Flight of the Nighthawks

  “Now, stay very close,” he said.

  Tad and Zane did as instructed and were suddenly swept into darkness for an instant. The next second, they stood in a hall.

  Zane almost fell over, so sudden was the change and following disorientation. Tad looked around, blinking like a barn owl blinded by a lantern.

  The man McGrudder had called Magnus started walking down the hall, leaving the boys standing alone. They glanced at one another, each seeing a reflection of his own shocked, pale expression. Then Zane nodded and they were off, following after the man, for they had no desire to be left alone in this alien place.

  Even carrying his brother, Magnus moved rapidly, and the boys had to hurry to catch up. Their surroundings were lost on them until they realized that they were in some sort of massive building, for all the hallways they passed through had granite or marble walls and floors illuminated by torches bolted by iron fittings to the walls on either side of a series of heavy wooden doors. Each door had a small covered window, barely more than a peephole, in its center.

  “This looks like a dungeon,” muttered Zane.

  “And how would you know?” asked Tad in a whisper. “You ever see one?”

  “No, but you know what I mean. This is what dungeons are supposed to look like—from stories.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Zane as they turned a corner around which Magnus had just vanished.

  The boys came to an abrupt halt. Before them a large corridor emptied into a vast hall. The vaulted ceiling could barely be seen, its surface darkened by the rising soot from at least a hundred torches ringing the expanse. Against the far wall rose a heroic statue of a 74

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  woman, her arms outstretched as if bidding those standing below to come into her embrace. Behind her, on either side, smaller bas - relief figures had been carved into the wall.

  “Is that who I think it is?” whispered Tad.

  “Must be, look at the net over her right arm,” said Zane.

  Both boys made every ward of protection sign they had ever seen a gambler, teamster, or porter make and then slowly followed the rapidly hurrying Magnus. They were in the temple of Lims - Kragma: the Drawer of Nets, the Death Goddess.

  Several black - robed figures were emerging from a couple of doors to the left of the statue, and suddenly two men appeared behind the boys. One hurried past them, but the other paused and asked quietly,

  “What is your business here, boys?”

  Tad pointed to Magnus, who was now laying his brother at the feet of the statue, and said, “We’re with him.”

  “Then come along,” said the man.

  They nodded and hurried after him.

  Zane studied the man out of the corner of his eye, afraid to look directly at him. He had plain features and was almost bald, save for stubble around the back of his head to his ears. He was otherwise unremarkable. Except for one thing; he wore the robe of a priest of the Goddess of Death.

  An elderly man entered the hall from a door to the right, walking slowly with the aid of a white staff taller than himself. His white hair flowed to his shoulders and it wasn’t until he was almost at Magnus’s side before the boys saw that his eyes were filmed over; he was blind.

  “Why do you disturb our slumber, Magnus?”

  “My brother lies dying,” Magnus replied, standing to face the old man as the boys reached them. “You know my father, and you know what we do. We need my brother’s life spared.”

  The old man stared into space, looking frail, but his voice was deep and strong. “Our mistress gathers us all to her when it is our time. I may do nothing to alter that.”

  “You can heal him!” said Magnus. “I know what arts you are capable of, Bethanial.”

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  “Why didn’t you take him to the temple of Killian or Sung? Healing is their domain.”

  “Because my family made a pact with your mistress years ago, and she can choose not to take my brother. He is needed. It is not time yet.”

  “When is it ever the time for those left behind?” asked the old High Priest.

  Magnus stepped closer to him and said, “It is not his time yet!”

  “When is his time?” echoed a voice through the hall, and the boys instinctively clung to one another, for there was a cold note of hopelessness in it. Yet it also held a faint echo of reassurance, which left a feeling of certainty that all would be well in the end.

  Magnus turned to look at the gigantic statute. “When this world is safe,” he answered.

  For a moment, all the torches flickered and dimmed.

