The Complete Darkwar Trilogy. Raymond E. Feist

turned back over to the care of Tilenbrook, who had recently returned from whatever mysterious mission he had been on.

      Their first morning with the slender man, he bid them meet him in an open stretch of grass near the lake, and said, ‘It’s time for you to learn a bit about fighting.’

      Seeing no weapons, Tad said, ‘You mean like brawling?’

      ‘A bit more than that, but basically, yes.’ He looked at the two boys and said, ‘Which one of you lads wishes to be first?’

      Tad and Zane glanced at one another, then Tad said, ‘You’re always the first one to throw a punch. Go ahead.’

      Zane smiled and raised his fists, circling to his left, his left fist up beside his head. ‘Very good,’ said Tilenbrook, moving forward like a dancer. ‘The position of your left hand protects your head.’ Then suddenly he was driving his left fist under Zane’s elbow, knocking the wind out of him and making his knees wobble.

      ‘Of course,’ said Tilenbrook, ‘you need to learn how to protect your side when you do that.’

      He stepped forward to Zane and steadied him, saying, ‘Watch me.’ He showed the boys how to draw their elbow into their side and bend slightly to take the blow on the arm or hipbone. ‘Make your opponent tire himself out flailing at your arms, shoulders and hips. You’ll be sore and covered with bruises the next day, but you’ll be alive. Your opponent, however, will be heavy of arm and huffing for breath. Because of all your running, you will still have your wind and even if he’s a better fighter than you by nature, you should be able to win the brawl.’

      He spent the morning showing the boys how to use their fists, then in the afternoon he showed them the true art of brawling: fists, feet, knees, elbows and the forehead butt. ‘The eye gouge is especially effective if you can manage to quickly get both thumbs in there, for it leaves your opponent sightless just long enough to effect some serious damage to other parts of his body.’ He glanced at the setting sun and said, ‘I think we’re done now.’

      Both boys were exhausted when he was done and as he dismissed them he announced, ‘Tomorrow we’ll move on to common weapons.’

      Tad and Zane looked at one another but each boy was too tired to speak.

      The next morning they finished their early meal and reported to the lawn where Tilenbrook was supposed to be waiting for them. Instead they found Caleb, now fully restored from his wounds, who stood with two travel packs at his feet and a third over his shoulder.

      ‘Where’s Tilenbrook?’ asked Tad.

      ‘About other business,’ Caleb answered. ‘Your training is going to be cut short, because we have to leave, and this very morning. Grab a pack. Each has shirts, trousers, extra boots, and other items you’ll need. We’ll get you weapons once we get to the ship.’

      ‘Ship?’ asked Tad.

      Caleb smiled. ‘Sometimes it does well not to arrive by uncommon means.’

      As he picked up his pack, Zane asked, ‘Where are we bound, Caleb?’

      ‘Kesh.’

      ‘To Yar-rin?’ asked Tad.

      ‘Jonril?’ asked Zane.

      ‘No, to the great city itself,’ said Caleb as he started walking. ‘I’ll tell you more once we’re under way, but we are heading to Port Vykor, then onward past Stardock – we’ll drop in to see your mum – then down into the heart of the Empire.’

      ‘What are we going to do there?’ asked Tad.

      With no smile, Caleb said, ‘That’s a long tale to tell and we’ll have time on the ship.’ Saying nothing more, they marched on.

       • CHAPTER SEVEN •

       Ralan Bek

      MAGNUS WATCHED THOUGHTFULLY.

      Three Tsurani magicians gathered around the Talnoy he had brought to Kelewan more than a year before. They all stood in a large chamber set deep in the bowels of the Assembly of Magicians on the Tsurani homeworld. Light was provided by a series of magical devices fastened to the walls, as torches tended to fill the air with a haze of smoke.

      ‘We believe we have come to understand the nature of this … thing, Magnus,’ said a magician named Illianda. ‘We have consulted with priests of several orders on the possibility of this creature housing a … soul, as you called it.’

      Illianda, like his brother magicians, was dressed in a simple black robe. Unlike his brothers he was a tall, thin man. His height approached that of a citizen of the Kingdom, making him very tall for a Tsurani. Since the Riftwar, many Tsurani children had been exhibiting this uncharacteristic height. Illianda’s face was smooth shaven, like most Tsurani magicians, and he also shaved his head. His eyes were dark as sable and they were fixed on Magnus as he spoke. ‘Our main concern, however, is the problem of this thing acting like a beacon for this other world.’

      Fomoine, a stout magician of a more traditional Tsurani stature, said, ‘We received a report yesterday of a wild rift located in an isolated valley to the north of the city of Barak in Coltari Province.’ Magnus’ interest was quickly piqued. ‘A herder saw a black rift appear in the sky and a flock of ill-omened birds flew through it. Vile creatures from his description.’

      The third magician, Savdari, added, ‘One of our brothers transported himself to the valley and found a measure of residual energy from the rift formation. It is certainly not of this level of existence, and must be from this Dasati homeworld of which you have spoken.’

      Fomoine said, ‘He also found the birds and destroyed them, but not until they had killed several of the herder’s needra. Our brother returned with three specimens and the remains are being examined now. These birds from the Dasati homeworld are analogous to the carrion birds of your world – crows I believe you call them – or the janifs here on Kelewan. They are, to say the least, far more aggressive and dangerous than our birds; the herder was forced to hide in a nearby thicket to save his life.’

      ‘This is troubling, indeed,’ said Magnus. ‘What luck have you had in duplicating the wards against these occurrences?’

      ‘Little. We feel humbled, once again, by the work of your legendary grandfather.’

      Magnus’ eyebrow lifted slightly but otherwise he kept his face expressionless. He always found it nettling to have Macros the Black referred to as his grandfather. Macros had died before Magnus was born, and all he and Caleb knew about the man was what their mother had told them – most of which was hardly flattering. That he was a prodigious practitioner of the magical arts was undoubted, but in many ways he had proved a bigger confidence trickster than Nakor, and was a man who often pushed compassion and ethical considerations aside. By conservative estimates, tens of thousands had died as a result of his manipulations. The debate lay in whether they were necessary sacrifices, or if there could have been other means available to him to achieve the ends he sought? It was the sort of conversation Magnus and his father had enjoyed many times over the years: discussing the consequences of choices made by those with great power.

      Magnus knew the official histories of the Kingdom well, and had studied various chronicles from historians in the Free Cities and a few personal journals that had come into Pug’s possession, but nothing rivalled the tales about the trials of the Riftwar, told to him and Caleb as boys by his father and Tomas when the boys visited Elvandar.

      From time to time, Magnus felt the odd premonition that like his father and grandfather before him, he too would be tested. He feared failing that test, for he knew that like his progenitors, he would not bear the consequences of his choices alone.

      Only Magnus’ mother seemed able to distance herself from such concerns. Miranda’s