Flight of the Nighthawks (35 page)

“It never ends, does it?”

Holding her close, he said, “No. But sometimes we win, and then we get to rest for a while.”

“Can we rest now?”

He put his arms around her and hugged her. “For tonight, my love. For tonight.”

 

The early morning light barely cut through the lingering chill. Dew on the grass reflected the sunlike gems scattering the glittering light.
Nakor, Pug, and Magnus hurried to the place where Nakor and Bek had found the tiny rift.

Pushing through the trees, Nakor said, “There. It was there!”

Pug stood where Nakor indicated and said, “Well, it's gone now.”

“Father,” said Magnus. “Do you think Varen still survived?”

“I think all that bloodshed at Kaspar's citadel over the years was designed to give him a way out should his soul vessel be destroyed.” Pug looked at the place Nakor had indicated and said, “I can't pretend to think like him, but I understand him well enough to know that no price would be too dear to him to escape final destruction. I wish I had returned sooner and put more time into researching this thing.”

“Even you can't be in more than one place at a time, Father.”

Nakor grinned and laughed. “Don't be too sure, Magnus. It's just a trick he hasn't learned yet.”

“Let me see if there's anything still lingering here,” said Pug, closing his eyes.

Magnus and Nakor remained silent while Pug concentrated his energies and let his mind reach out, tracing the energy that had come from Opardum to this place then on to…

Pug's eyes opened wide and his face drained of color. “Varen!”

“What, Father?”

Pug looked genuinely shaken. “I recognize a component of this rift, Magnus, Nakor. I know where Varen has fled.”

“Where?” asked Nakor, his usually sunny demeanor fleeing before Pug's obvious concern.

“He fashioned this rift to be triggered upon his death. He has gone to Kelewan.” Pug looked at Nakor. “Leso Varen is now somewhere in the Empire of Tsuranuanni.”

The three men said nothing more, for the most evil soul they had ever encountered was now loose on another world, in a nation three times the size of Great Kesh, and the search for him would have to begin over again.

 

Jommy stood blinking in astonishment. Marie hurried to greet Caleb and her sons. One moment Caleb and the boys had been in Chezarul's safe house in Kesh, and the next they were standing outside the villa at Sorcerer's Isle.

Unlike his father and brother, Caleb had lingered a day in Kesh, conferring with Kaspar and Bey on what would need to be done next to reorder the Conclave's presence in the Imperial City. Magnus had carried word to Marie that Caleb and the boys were well and would be home at midday.

Marie finished kissing her sons and looked at Jommy. “Who's this, then?”

Caleb smiled with a slightly guilty expression. “I think it safe to say we've managed to pick up a third fosterling.”

The redheaded boy grinned and said, “No worries. I won't call you ‘ma' if that's troubling you.”

Marie shook her head, smiled and said, “I suspect I'll get used to it. Come along. I expect you're all famished.”

Caleb put his arm around his wife. Jommy began following the adults when Zane grabbed him by the arm. “We ate before we left,” he said.

Jommy turned around, his brow furrowed, and said, “But I'm hungry!”

“We'll be along in a while,” said Tad, grabbing Jommy's other arm. “We'll show Jommy around the island.”

As they half dragged him away from the large villa, Jommy said, “This better be good, you two.”

“Come on,” said Tad, starting to run.

“Where are we going?” asked Jommy.

“To the lake!” shouted Zane, as he started to unbutton his tunic.

“The lake?” asked Jommy. “What for?”

“For a swim,” answered Tad.

Jommy stopped. “A swim! I don't want to swim. I want to eat.”

Zane turned, took a couple of steps back and grabbed Jommy's arm. Tugging on it, he said, “Believe me; you want to take a swim.”

Just then the sound of female laughter could be heard in the distance as feminine voices shouted welcome to Tad.

Jommy's face appeared to light up in delight and he said, “Girls?”

Zane said, “There are some people you have just got to meet.”

Suddenly Jommy was off at a run, passing Zane who stood standing alone for a second, then he turned and ran after the boy from Novindus as the sound of splashing and laughter grew louder.

R
EDUX

T
wo black-clad men strode the field.

Both wore the black robes of Great Ones, the magicians of the Assembly. At first light they had been asked by the membership to investigate another reported rift, perhaps from the Dasati world.

“There,” said the one in the lead, pointing a short distance away.

He hurried, his taller friend behind him, and when they reached the object of their search, they both halted. The man in front raised his hands in a gesture of defense.