  Magnus found himself within a vast hall, with a ceiling so high it was lost in darkness above, while the walls were so distant he could only see the one to his right; the other boundaries had vanished in the distance.

  He stood amidst a chessboard of stone biers. Men, women, and children rested upon them, though many were empty. As he watched, he saw a woman sit up and dismount the bier in the distance, and then start to weave her way through the maze of stone.

  An empty bier next to Magnus was suddenly occupied by a baby, no more than a few hours old. Magnus paused to wonder how this infant, who obviously had not survived for long after its birth, would manage the feat of climbing down and walking to meet the goddess.

  Then he reminded himself that none of this was real. Magnus knew that he was seeing an illusion of the gods—an image made so he could apply some reference and logic when dealing with a power far beyond his own. Magnus’s patience was thin at the best of times, now it was slighter than parchment. He waved his hand and said, “Enough!”

  The hall vanished and he stood on top of a mountain, in another vast hall. It appeared to be fashioned from ivory and white marble.

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  Columns supported a vast ceiling high above, but now Magnus could see the walls.

  The hall opened on a vista of the distant mountain peaks, and the air was bitterly cold and thin. Magnus adjusted the air around his body so that he felt warm and could breathe easily. Outside, a sea of white clouds lingered just below the lower edge of the fl oor and he knew he stood in the Pavilion of the Gods, a place his parents had told him of. He smiled, for it was here they had fi rst spoken together, and it seemed a reasonable choice for his meeting with the goddess.

  A figure in black robes sat alone on a simple marble bench. It was a young woman, and as Magnus approached, she pulled back her hood. Her skin was as white as the finest porcelain, yet her hair and eyes were black as onyx. Her lips were the color of blood, and her voice like an icy wind as she said, “Your powers are prodigious for a mortal’s, Magnus. You may someday eclipse your father and mother in your mastery of magic. You also have far more arrogance than either of them.”

  “I lack my father’s gift for patience and my mother’s acceptance of expediency,” said Magnus, with a defiant note in his voice. “My brother is needed. You know that.”

  “I know no such thing,” answered the woman. “Your father once came to me with his friend, the human who became Valheru,” she said, standing.

  Magnus was surprised to discover that she was taller than him.

  For some reason that annoyed him. With one thought, he stood taller than the goddess.

  The woman laughed. “Vanity, too?” She nodded. “Your father then came to me a second time.”

  “I know,” said Magnus. “He told us of your bargain.”

  “Did he?” She turned her back and walked away, as if studying the mountain peaks below. “I remember no bargain. I do, however, remember giving him a choice.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Magnus.

  “I know you don’t. I do not know what your father has told you about what is coming, but I have no debt to you or your family, 7 7

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  just an understanding that I struck with Pug years ago. Your brother stands with no exemption from fate; h
e lies at the entrance to my realm and I am under no obligation to refuse him. It is his time.”

  “No,” said a voice from behind Magnus.

  He turned and saw a thin, frail old woman with skin like translu-cent bleached parchment stretched over ancient bones. Her hair was white and she wore a robe the color of the snow on the distant peaks.

  Her robe and hair were arranged with ivory clasps and rings, and her feet were hidden by the hem of her robes. “You may do as you wish, daughter, for you are ruler of your domain, but that is just the point: you may do as you wish.”

  “I have an obligation to keep order, and don’t call me ‘daughter,’

  old woman. You do not belong here.”

  “I belong nowhere, it seems.” She glanced at Magnus and smiled.

  Magnus studied the old woman and said, “You’re the witch from the village.”

  “No,” said the old woman. “But I know her, as I know many others.”

  Magnus revealed confusion, for the two women were identical, save that the witch had iron - gray hair and her skin was like leather.

  “Then who are you?”

  “I am one who once was and one who will be, but now . . .”

  “She is no one,” said Lims - Kragma.

  “Yes,” said the old woman, and suddenly she was gone. But her next words hung in the air. “You may do as you wish.”

