous boy! Are you saying some league of cut-throats merits even a moment’s consideration in light of the danger to your Prince and possibly your King?’

Jimmy seemed on the verge of a retort when Arutha said, ‘I think that’s exactly what the boy said, Volney. He has given oath.’

Laurie quickly stepped over to where the boy sat. Moving Volney to one side, he leaned down so his face was level with Jimmy’s. ‘You have your concerns, we know, lad, but things seem to be moving rapidly. If the Mockers have been infiltrated, then speaking too soon could make those who have been placed there cover tracks. If we can get one of these Nighthawks …’ He left the thought unfinished.

Jimmy nodded. ‘If the Upright Man will only follow your logic, I may survive, singer. I come close to past the time when I may cover my actions with a facile story. Soon I will be at an accounting. Very well, I’ll take a note to the Drawer of Nets’ temple. And I will play no mummery when I ask her to make a place for me should it be my time.’

‘And,’ said Laurie, ‘I must be off to see an old friend about the loan of an inn.’

‘Good,’ said Arutha. ‘We will spring the snare tomorrow.’

While Volney, Nathan, and Gardan watched, Laurie and Jimmy departed, deep in conversation as they made plans. Arutha followed their departure as well, his dark eyes masking the quietly burning rage he felt. After so many years of strife during the Riftwar he had returned to Krondor hoping for a long, peaceful life with Anita. Now someone dared to threaten that peaceful life. And that someone would pay dearly.

The Rainbow Parrot Inn was quiet. The storm windows had been closed against a sudden squall off the Bitter Sea, so the taproom lay blanketed in haze, blue smoke from the fireplace and a dozen patron’s pipes. To any casual observer the inn looked much as it would have on other rainy nights. The owner, Lucas, and his two sons stood behind the long bar, one of them occasionally moving through the door to the kitchen to get meals and carry them to the tables. In the corner near the fireplace, opposite the stairs to the second floor, a blond minstrel sang softly of a sailor who is far from home.

Close inspection would have revealed that the men at the tables barely touched their ale. While rough in appearance, they didn’t have the air of workers from the docks and sailors fresh in from sea voyages. They all possessed a certain hard-eyed look, and their scars were earned in past battles rather than tavern brawls. All were members of Gardan’s company of Household Guard, some of the most seasoned veterans of the Armies of the West during the Riftwar. In the kitchen five new cooks and apprentices worked. Upstairs, in the room closest to the head of the stairway, Arutha, Gardan, and five soldiers waited patiently. In total, Arutha had placed twenty-four men in the inn. Arutha’s men were the only ones present, as the last local had left when the storm commenced.

In the corner farthest from the door, Jimmy the Hand waited. Something had troubled him all day, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. But he knew one thing: if he himself had entered this room this night, his experience-bred caution would have warned him away. He hoped the Nighthawks’ agent wasn’t as perceptive. Something here just wasn’t right.

Jimmy sat back and absently nibbled at the cheese, pondering what was askew. It was an hour after sundown, and still no sign of anyone who might be from the Nighthawks. Jimmy had come straight from the temple, making sure he had been seen by several beggars who knew him well. If any in Krondor wished to find him, word of his whereabouts could be purchased easily and cheaply.

The front door opened and two men came in from the rain, shaking water from their cloaks. Both appeared to be fighting men, perhaps bravos who had earned a fair purse of silver protecting some merchant’s caravans. They wore similar attire: leather armour, calf-length boots, broadswords at their sides, and shields slung over their backs under the protective cloaks.

The taller fellow, with a grey streak through his dark hair, ordered ales. The other, a thin blond man, looked about the room. Something in the way his eyes narrowed alarmed Jimmy: he also sensed something different in the inn. He spoke softly to his companion. The man with the grey lock nodded, then took the ales presented by the barman. Paying with coppers, the two men moved to the only available table, the one next to Jimmy’s.

The man with the grey lock turned towards Jimmy and said, ‘Lad, is this inn always so sombre?’ Jimmy then realized what the problem had been all day. In their waiting, the guards had fallen into the soldier’s habit of speaking softly. The room was free of the usual common-room din.

