Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

of the day to partake of the bath’s pleasures.

      The two young men slipped into the bath, descending two broad steps of marble, until they were able to kneel and cover their shoulders with the bracing cold water. Hal dunked his head and when he came up said, ‘If I were king, my friend, I’d be here every day.’

      Ty ducked his head and emerged, wiping his face. He grinned. ‘These days the desire to be king makes you a target, Hal.’

      ‘True,’ said Hal, turning and swimming to the far end of the pool, Ty a half stroke behind him.

      They reached the end, pulled themselves up onto the stone deck and found servants holding towels. The softness of the king’s woven towels never ceased to amaze Hal. He had grown up in a castle where coarse linen was the fabric of choice for drying everything, from kitchen utensils to the duke’s sons.

      They walked through a short hall that brought them into the warm room. A shallow pool of water occupied all but a two-foot-wide ledge around the perimeter and was filled with warm water. A series of low wooden stools were arrayed so as many as a dozen bathers could be attended at any time. With only two attendants, Hal knew that someone on the palace chancellor’s staff always knew how many residents were approaching the baths.

      They sat on stools while the two attendants, boys who appeared to be approaching manhood, set about soaping up the two young nobles. As Hal endured having someone else soap his hair – something he hadn’t had done by anyone since his mother stopped doing it when he was a boy – Ty laughed. ‘In Queg, and the City of Kesh, this task would likely befall a couple of lovely young girls.’

      Hal laughed at that. ‘If that were true here, I’d never get you to the hot room.’

      ‘A time and place for everything, I suppose. You natives of the Isles tend to be a bit proper. You’re almost as conservative as the folk in Roldem.’

      ‘You have Isles parents,’ observed Hal.

      ‘True, but I was Olasko-born and spent most of my youth there and in Roldem. I also hold titles from both cities.’

      When they were completely covered in soap, they stood for the servants to pour buckets of warm water over their heads. Dripping wet, they made their way to the next room, where a very deep, hot pool waited. They slipped in and Hal could barely avoid gasping from the sudden increase in heat.

      After a moment he could feel his muscles loosen from the vigorous sword play. ‘I could linger here for an hour or two,’ he said.

      Laughing, Ty pulled himself up. ‘Maybe later, but Father is waiting.’

      Hal groaned, but followed his friend to where more servants waited with large fluffy towels, which the two young men wrapped around their waists. They moved through a heavily curtained entrance that led to a short hall with two doors, one on either hand.

      ‘Wet or dry?’ asked Hal.

      ‘Father will be in dry. That way he won’t have to bathe off the sweat.’

      They entered the dry chamber, a spacious room with cedar-wood walls and a large bench. A bin of heated rocks had been placed against one wall. Hot coals could be added from a slot in the wall beneath, so the attendant didn’t have to enter the room.

      Two men waited on the bench, both wearing towels. Next to Tal Hawkins sat Jim Dasher, which surprised Hal not at all. The two older men sat on the higher of the two long benches across the back of the room. Jim held up his hand for silence, then indicated the bench at his feet. Both younger men sat.

      A sudden eruption of steam from the steam box filled the room with moisture and a sibilant hiss. Jim said, ‘One of my men has ensured we are not overheard.’

      Hal and Ty exchanged quick glances, then Hal said, ‘News?’

      ‘Not of the good sort,’ answered Jim Dasher. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and said, ‘You’ve been marked for death.’ He looked at Hal.

      Hal was silent for a moment, then said, ‘You said that might happen.’

      ‘And so it has,’ answered Jim.

      ‘Do we know who wants me dead?’

      Jim smiled. ‘A lot of people want you dead, Hal, we just don’t know who is paying for it.’ He sighed. ‘I got word early this morning off a ship from Roldem, sent by a good friend.’ Hal knew he meant the Lady Franciezka Sorboz, a woman with much the same position in Roldem as Jim Dasher held in the Isles. ‘We’d a report from the Conclave a while back that the Nighthawks had come to terms with them, basically safe passage in exchange for … getting out of the assassination trade, more or less. At least they were no longer lending support to the demon-worshippers who had been plaguing us for a very long time. As a result, those seeking a blade for hire or a poisoner have had fewer recourses; in short, it’s a seller’s market.

      ‘That being the case, both my friend in Roldem and I have had certain people watched, those able to broker less reputable contracts and arrangements, some who are not adverse to setting up such deals then selling information about those deals to a third party.’

      ‘You,’ said Ty.

      ‘Or … your friend in Roldem,’ added Hal.

      Jim nodded.

      Hal asked, ‘What do I do?’

      Jim sat back. ‘For the moment, nothing. I’ve some good men out looking for a pair of fellows who’ve sailed up from Kesh to Roldem, then on to Rillanon. Given the recent unpleasantness between Kesh and the Kingdom, anyone coming straight from there to here would be examined carefully by several hundred soldiers surrounding the docks.’

      ‘A pair of sailors off a ship …?’ Jim shrugged.

      ‘Do you have a description?’ asked Tal, reaching over and taking a ladle of water from a bucket and pouring it over his head.

      ‘I doubt they look the same any more,’ said Jim. ‘I’ve got on a ship looking like a nobleman, and got off it looking like something that crawled out of the bilge. For a target in the palace,’ he pointed at Hal, ‘even if he is only a distant royal, that means a great deal of gold and only the best would accept the contract.’ Jim took the ladle from Tal, refilled it from the nearby bucket, and poured it over his own head. ‘I’ve never been one for this dry heat.’

      Tal smiled. ‘My people in the mountains had sweat lodges when I was a boy. You get used to it. After a fashion, you even enjoy it.’

      ‘What I’ll enjoy is getting out of it,’ said Jim Dasher, rising. To Hal he said, ‘Pack a bag and leave it in your rooms, by the doors that so my servants can find it quickly. Be ready to leave the moment I give word. Until then, stay in the palace.’

      Tal looked at his son and said, ‘Pack as well. You’re going with him.’ Then he rose and departed.

      Ty looked at Hal and said, ‘I guess I’m going with you.’

      ‘Apparently.’

      Rising, Hal said, ‘Let’s go gather our things.’

      ‘And then we wait,’ finished Ty.

      ‘Boredom beckons,’ said Hal.

      Ty laughed. ‘In a palace full of serving women who would love to make close acquaintance with a duke?’

      Hal sighed and said nothing.

      As they walked to the dressing room where fresh clothing awaited them, Ty said, ‘Stephané.’

      Hal again said nothing.

      ‘Sorry,’ said Ty.

      ‘It’s … something I need to get used to.’

      This time, Ty said nothing. He understood what a beauty Stephané was, and how resilient she had proven herself when Hal and he had helped her escape Roldem. But Tyrone Hawkins had never found a woman to hold his attention longer than a few weeks, perhaps a