  For a moment, neither Magnus nor the goddess spoke, then the Goddess of Death said, “Very well. I refuse your brother entrance to my realm. His judgment shall await another time; take him to your island.”

  “Who was that?” asked Magnus.

  “One who was,” said the goddess, then with a flicker of expression that suggested turbulent emotions, she added, “and perhaps, as she says, one who will be again one day,” and with a wave of her hand she took the two of them back to the temple. Everyone stood frozen in time, likes flies caught in amber, and the goddess said, “Ask Nakor 7 8

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  or your father about echoes.” Then suddenly she was gone, and everyone around Magnus began moving.

  With a groan, Caleb opened his eyes. He blinked, then said weakly, “Brother?”

  “The goddess answered your prayer,” said the High Priest, bowing his head. The other priests followed his example and also bowed.

  “Come,” said Magnus to the boys as he picked his brother up from the floor. Caleb’s eyes closed and he fell unconscious again, his head resting against his brother’s shoulder. The boys stood close to Magnus and again felt a sensation of darkness followed by a moment of disorientation.

  They stood near the ocean. Tad and Zane could smell the tang of sea salt in the night air. Tad pointed to the two moons in the sky and the boys knew that they were miles northwest of McGrudder’s inn.

  Magnus said nothing as he walked toward a large, square building.

  The structure ran in a straight line across a grassy fi eld. Paving stone marred its lush texture and led to a large open door, lit by torches set in sconces on either side. To the left of the path, by the house another building rested, from which smoke and the smell of baking bread issued. Magnus stepped inside the building and turned left. The boys followed, pausing a moment to stare through the opposite door, which revealed a large inner courtyard that had been turned into a garden.

  They hurried after Magnus, who now turned right and moved rapidly down another corridor to a suite of private rooms. A short man with a dark beard, a woman in a royal - blue dress of simple cut, and a man in a faded orange robe, tattered at the hem, were waiting for him.

  The group ignored the two boys as Magnus entered a generously sized but sparsely appointed bedroom. He laid his brother down on the low bed and stepped away. The man in the tattered orange robe inspected Caleb and after a minute said, “He needs rest, and when he awakes, some light food and drink.” He turned to Magnus. “Tell us what happened?”

  Magnus said, “You’ll have to start with these two,” and he pointed to the boys.

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  The bearded man approached Tad and Zane and said, “I am Caleb’s father, Pug. What happened?”

  Tad spoke first and told them of the ambush and Zane inserted a comment from time to time. When they reached the part about McGrudder at the Sleeping Rooster, Magnus said, “Let me continue.”

  He turned to Pug and said, “The old witch in the village slowed his death.”

  The short man in orange interrupted. “Old witch?”

  “I’ll get to that in a minute,” said Magnus. He described his journey into the Hall of Lims - Kragma, and as he spoke Tad noticed Zane take a step closer to him, as if seeking comfort.

  When Magnus had finished the story, he said, “The white - haired woman looked exactly as I remembered the village witch. She said you two”—he gestured at his father and the other man—“would know who she was. Lims - Kragma said she was an echo.”

  Pug turned to the other and said, “Nakor?”

  Nakor shrugged. “Do you remember Zaltais, whom we battled when the Emerald Queen invaded the Kingdom? I told you he was a dream.”

  Magnus said, “I have not heard of this.”

  “There are many things you have not heard of.” Pug frowned as he looked at his son. “What were you thinking, risking a visit to the Death Goddess’s Hall?”

  “I knew Caleb had no more than minutes, Father. And I knew you have been to see the Goddess twice, and have lived.”

  “The second time was not of my choosing,” reminded Pug. Magnus knew the story; his father had been almost killed by the demon who led the Emerald Queen’s army during the Serpentwar.

  “But the first time you went seeking Grandfather and returned,”

  countered Magnus.

  “Tomas and I were nearly dead when we revived from our fi rst visit to Lims - Kragma’s Hall. You could have been trapped there.”