Jimmy held his forefinger before his lips and whispered, ‘It is the singer.’ The man turned his head and listened to Laurie for a moment. Laurie was a gifted performer and was in good voice despite his long day’s work. When he finished, Jimmy banged his ale jack hard upon the table and shouted, ‘Ha! Minstrel, more, more!’ as he tossed a silver coin towards the dais upon which Laurie sat. His outburst was followed a moment later by similar shouting and cheering as the others realized the need of some display. Several other coins were tossed. When Laurie struck up another tune, lively and bawdy, a sound not unlike the normal buzz of conversation returned to the taproom.

The two strangers settled back into their chairs and listened, occasionally speaking to each other. They visibly relaxed as the mood in the room shifted to resemble what they had expected. Jimmy sat for a while, watching the two men at the next table. Something about these two was out of place, something that nagged at him as had the false note in the common room only moments before.

The door opened again and another man entered. He looked around the room as he shook water from his hooded great cloak, but he didn’t remove the voluminous covering or lower the cowl. He spied Jimmy and crossed to his table. Without waiting for invitation, he pulled out a chair and sat. In hushed tones he said, ‘Have you a name?’

Jimmy nodded and leaned forward as if to speak. As he did so, four facts suddenly struck him. The men at the next table, despite their casual appearance, had swords and shields close at hand, needing only an instant to bring them to the ready. They didn’t drink like mercenaries fresh into town after a long caravan; in fact, their drinks were nearly untouched. The man opposite Jimmy had one hand hidden under his cloak, as he had since entering. But most revealing of all, all three men wore large black rings on their left hands, with a hawk device carved in them, one similar to the talisman taken from Laughing Jack’s companion. Jimmy’s mind worked furiously, for he had seen such rings before and understood their use.

Improvising, Jimmy pulled a parchment out of his boot. He placed it on the table, to the far right of the man, making him stretch awkwardly across himself to reach for it while he kept his right hand hidden. As the man’s hand touched the parchment, Jimmy pulled his dirk out and struck, pinning the man’s hand to the table. The man froze at the sudden attack, then his other hand came from within his cloak, holding a dagger. He slashed at Jimmy as the boy thief fell backwards. Then pain struck the man and he howled in agony. Jimmy, tumbling over his chair, shouted, ‘Nighthawks!’ as he struck the floor.

The room exploded with activity. Lucas’s sons, both veterans of the Armies of the West, came leaping over the bar, landing on the swordsmen at the table next to Jimmy as they attempted to rise. Jimmy found himself hanging backwards atop the overturned chair and awkwardly tried to pull himself upright. From his position he could see the barmen grappling with the grey-lock man. The other false mercenary had his left hand before his face, his ring to his lips. Jimmy shouted, ‘Poison rings! They have poison rings!’

Other guards had the hooded man in their grip as he frantically tried to remove his ring from his pinned hand. After another moment he was held tightly by the three men around him, unable to move.

The grey-lock man kicked out at the barmen, rolled away, leapt up, and dashed towards the door, knocking aside two men surprised by the sudden move. For a moment a clear path to the door appeared as curses filled the room from soldiers attempting to navigate the jumble of tables and chairs. The Nighthawk was nearing the door and freedom when a slender fighter interposed himself. The assassin leapt towards the door. With near-inhuman speed Arutha stepped forward and struck the grey-locked man a blow to the head with his rapier’s hilt. The stunned man teetered for a moment, then collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Arutha stood erect and looked about the room. The blond assassin lay with eyes staring blankly upwards, obviously dead. The hooded man’s cloak was thrown back and he was white with pain as the dagger pinning his hand to the table was pulled loose. Three soldiers held him down, though he looked too weak to stand upon his own feet. When the dirk was pulled from the table, he screamed and passed out.

Jimmy stepped gingerly around the dead man and came up to Arutha. He looked down to where Gardan was removing the other black ring from the man on the floor and then the boy grinned at Arutha. Holding up his hand, he counted two on his fingers.

The Prince, still flushed from the struggle, smiled and nodded. None of his men appeared wounded and he had two assassins in tow. He said to Gardan, ‘Guard them closely and let no one who is not known to us see them when you take them into the palace. I’ll have no rumours flying around. Lucas and others may be in danger enough when these three turn up missing, should others from the Guild of Death be about. Leave enough of this company to keep up the appearance of normal business until closing, and pay Lucas double the damages, with our thanks.’ Even as he spoke, Gardan’s company was restoring the inn to order, removing the broken table and moving the others about so it would not be noticed missing. ‘Take these two to the rooms I have chosen and be quick about it. We shall begin questioning tonight.’

