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

as they could. Jim was merely the latest head of the King’s spy network to curse the day the Hazara-Khans first drew breath.

      Jim knew one thing: all intelligence went through Kaseem abu Hazara-Khan, and if he could have an hour with him, Jim might learn why the greatest empire in the world’s history had decided to attack the second and third most powerful nations together. For to attack the Isles was to attack Roldem: they were too closely allied for the Kingdom of Roldem to back away graciously from the conflict and play the part of neutral party or honest broker.

      Jim reefed sails along with the other seamen, his feet planted firmly on the ropes below the yard. He looked up and saw the ship was slowly being brought into a harbourage on the north side of a massive island. The Island of Snakes, he thought. Why would we be stopping here?

      As he secured the sails he did a rough calculation. About thirty or more ships were at anchor, a few warships, but mostly merchant vessels, the majority being coast-huggers like the one he served on. Jim knew as soon as he signed on the Suja that he was not heading around the world. There had been no deepwater ships in the flotilla in Hansulé when he had arrived. He just didn’t know if they would be heading north or south. As soon as they weighed anchor, he had known they’d be following the two fleets that had departed before them.

      Gossip had it that the first fleet had consisted mostly of warships with a few support vessels. He assumed they would enter the Bitter Sea and sweep away any Quegan galleys foolish enough to come south or any privateers sailing out of Durbin. Their target had to be the Kingdom’s fleet at Port Vykor. If they came in and hit them fast, they could set up defences in that captured city and keep the Armies of the West from moving to support the Kingdom town of Landreth on the north shore of the Sea of Dreams. If they could hold it for a month, the Vale of Dreams would effectively be Kesh’s for years to come.

      But why stop at a deserted island? They were sufficiently provisioned for the journey up to Elarial, which was a large city with deepwater facilities for refitting and outfitting ships. It was the logical place to replenish supplies. So why were they here?

      Jim finished his work as the anchor was dropped and word was passed for the day watch to go below to the mess. He headed down the companionway and fell in line to get his meal. He ate without thinking about what was in the bowl and drank the weak, watery ale that was his portion for the day.

      Above his head he could hear activity on deck and wondered who was working if the day watch and night watch were both below. Unlike deepwater ships on long voyages, there was no middle watch. Once sails were set along the coast and the business of keeping the ship in good order was in hand, there were ample moments for rest on either watch.

      When the meal was over, most men fell into bunks, as was their habit, but Jim went up on deck to see if he could make any sense of what was taking place. He reached the top of the companionway and ducked down as he came out, just in case the captain or first officer was concerned about such a trespass.

      No one was watching the exit from below. The Suja was a two-master, both lateen-rigged, and was well suited to work the coasts. Her company was small, no more than thirty men, so Jim had little trouble staying out of view.

      In the distance he could see boats ferrying cargo from the island to the ships anchored closer to the shore. The captain glanced down from the poop deck and noticed Jim, but said nothing, turning his attention back to the land. Jim took that to mean there was no prohibition about being on deck.

      Whoever had been unloading on deck had made quick work of it. A bundle of what looked to be small crates was lashed down near the forecastle, under a canvas cover. Jim moved to the railing and looked down to see the longboat that had brought the cargo pulling away. Those on deck must have gone over the side just moments before Jim had come up on deck.

      In the longboat were four sailors rowing easily, since the large craft was empty. In the stern was a hooded figure with his hand on the tiller and when Jim noticed the hand, his heart almost leapt into his throat.

      Sticking out of the sleeve of a deep red robe was a green-scaled hand ending in black talons. There was only one race on this world it could belong to.

      Pantathians!

• CHAPTER SEVEN •

       Traveller

      CHILD SCREAMED.

      The flyer had come out of the noonday sun, and struck hard enough to stun her for a moment. Only by ducking her chin and twisting to the left did she manage to avoid having her throat ripped out from behind, though she took a deep gash to her shoulder. She swung her elbow viciously, catching the flyer on the side of the head.

      It was all she needed.

      Before the flyer regained his senses she had her fangs in his throat and had bitten down hard and deep enough to end his life. Thoughts and images came flooding into her, as was always the case with a kill, and she felt herself grow again. She was now physically the match of any but the most powerful demon lords: the flyer only survived for as long as it did because of surprise and her momentary disorientation. She realized this might continue to be a problem, for she did not appear to be as powerful as she was. It was her magic and knowledge that had given her an advantage over the vast majority of individual demons she encountered, and she was wise enough to avoid groups too powerful to destroy.

      She had grown in size and was as physically mature as she was likely to get through natural means. She was, by the standards of their race, a particularly striking female. Gender was often a matter of choice among demonkind, and some like Belog were male in only the most superficial sense of the term.

      For striking she was, tall and lithe, with curving hips and long legs. She had a flat stomach despite her ravenous appetite, and had developed a round, if small, bosom. Her neck was long but what was most striking were her features; she had kept her small fangs, but otherwise her face was almost human in her features, as if she was inclined to become a succubus of the First Realm. Belog wondered if perhaps in her previous existence she had been such, for she had shown only passing interest in them, yet had seemed almost single-minded in her curiosity about the demon realm.

      She paused as she drank in the essence of the flyer and realised she had to exert her will. She felt a strong desire to transform herself into a flyer. She didn’t hesitate. Flying would have given her speed and the ability to hunt, but she would lose strength, and as she sensed her power growing, she decided it was better to guard her strength rather than waste it by transforming herself into a creature of lesser might.

      She knew that should she choose, she could direct her future growth to choosing wings. But to be a flyer of her size would require mastery of magic, a topic she returned to frequently, so it was a possibility, just not now.

      She motioned to Belog to come out from behind the rocks where he hid, waiting to see the outcome of the attack, knowing that had the flyer been victorious, Belog would have attempted to steal away while the flyer feasted upon her.

      They were in the middle of a vast plateau riven with gullies, valleys with dead ends; deep crevasses which forced them to double back and pick their way across the baked red landscape. It was torturous travel, but they kept moving.

      The air hung heavy with dust and the smell of sulphur, metallic hints of copper and iron, and the stench of decay. Plumes of hot gases erupted around them, foul, yellowish geysers and fumaroles. Hellish was the only word to describe it, a fact she found oddly amusing, but she wasn’t entirely sure why.

      She beckoned for him to consume what she had left. As he ate, she asked, ‘Why are the flyers so slight?’

      ‘Creatures that fly have hollow bones, though the bone wall is sturdy. They must be light so their wings can lift them. The muscles that drive the wings are powerful, though.’ He stopped to bite deep into the dead flyer’s haunch. There was still enough energy left within the flesh to sustain him for a few more days. She was being generous in how much she provided.