  “Her hall is an illusion, Father.”

  Nakor shook his head. “The gods’ illusions can kill as easily as steel or stone, Magnus. They are real enough when they need to be.”

  Miranda said, “It was madness! I could have lost both sons.”

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  Magnus’s blue eyes narrowed. “You’ve taught me well. I did not become ensnarled in the illusion; in fact, I forced a change and met her in the Pavilion of the Gods.” Pug and Miranda exchanged glances at that.

  “I would risk my own life for my brother’s,” Magnus continued.

  When his mother said nothing, but let her expression show her displeasure, he added, “Mother. I know you fear for us both, but you lost neither.”

  “That is something for us to discuss in a moment,” said Pug.

  “Nakor?”

  “I will tell you what I know, Pug,” he said with a grin. “But first . . .” he pointed one finger at the boys.

  Pug turned, and despite having just spoken to them moments before, it was as if he were noticing the boys for the fi rst time. “Who are you?”

  Tad pointed at himself and inclined his head, as if asking if he was whom he meant. Pug’s scowl made it clear. “I’m Tad. He’s Zane.

  We’re from Stardock.”

  “Why were you with my son?” asked Miranda.

  Tad launched into the story of the festival and how they woke up in the wagon, and while it was a disjointed and somewhat rambling version, they got the story in one telling. At the end, Magnus said,

  “You mean to say that you’re not Caleb’s apprentices?”

  Tad and Zane exchanged guilty looks, and then Zane said, “No.

  But we never said we were.”

  “McGrudder said you were.”

  Tad shrugged. “Caleb was taking us to Yar- rin and then down into Kesh to find us crafts that we could apprentice. If he couldn’t place us together there, he was going to take us up to Krondor. He was doing it for our mother.”

  Pug stepped forward and said, “You alre
ady know more than you should, just through what you’ve seen and heard in the last day.”

  He glanced at his wife and son then added, “I think we’ll give some thought about what to do with you. But in the meantime, why don’t you get some rest.” He glanced at Nakor. “We’ll talk in a while, but would you please find them a room, now?”

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  Nakor nodded and moved quickly to the door, motioning for the boys to follow. Tad and Zane fell in behind.

  “I’m Nakor,” said their guide. “I’m a gambler. Do either of you know how to play card games?” Both boys said no, and Nakor shook his head. “I’m getting out of practice. No one on this island plays cards. What do you do?” He glanced over his shoulder as he asked the last question.

  Both boys were silent as each waited for the other to speak fi rst.

  Finally Tad said, “Things.”

  “What things?” asked Nakor as they reached a hallway lined with doors.

  “Loading and unloading cargo,” said Zane.

  “So you’re young stevedores?”

  “Not really,” said Zane. “And we can drive wagons!”

  “Teamsters, then?”

  “No, not really. But I can sail a boat,” said Tad. “And we’ve both done some fi shing.”

  “I can hunt a little,” said Zane. “Caleb took me once and showed me how to shoot a bow. He said I had the makings, and I took down a deer by myself!” His pride shone clearly as he walked next to his foster brother.

  “I help Fowler Kensey mend nets sometimes,” offered Tad. “And he showed me how to catch ducks on the lake.”

  “And I’ve helped Ingvar the Smith mend pots,” added Zane.

  “He doesn’t like to tinker so he showed me. And I know how to bank a forge so the fire’s there the next morning, and how to temper steel.” Tad shot him a dubious look. “I’ve watched him do it often enough!”

  Nakor led them into the room, which was empty save for four beds with rolled - up mattresses. “Well,” he said, “that’s quite an impressive list of skills, far more than most boys your age have.” He waved to them to unroll the mattresses. As they did so, he pointed to a chest near the door and said, “Blankets are in there. A candle and flint and steel, too, though you’ll not need it. I expect you’ll be asleep as soon as I close the door. It’s three hours to sunrise here, so rest for a 8 2