Guards blocked a door leading to a remote wing of the palace. The rooms were used only occasionally by guests of minor importance. The wing was a recent construction, being accessible from the main buildings of the palace by a single short hall and a single outside doorway. The outside door was bolted from within and was posted with two guards without, who had orders that absolutely no one, no matter who, was to enter or leave by that door.

Inside the wing all the outer rooms had been secured. In the centre of the largest room of the suite Arutha studied his two prisoners. Both were tied to stout wooden beds by heavy ropes. Arutha was taking no chances on their attempting suicide. Father Nathan supervised his acolytes, who tended the two assassins’ wounds.

Abruptly one of the acolytes moved away from the bedside of the man with the grey lock. He looked at Nathan, his face betraying confusion. ‘Father, come see.’

Jimmy and Laurie followed behind the priest and Arutha. Nathan stepped up behind the acolyte and all heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘Sung show us the way!’ The grey-locked man’s leather armour had been cut away, revealing a black tunic beneath embroidered with a silver fisher’s net. Nathan pulled away the other prisoner’s robe. Beneath that robe was another, of night’s black colour, also with a silver net over his heart. The prisoner’s hand had been bandaged and he had regained consciousness. He glared defiantly at the priest of Sung, naked hatred in his eyes.

Nathan motioned the Prince aside. ‘These men wear the mark of Lims-Kragma in her guise as the Drawer of Nets, she who gathers all to her in the end.’

Arutha nodded. ‘It fits in. We know the Nighthawks are contacted through the temple. Even should the hierarchy of the temple be ignorant of this business, someone within the temple must be a confederate of the Nighthawks. Come, Nathan, we must question this other one.’ They returned to the bed where the conscious man lay. Looking down upon him, Arutha said, ‘Who offers the price for my death?’

Nathan was called to attend the unconscious man. ‘Who are you?’ demanded the Prince of the other. ‘Answer now, or the pain you’ve endured will be merely a hint of what will be visited upon you.’ Arutha did not enjoy the prospect of torture, but he would not stop at any means to discover who was responsible for the attack upon him. The question and the threat were answered by silence.

After a moment Nathan returned to Arutha’s side. ‘The other is dead,’ he said softly. ‘We must treat this one cautiously. That man should not have died from your blow to the head. They may have means to command the body not to fight against death, but to welcome it. It is said even a hardy man may will himself to death, given enough time.’

Arutha noticed sweat beading upon the brow of the wounded man as Nathan examined him. With concern on his face, the priest said, ‘He is fevered, and it rises apace. I will have to tend him before there can be an accounting.’ The priest quickly fetched his potion and forced some fluid down the man’s throat as soldiers held his jaws apart. Then the priest began to intone his clerical magic. The man on the bed began to writhe frantically, his face a contorted mask of concentration. Tendons stood out on his arms, and his neck was a mass of ropy cords as he struggled against his confinement. Suddenly he let forth a hollow-sounding laugh and fell back, eyes closed.

Nathan examined the man. ‘He is unconscious, Highness.’ The priest added, ‘I have slowed the fever’s rise, but I don’t think I can halt it. Some magic agency works here. He fails before our eyes. It will take time to counter whatever magic is at work upon him … if I have the time.’ There was doubt in Nathan’s voice. ‘And if my arts are equal to the task.’

Arutha turned to Gardan. ‘Captain, take ten of your most trusted men and make straight for the Temple of Lims-Kragma. Inform the High Priestess I command her attendance at once. Bring her by force if needs be, but bring her.’

Gardan saluted, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Laurie and Jimmy knew he disliked the thought of bearding the priestess in her own halls. Still, the staunch captain turned and obeyed his Prince without comment.

Arutha returned to the stricken man, who lay in fevered torment. Nathan said, ‘Highness, the fever rises, slowly, but it rises.’

‘How long will he live?’

‘If we can do nothing, through the balance of the night, no longer.’

Arutha struck his left hand with his balled right fist in frustration. There was less than six hours before dawn. Less than six hours to discover the cause for the attack upon him. And should this man die, they would be back where they started, and worse, for his unknown enemy would not likely fall into another snare.