A rift had formed, no more than a hand's span in size, but most certainly a rift, and through it had come a creature. Both men looked at the thing and marveled.

It appeared no larger than a baby in size, yet it stood upright and glared at them. Its shape was roughly human,
with two legs, arms, and a head. The face was nearly featureless, two dark lines formed its eyes, and there was a single slash where its mouth should be. The thing's head was completely round, a sphere with no other features. It numbered three fingers on each hand, with opposable thumbs, and it was garbed in what appeared to be black trousers and tunic. It held a tiny metal staff in one hand, and with a defiant chirping sound, drove it into the ground before the rift.

“What is it?” asked the first magician.

“I don't know,” said the second, and for a moment his friend glanced at him, for his voice sounded strange.

“Are you well?” he asked, for his friend had been seized by an unexpected fever and had lain abed nearly three days before arising just the day before.

“I'm fine,” said the second man. The thing glanced in the direction of the morning sun, and shivered, though the day was already hot. It kept its face toward the sun, ignoring the two magicians.

“What's it doing?” asked the shorter of the two magic users.

“It seems…” The second magician paused, as if seeking the word. “Fascinated by the sun.”

“If what we've heard is true, and this thing is from the Dasati world, their sun casts no light.”

“Oh, really?”

Again the first magician glanced at his friend. Then he looked at the staff and said, “Look at this!”

The tiny staff was emitting sparks of purple that flew straight to the rift. Soon, tiny flows of energy, like purple-white lightning, erupted from the staff and struck the rift.

“I believe it's drawing power,” said the second magician, his voice again sounding odd.

“Pug believed that the Dasati rifts were drawn here by the Talnoy. But he said he thought they needed a source of energy here to sustain them.” Then the magician's voice rose in alarm. “We must destroy this now!”

As he started an incantation to obliterate the rift and the creature who stood before it, the second magician retreated back half a dozen
steps. Then he raised his hands and two lances of green-white energy lashed out, incinerating the first magician where he stood.

The tiny creature turned its attention to the display and hissed like a snake warning an intruder to back away.

The second magician said, “We can't have that, now, can we?”

He came and knelt down next to the creature, who had returned its attention to the sunlight.

As the morning sun climbed higher in the sky and the heat of the day rose with it, the tiny alien creature stood trembling. The second magician leaned in and said, “Ah, you're not able to cope with all this yet, are you?”

The tiny creature trembled, and then the shaking became more violent until suddenly it erupted into flame. The flash left the magician momentarily blinded and he blinked to clear his vision.

“Well, that was interesting,” he said to himself. Then he looked at the staff that was providing the rift with power. “So, someone wants to come and visit, do they?”

He reached out and plucked the staff out of the ground. As soon as he did, the energy flow stopped, and after less than five minutes, the rift vanished.

Sticking the tiny staff into his robe, the magician turned and said, “Got to work on this language. Very different, and my accent just won't do.”

Humming a nameless tune, Leso Varen looked at the smoldering char that had been a Great One of the Assembly of Magicians. “Too bad you sacrificed it all for the good of the Empire.” He knelt and lifted the man effortlessly, hoisting him across his shoulders. “But at least you'll get a hero's burial, or funeral pyre or whatever it is they do on this world.” He pulled an orb from his robe and depressed a toggle, and suddenly he was gone.

The morning sun beat down upon the grass and only a tiny bit of char revealed what had just occurred in the vast plains of the Empire of Tsuranuanni.

A
s I have done in the past and will continue to until Midkemia is no more, my thanks everlasting to the Mothers and Fathers of Midkemia for giving me a wonderful sandbox in which to play. From Thursday to Friday nights, for thirty years, your voices echo in my ear each time I sit down to spin a yarn on our world.

To Jonathan Matson, as always, my thanks for friendship and wise counsel.

To my editors, for always trying hard no matter how crazy the circumstances.

To my mother, for always inspiring me through sheer endurance and unqualified love.

To my children, for giving me a reason for existing beyond mere self-gratification and personal goals.

To those ladies with whom I dine, thanks for the amusement, the affection, the drama, and the glimpse into a world I barely understand.

To new friends and to enterprises that keep things interesting.

Again to my readers, who let me keep doing this.

Without any of the above mentioned, and some I'm leaving out, life would not be worth enduring, let alone living.

Raymond E. Feist

San Diego, California

July 2005