The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

was red-headed, broad of shoulder and looked like a brawler. He grinned widely at the sight of Jim Dasher. ‘Jim! We didn’t know you were here.’

      Jim made his greetings, first to the ladies who returned his genuine smile. Of all the people in Roldem he genuinely enjoyed spending time with, he now was in the presence of the majority. ‘A moment,’ said the red-headed man. ‘Matters of court protocol.’

      The herald announced, ‘Your majesties, the Earl Servan and the Countess Lauretta.’ The dark-haired man bowed. ‘Uncle, Aunt, to your good health.’

      The King smiled. ‘It is good to have you in court, as always, Nephew.’

      As they moved away, the herald sang out, ‘Sir Jonathan Killaroo and the Lady Adella.’ They were greeted and moved on. The two single men were introduced as ‘Sir Tad’, and ‘Sir Zane’, and after they had made their obeisances the group continued with Jim in tow to a large buffet where food was being portioned out to the guests.

      Sir Jonathan spoke softly in his wife’s ear, then kissed her cheek and moved off to speak to Jim in relative privacy. ‘Any word?’ asked Jim.

      ‘Nothing,’ said Jommy, which was the name by which the one-time street tough from the distant continent of Novindus was known to his friends. ‘The Conclave’s agents are just as silent as your own.’

      The relationship between Jim Dasher and the Conclave of Shadows had been a long but strained one, and often it was the bond of friendship these two men shared which kept it from fraying any further. The four young men had served with Jim in a struggle against a demon cult known as the Black Caps, and the shedding of blood together had left them close.

      Glancing around, Jim noticed Servan’s gaze had wandered to where the two of them spoke. ‘How are you getting along with Servan these days?’

      Jommy laughed. ‘He’s got a good heart, and in another life we’d be brothers, but I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for marrying his sister.’

      ‘She seems happy enough.’

      ‘She should. She’s expecting our third.’

      Jim clapped Jommy on the shoulder. ‘Congratulations!’

      Servan heard the word and saw the two men smiling and turned away with a rueful smile of his own, shaking his head as if asking silently by what cruel fate the gods had decided his sister should fall in love with such a lout.

      Jommy said, ‘We need to get those two married off.’ He indicated with a nod Tad and Zane.

      ‘I thought Zane … wasn’t he betrothed?’

      ‘Almost. But he has a wandering eye, that one.’

      ‘And Tad’s too mindful of his duty.’ A moment of sadness passed over his face. ‘You three are as close to family …’ He let the thought go unfinished.

      Jommy’s eyes scanned the room, never for an instant forgetting they might be overheard if he wasn’t cautious. ‘I know. Have you spoken with Pug recently?’

      ‘Not in a while,’ Jim kept his voice down despite the chatter of voices filling the hall. ‘He’s out chasing demons and seems almost obsessed with it.’

      Neither man needed to remind the other it was a demon that had killed Pug’s wife, Miranda. And it was the servant of the Demon King Dahun who had destroyed the home in which Pug’s youngest son and his wife had died.

      Jim said, ‘Well, let’s turn to happier thoughts. Why don’t we conspire to meet: you, me, Tad and Zane, at the River House tomorrow? If your wife doesn’t object, just us boys?’

      ‘I’d like that,’ said Jommy. ‘She won’t mind. It’s why I married her: who else would put up with a fool like me?’ His face openly showed a profound gratitude for her existence. He glanced over to where she was in conversation with a knot of ladies, and as if she felt his gaze she turned and looked right at her husband. She smiled and with a slight inclination of her head asked silently how long he would be.

      Jommy shook his head slightly then nodded. He turned back to Jim. ‘She’s feeling neglected.’ With a grin he added, ‘I’d best be back to her before she thinks we’re plotting over here.’

      As his broad-shouldered friend walked back to his wife, Jim thought: plotting indeed.

      Jim Dasher crouched atop the roof of Lady Franciezka Sorboz’s townhouse, feeling the cold ocean night air in his knees. He was definitely getting too old to be out in the field, or at least playing Jimmy the Hand meets a Nighthawk.

      That story was family lore and it reminded Jim that there were certain feats attributed to his ancestor he found somehow incredible. The falling off the roof and catching himself without dislocating his shoulders while the Nighthawk overbalanced and fell to his death … Jim glanced down. Dislocated shoulders certainly, then falling all the way to the cobbles, to die in agony. Then again, when Jimmy had accomplished that legendary feat he was but a lad of thirteen or fourteen years – no one was quite sure at what age he had come to Prince Arutha’s attention – and everyone knew boys had incredible flexibility in their joints.

      He would give half his fortune for the flexibility and resilience he had possessed at twenty-four years, let alone fourteen. Sitting and sliding to the eaves overhanging the balcony to Franciezka’s bedroom was far less dashing, but as no one was watching, Jim really didn’t care. He was tired and cold, his joints creaky and stiff. While he welcomed Franciezka’s company for either pleasure or business, he still thought getting to see her unobserved was perhaps more trouble than it was worth.

      He lowered himself down off the eaves and dropped lightly to the balcony. As he had expected, the door inside had been left unlatched. He entered the bedroom.

      Franciezka sat at a writing table, wearing a comfortable-looking lounging robe. ‘On time, as always,’ she said with a smile.

      ‘You’re not trying to kill me this time, then?’ He sat on the bed opposite her.

      She turned and handed him a large document. ‘Not this time. For better or worse it seems we’re allies again.’

      He read the two pages and then re-read them. She remained silent while he did so. When he had finished, he said, ‘Is he certain?’

      ‘Does he sound uncertain?’

      ‘No,’ said Jim. He let out a long sigh, half relief, half aggravation.

      ‘Are any of your agents reporting anything like that?’

      ‘None of my agents are reporting anything.’ All my agents south of the Girdle have gone silent.’

      ‘Not good,’ she said, looking distressed at the news. ‘Hallon is my only agent who’s managed to get anything out of that region.’

      He tapped the document which named the author.

      ‘Everyone else has gone silent, too.’

      ‘Hazara-Khan.’

      ‘Yes,’ she nodded at the name of the man who was almost certainly the head of the Keshian Intelligence Corps.

      ‘I like him a great deal, personally, but he can be a murderous bastard when he wants.’

      She stretched. ‘As can we all.’

      ‘If he’s killing our agents, war is certain,’ said Jim, suddenly feeling older than his age.

      Her sigh matched his mood and for the briefest instant he felt a slight twinge inside and shut it out as quickly as he could. It was one of the gods’ little jokes that the perfect woman in his life was the one he could never have.

      His shoulders sagged as he returned the document he had just read to her. ‘Six hundred ships?’

      ‘That’s Hallon’s best estimate, and he’s one of my best.’ Franciezka rose, crossed to sit next to him, and put her hand over his. ‘And if what he heard