‘Is there anything else you can do?’ asked Laurie softly.

Nathan considered. ‘Perhaps …’ He moved away from the ill man and motioned his acolytes away from the bedside. With a gesture he indicated that one of them should bring him a large volume of priestly spells.

Nathan instructed the acolytes and they quickly did his bidding, knowing the ritual and their parts in it. A pentagram was chalked upon the floor, and many runic symbols laid within its boundary, with the bed at the centre. When they were finished, everyone who stood within the room was encompassed by the chalk marks upon the floor. A lighted candle was placed at every point of the design, and a sixth given to Nathan, who stood studying the book. Nathan began waving the light in an intricate pattern while he read aloud in a language unknown to the nonclerics in the room. His acolytes stood quietly to one side, responding in unison at several points during the incantation. The others felt a strange stilling of the air, and as the final syllables were uttered, the dying man groaned, a low and piteous sound.

Nathan snapped shut the book. ‘Nothing less powerful than an agent of the gods themselves may pass through the boundaries of the pentagram without my leave. No spirit, demon, or being sent by any dark agency can trouble us now.’

Nathan then directed everyone to stand outside the pentagram, opened the book again, and began reading another chant. Quickly the words tumbled from the stocky priest. He finished the spell and pointed at the man upon the bed. Arutha looked at the ill man but could see nothing amiss, then, as he turned to speak to Laurie, noticed a change. Seeing the man from the corner of his eye, Arutha could discern a nimbus of faint light around him, filling the pentagram, not visible when viewed directly. It was a light, milky quartz in colour. Arutha asked, ‘What is this?’

Nathan faced Arutha. ‘I have slowed his passage through time, Highness. To him an hour is now a moment. The spell will last only until dawn, but to him less than a quarter of an hour will have passed. Thus we gain time. With luck, he will now linger until midday.’

‘Can we speak to him?’

‘No, for we would sound like buzzing bees to him. But if we need, I can remove the spell.’

Arutha regarded the slowly writhing, fevered man. His hand seemed poised a scant inch above the bed, hanging in space. ‘Then,’ said the Prince impatiently, ‘we must wait upon the pleasure of the High Priestess of Lims-Kragma.’

The wait was not long, nor was there much pleasure evident in the manner of the High Priestess. There was a commotion outside, and Arutha hurried to the door. Beyond it he found Gardan waiting with a woman in black robes. Her face was hidden behind a thick, gauzy black veil, but her head turned towards the Prince.

A finger shot out towards Arutha, and a deep, pleasant-sounding feminine voice said, ‘Why have I been commanded here, Prince of the Kingdom?’

Arutha ignored the question as he took in the scene. Behind Gardan stood a quartet of Guards, spears held across their chests, barring the way to a group of determined-looking temple guards wearing the black and silver tabards of Lims-Kragma. ‘What passes, Captain?’

Gardan said, ‘The lady wishes to bring her guards within, and I have forbidden it.’

In tones of icy fury the priestess said, ‘I have come as you bid, though never have the clergy acknowledged temporal authority. But I will not come as a prisoner, not even for you, Prince of Krondor.’

Arutha said, ‘Two guards may enter, but they will stand away from the prisoner. Madam, you will cooperate and enter, now.’ Arutha’s tone left little doubt of his mood. The High Priestess might be commander of a powerful sect, but before her stood the ruler of the Kingdom absolute, save the King, a man who would brook no interference in some matter of paramount importance. She nodded to the two foremost guards, and they entered. The door was closed behind them, and the two guards were taken off to one side by Gardan. Outside, the palace guards kept watchful eyes upon the remaining temple guards and the wicked curved swords carried at their belts.

Father Nathan greeted the High Priestess with a stiffly formal bow, their two orders having little affection for each other. The High Priestess chose to ignore the priest’s presence.

Her first remark upon seeing the pentagram upon the floor was ‘Do you fear otherworld interference?’ Her tone was suddenly analytical and even.

It was Nathan who answered. ‘Lady, we are not sure of many things, but we do seek to prevent complications from whatever source, physical or spiritual.’

She did not acknowledge his words but stepped as close to the two men, one dead and the other wounded, as she could. Seeing the black tunics, she faltered a step, then turned to face Arutha. Through the veil he could almost feel her malevolent gaze upon him. ‘These men are of my order. How do they come to lie here?’

Arutha’s face was a mask of controlled anger. ‘Madam, it is to answer that question that you have been fetched. Do you know these two?’

She studied their faces. ‘I do not know this one,’ she said, pointing to the dead man with the grey lock in his hair. ‘But the other is a priest of my temple, named Morgan, newly come to us from our temple in Yabon.’ She paused for a moment as she considered something. ‘He wears the mark of a brother of the Order of the Silver Net.’ Her head came around, facing Arutha once more. ‘They are the martial arm of our faith, supervised by their Grand Master in Rillanon. And he answers to none save our Mother Matriarch for his order’s practices.’ She paused again. ‘And then only sometimes.’ Before anyone could comment, she continued. ‘What I do not understand is how one of my temple priests came to wear their mark. Is he a member of the order, passing himself off as a priest? Is he a priest playing the part of a warrior? Or is he neither priest nor brother of the order, but an impostor on both counts? Any of those three possibilities is forbidden, at risk of Lims-Kragma’s wrath. Why is he here?’

Arutha said, ‘Madam, if what you say is true’ – she seemed to tense at the implication of a possible falsehood – ‘then what is occurring concerns your temple as much as it concerns me. Jimmy, speak what you know of the Nighthawks.’

Jimmy, obviously uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the Death Goddess’s High Priestess, spoke quickly and forwent his usual embellishments. When he finished, the High Priestess said, ‘Highness, what you say is a deed foul in the nostrils of our goddess.’ Her voice was cold rage. ‘In times past, certain of the faithful sought sacrifices, but those practices are long abandoned. Death is a patient goddess; all will come to know her in time. We need no black murders. I would speak to this man.’ She indicated the prisoner.

Arutha hesitated and noticed Father Nathan shaking his head slightly. ‘He is close to death, less than hours without any additional stress upon him. Should the questioning prove rigorous, he might die before we can plumb the depths of these dark waters.’

The High Priestess said, ‘What cause for concern, priest? Even dead, he is still my subject. I am Lims-Kragma’s ephemeral hand. In her manor I will find truths no living man can obtain.’

Father Nathan bowed. ‘In the realm of death, so you are supreme.’ To Arutha he said, ‘May my brothers and I withdraw, Highness? My order finds these practices offensive.’

The Prince nodded, and the High Priestess said, ‘Before you go, remove the prayer of slowness you have called down upon him. It will cause less difficulty than should I do it.’

Nathan quickly complied and the man on the bed began to groan feverishly. The priest and acolytes of Sung hurriedly left the room, and when they were gone, the High Priestess said, ‘This pentagram will aid in keeping outside forces from interfering with this act. I would ask all to remain outside, for within its bounds each person creates ripples in the fabric of magic. This is a most holy rite, for whatever the outcome, our lady will most surely claim this man.’

Arutha and the others waited outside the pentagram and the priestess said, ‘Speak only when I have given permission, and ensure the candles do not burn out, or forces may be loosed that would prove … troublesome to recall.’ The High Priestess drew back her black veil, and Arutha was almost shocked at her appearance. She looked barely more than a girl, and a lovely one at that, with blue eyes and skin the colour of dawn’s blush. Her eyebrows promised her hair would be the palest gold. She raised her hands overhead and began to pray. Her voice was soft, musical, but the words were strange and fearful to hear.

The man on the bed squirmed as she continued her incantation. Suddenly his eyes opened and he stared upwards. He seemed to convulse, straining at the bonds that restrained him. He relaxed, then turned to face the High Priestess. A distant look crossed his face, as his eyes seemed to focus and unfocus in turn. After a moment a strange, sinister smile formed on his lips, an expression of mocking cruelty. His mouth opened and the voice that issued forth was deep and hollow. ‘What service, mistress?’

The High Priestess’s brow furrowed slightly as if there was something askew in his manner, but she maintained her poise and said in commanding tones, ‘You wear the mantle of the Order of the Silver Net, yet you practise in the temple. Explain this falsehood.’

The man laughed, a high shrieking cackle that trailed off. ‘I am he who serves.’

She stopped, for the answer was not to her liking. ‘Answer then, who do you serve?’

There came another laugh and the man’s body tensed once more, pulling against the restraining ropes. Beads of sweat popped out upon his brow, and the muscles of his arms corded as he drew himself against the ropes. Then he relaxed and laughed again. ‘I am he who is caught.’

‘Who do you serve?’

‘I am he who is a fish. I am in a net.’ Again came the mad laughter and the near-convulsive straining at the ropes. As the man strained, sweat poured off his face in rivulets. Shrieking, he pulled again and again at the restraints. As it seemed he would break his own bones with exertion, the man screamed, ‘Murmandamus! Aid your servant!’

Abruptly one of the candles blew out as a wind from some unknown place swept across the room. The man reacted with a single convulsive spasm, bowing his body in a high arch, with only his feet and head touching the bed, pulling against the ropes with such force that his skin tore and bled. Suddenly he collapsed upon the bed. The High Priestess fell back a step, then crossed to look down on the man. Softly she said, ‘He is dead. Relight the candle.’

Arutha motioned and a guard lit a taper from another candle and relit the extinguished one. The priestess began another incantation. While the first had been mildly discomforting, this one carried a feeling of dread, a chill from the farthest corner of some lost and frozen land of wretchedness. It carried the echo of the cries of those without comfort or hope. Yet within it was another quality, powerful and attractive, an almost seductive feeling that it would somehow be wonderful to lay aside all burdens and rest. As the spell continued, the feelings of foreboding increased, and those who waited fought against the desire to run far from the sound of the High Priestess’s spell casting.

Suddenly the spell was over, and the room lay as quiet as a tomb. The High Priestess spoke in the King’s Tongue. ‘You who are with us in body but are now subject to the will of our mistress, Lims-Kragma, hearken to me. As our Lady of Death commands all things in the end, so do I now command you in her name. Return!’

The form on the bed stirred but lay silent once more. The High Priestess shouted, ‘Return!’ and the figure moved again. With a sudden movement the dead man’s head came up and his eyes opened. He seemed to be looking around the room, but while his eyes were open, they remained rolled back up in his head, only the whites showing. Still there was some feeling that the corpse could yet see, for his head stopped moving as if he was looking at the High Priestess. His mouth opened and a distant, hollow laugh issued from it.

The High Priestess stepped forward. ‘Silence!’

The dead man quieted, but then the face grinned, a slowly broadening, terrible, and evil expression. The features began to twitch, moving as if the man’s face were subject to some strange palsy. The very flesh shivered, then sagged, as if turned to heated wax. The skin colour subtly shifted, becoming fairer, almost pale white. The forehead became higher and the chin more delicate, the nose more arched and the ears pointed. The hair darkened to black. Within moments the man they had questioned was gone and in his place lay a form no longer human.

Softly Laurie spoke. ‘By the gods! A Brother of the Dark Path!’

Jimmy shifted his weight uncomfortably. ‘Your Brother Morgan is from a lot farther north than Yabon city, lady,’ he whispered. There was no humour in his tone, only fear.

Again came the chill wind from some unknown quarter, and the High Priestess turned towards Arutha. Her eyes were wide with fear and she seemed to speak, but none could hear her words.

The creature on the bed, one of the hated dark cousins to the elves, shrieked in maniacal glee. With a shocking and sudden display of strength, the moredhel ripped one arm free of its bond, then the other. Before the guards could react, it tore free the bonds holding its legs. Instantly the dead thing was on its feet, leaping towards the High Priestess.

The woman stood resolute, a feeling of power radiating from her. She pointed her hand at the creature. ‘Halt!’ The moredhel obeyed. ‘By my mistress’s power, I command obedience from you who are called. In her domain do you dwell and subject you are to her laws and ministers. By her power do I order you back!’

The moredhel faltered a moment, then with startling quickness reached out and with one hand seized the High Priestess by the throat. In that hollow, distant voice it screamed, ‘Trouble not my servant, lady. If you love your mistress so dearly, then to her go!’

The High Priestess gripped its wrist, and blue fire sprang to life along the creature’s arm. With a howl of pain it picked her up as if she weighed nothing and hurled her against the wall near Arutha, where she crashed and slid to the floor.

All stood motionless. The transformation of this creature and its unexpected attack upon the High Priestess robbed all in the room of volition. The temple guards were rooted by the sight of their priestess humbled by some dark, otherworld power. Gardan and his men were equally stunned.

With another booming howl of laughter the creature turned towards Arutha. ‘Now, Lord of the West, we are met, and it is your hour!’

The moredhel swayed upon its feet a moment, then stepped towards Arutha. The temple guards recovered an instant before Gardan’s men. The two black-and-silver-clad soldiers leapt forward, one interposing himself between the advancing moredhel and the stunned priestess, the other attacking the creature. Arutha’s soldiers were only a step behind in preventing the creature from reaching Arutha. Laurie sprang for the door, shouting for the guards without.

The temple guard thrust with his scimitar and impaled the moredhel. Sightless eyes widened, showing red rims, as the creature grinned, a horrid expression of glee. In an instant its hands shot forward and were around the guard’s throat. With a twisting motion it broke the guard’s neck, then tossed him aside. The first of Arutha’s guards to reach the creature struck from the side, a blow that gouged a bloody furrow along its back. With a backhand slap it knocked the guard down. It reached down and pulled the scimitar out of its own chest and with a snarl tossed it aside. As it turned away, Gardan hit it low and from behind. The huge captain encircled the creature with his powerful arms, lifting it from the ground. The creature’s claws raked Gardan’s arms, but still he held it high, preventing its progress towards Arutha. Then the creature kicked backwards, its heel striking Gardan in the leg, causing both to fall. The creature rose. As Gardan tried to reach it again, he stumbled over the body of the fallen temple guard.

The door flew open as Laurie tossed aside the inner bar, and palace and temple guards raced past the singer. The creature was within a sword’s thrust of Arutha when the first guard tackled it from behind, followed an instant later by two more. The temple guards joined their lone fellow in forming a defence around the unconscious High Priestess. Arutha’s guards joined in the assault upon the moredhel. Gardan recovered from his fall and rushed to Arutha’s side. ‘Leave, Highness. We can hold it here by weight of numbers.’

Arutha, with sword ready, said, ‘How long, Gardan? How can you stop a creature already dead?’

Jimmy the Hand backed away from Arutha’s side, edging towards the door. He couldn’t take his eyes from the knot of writhing bodies. Guards hammered at the creature with hilts and fists, seeking to bludgeon it into submission. Hands and faces were sticky red as the creature’s claws raked out again and again.

Laurie circled around the mêlée, looking for an opening, his sword pointed like a dagger. Catching sight of Jimmy as the thief bolted towards the door, Laurie shouted, ‘Arutha! Jimmy shows uncommon good sense. Leave!’ Then he thrust with his sword and a low, chilling moan came from within the jumble of bodies.

Arutha was gripped by indecision. The mass seemed to be inching towards him, as if the weight of the guards served only to slow the creature’s progress. The creature’s voice rang out. ‘Flee, if you will, Lord of the West, but you shall never find refuge from my servants.’ As if gifted by some additional surge of power, the moredhel heaved mightily and the guards were cast aside. They crashed into those standing before the High Priestess, and for a moment the creature was free to stand upright. Now it was covered in blood, its face a mask of bleeding wounds. Torn flesh hung from one cheek, transforming the moredhel’s face into a permanent, baleful grin. One guard managed to rise and shatter the creature’s right arm with a sword blow. It spun and tore the man’s throat out with a single rake of its hand. With its right arm dangling uselessly at its side, the moredhel spoke through loose, rubbery lips, its voice a bubbling, wet noise. ‘I feed on death! Come! I shall feed on yours!’

Two soldiers jumped upon the moredhel from behind, driving it to the floor once more, before Arutha. Ignoring the guards, the creature clawed towards the Prince, its good arm outstretched, fingers hooked like a claw. More guards leapt upon it, and Arutha darted forward, driving his sword through the creature’s shoulder, deep into its back. The monstrous figure shuddered briefly, then resumed its forward motion.

Like some giant, obscene crab, the mass of bodies inched slowly towards the Prince. The activities of the guards increased, as if they would protect Arutha by literally tearing the creature to shreds. Arutha took a step back, his reluctance to flee slowly overbalanced by the refusal of the moredhel to be stopped. With a cry, a soldier was tossed away, to land hard, his head striking the stone floor with an audible crack. Another shouted, ‘Highness, it grows in strength!’ A third screamed as he had an eye clawed out by the frantic creature. With a titanic heave, it tossed the remaining soldiers away and rose, with no one between itself and Arutha.

Laurie tugged at Arutha’s left sleeve, leading the Prince slowly towards the door. They walked sideways, never taking their eyes from the loathsome creature, while it stood swaying upon its feet. Its sightless eyes followed the two men, glaring from a skull rendered a pulpy red mask devoid of recognizable features. One of the High Priestess’s guards charged the creature from behind, and without looking, the moredhel lashed backwards with its right hand and crushed the man’s skull with a single blow.

Laurie cried, ‘It has the use of its arm once more! It’s healing itself!’ The creature was upon them in a leap. Suddenly Arutha felt himself going down as someone shoved him aside. In a blur of images, Arutha saw Laurie ducking away from the blow that would have torn Arutha’s head from his shoulders. Arutha rolled away and came to his feet beside Jimmy the Hand. The boy had knocked him out of harm’s way. Beyond Jimmy, Arutha could see Father Nathan.

The bull-necked priest approached the monster, his left hand held upright, palm forward. The creature somehow sensed the priest’s approach, for it turned its attention from Arutha and spun to face Nathan.

The centre of Nathan’s hand began to glow, then shine with a fierce white light that cast a visible beam upon the moredhel, which stood transfixed. From its torn lips a low moan was emitted. Then Nathan began to chant.

A high shriek erupted from the moredhel, and it cowered, covering sightless eyes from the glare of Nathan’s mystic light. Its voice could be heard, low and bubbling. ‘It burns … it burns!’ The stocky cleric took a step forward, forcing the creature to shamble backwards. The thing looked nothing mortal, bleeding thick, nearly coagulated blood from a hundred wounds, large pieces of flesh and clothing dangling from its form. It hunkered lower and cried out, ‘I burn!’

Then a cold wind blew in the room and the creature shrieked, loud enough to startle even seasoned, battle-ready soldiers. Guards looked furiously about, seeking the source of some nameless horror that could be felt on every side.

The creature suddenly rose up, as if new power had come into it. Its right hand shot out, grabbing at the source of the burning light, Nathan’s left hand. Fingers and talon-like fingers interlaced, and with a searing sound the creature’s hand began to smoke. The moredhel drew back its left hand to strike a blow at the cleric, but as it uncoiled to strike, Nathan shouted a word unknown to the others in the room, and the creature faltered and groaned. Nathan’s voice rang out, filling the room with the sounds of mystic prayer and holy magic. The creature froze for an instant, then trembled in place. Nathan stepped up the urgency of his incantation and the creature reeled as if being struck a mighty blow, and smoke rose from its body. Nathan called down the power of his goddess, Sung the White, the deity of purity, his voice hoarse and strained. A loud moaning, seeming to come from a great distance, escaped from the moredhel’s mouth and it shuddered again. Locked in this mystic battle, Nathan lifted his shoulders as if he were struggling to move away a great weight, and the moredhel fell to its knees. Its right hand bent backwards as Nathan’s voice droned on. Beads of sweat rolled down the priest’s forehead and the cords on his neck stood out. Blisters rose on the creature’s ragged flesh and exposed muscle and it began an ululating cry. A sizzling sound and the smell of cooking meat filled the room. Thick oily smoke poured off its body, and one guard turned his head and vomited. Nathan’s eyes grew wide as he exerted the force of his will upon this creature. Slowly they swayed, the creature’s flesh cracking as it blackened and crisped from Nathan’s magic. The moredhel bent backwards under the force of the priest’s grip, and suddenly blue energy coursed over its blackening body. Nathan released his hold and the creature toppled sideways, flames erupting from its eyes, mouth, and ears. Soon flames engulfed the body and reduced it quickly to ashes, choking the room with a foul, greasy odour.

Nathan slowly turned to face Arutha, and the Prince saw a man suddenly aged. The cleric’s eyes were wide and sweat poured down his face. In a dry croak he said, ‘Highness, it is done.’ Taking one slow step, then another, towards the Prince, Nathan smiled weakly. Then he fell forward, to be caught by Arutha before he struck the floor.