Authors: Raymond E. Feist
King of Foxes (43 page)
Then he walked over to where Natalia waited. “I hope you can find some happiness in the future, m’lady.”
She smiled at him sadly. “And I hope that someday you find peace, Squire.”
Tal kissed her lightly on the cheek and turned away.
He came to stand before Nakor and Pug, and said, “What are you doing with Kaspar?”
“I’ll explain later,” said Pug.
Nakor said, “I heard from the soldiers how you killed Varen. Very clever, throwing the ball at him.” He grinned.
“Wish I had thought of that.”
“Actually, that merely broke his concentration and cut off his wind. I killed him by breaking his neck.” He looked at Pug. “Was it worth it? Did you find whatever it was that you feared Varen was doing?”
Pug looked unhappy. “It wasn’t the story we told the two kings. But it was something almost as bad.” Lowering his voice, Pug said, “Varen was trying to open a rift.”
“Rift?”
“A gate between two different places,” said Nakor.
“I’ll explain it in detail later, if you must know. But it’s the sort of magic gateway the Tsurani used to invade—”
Tal said, “I know what a rift is, Nakor. I read the books, remember? I’m just surprised that’s what he was up to.”
“As are we,” said Pug. “I know more about rifts than any man alive, or so I thought. This thing Varen made is unlike any rift I’ve encountered. He used black arts and _______________
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the lives of innocents to construct his device, and it appears to have been recently engaged.”
“You mean there’s a rift here in the citadel?”
“No, Tal,” said Nakor. Then his voice became somber. “But we fear there may be one forming out there somewhere.”
“But where?” asked Tal.
Pug said, “Only Varen knew.”
Tal sighed. “I am glad I am not a magician. My problems seem simple compared to yours.”
Pug said, “We have resources. We’ll keep people here studying Varen’s work. We’ll find out what he was doing.”
He smiled. “You look done in. Go get something to eat, then go to bed.”
“No,” said Tal. “I have one task left, and it cannot wait any longer.” Without explaining, he turned and walked out of the throne room of Olasko.
Nakor said, “He could have been Duke. Natalia would have married him.”
Pug shook his head. “No, he’s looking for peace, not power.”
“Do you think he’ll find it?”
Pug put his hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “When he chose to let Quint and Kaspar live, I think he started on his way to it.” He smiled. “Come. Tal may not be hungry, but I am.”
They left the hall.
__
The pounding on the door was insistent, and the man whose business it was stood up fearfully. The city had been filled with rampaging Keshian soldiers until dawn, then civilian looters had followed. He had held his own _______________
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with a large meat cleaver and the looters left him alone, as much because he had nothing worth stealing in his shop as because of his weapon.
But the voice that came from outside sounded as if it would not be easily scared away. “Open up, or I’ll kick this door down!”
The man shouted, “I’ve got a weapon!”
“Then open the door, because if you make me kick the door in, I’ll make you eat that weapon.”
Clearly, the intruder wasn’t going to leave. At last the knacker called Bowart opened the door. A soldier entered, his sword at his side. He took one look at the podgy man who stood holding the huge cleaver and said, “Don’t hurt yourself with that. I’m looking for a girl.”
“We ain’t go no girls here,” said the proprietor.
“We’re a gang of knackers. This ain’t no brothel.”
Tal pushed past the man. “Where are your slaves?”
Bowart pointed to the back door and Tal pushed it open. He walked across a large yard that reeked of dead animal flesh and old blood. There was a shack at the back.
He moved to the door and stepped inside. A dozen beds lined the walls, and a single table sat in the center of the room.
Eyes wide from fear of marauders regarded him. A single candle burned on the table. Tal picked it up and went from bed to bed, searching the faces. At last he found the woman he sought.
In the language of his people he said, “Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, I am called Talon of the Silver Hawk.
You knew me as the boy Kielianapuna.”
She blinked as if confronted by a vision. Softly she said, “Kieli?”
He nodded, extending his hand. “I have come to take you from this place if you will go with me.”
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She slowly rose and took his hand. “Anywhere but here.” She studied his face, and recognition came into her eyes. “You
are
Kieli,” she said softly, and behind the pain in her eyes he saw hope. Gripping his hand tightly, she said softly, “I have a son.” She inclined her head to the next bed, where a boy of perhaps four or five years slept.
“His father was a soldier, but I don’t know which one, as many men had me after I was taken.”
Tal gripped her hands and looked at the boy. He was fair-haired, like his mother, and beautiful in sleep. With emotion thick in his voice Tal said, “I will be his father.”
She squeezed his hand tightly. Softly he said, “We can never be what we were, Teal. Our world has been taken from us, but we can be together and teach our son what we know of our ways. Our people will not be forgotten.”
She nodded, her eyes gleaming with emotion as tears began to run down her cheeks.
He asked, “Are there others besides you from our village or the other villages?”
She said, “I don’t know. There were a few taken with me, but all of us were sold.”
“We shall abide here a while, then,” he said, “and we shall look for them. And if we find them, then we shall give them a home.”
He let go of her hand and gently picked up the sleeping boy. Cradling him, Tal said, “I do not know what it is we will become, Teal—Orosini or something else—but we will discover that together.” Holding the boy in his right arm, he extended his left. She took his hand, and he led her into the night, into an unknown future.
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RETRIBUTION
Two men appeared.
It was just after dawn, when a moment before it had been just after nightfall. Kaspar felt disoriented for a moment, but Magnus pushed him away.
Kaspar stumbled and fell, then quickly got to his feet.
“What is this?”
Magnus said, “You are on the other side of the world, Kaspar. This is the land known as Novindus. Here not one living soul has heard of Olasko, let alone of its duke.
No one here even speaks your language.
“Here you have no servants, no army, no subjects, no allies; you have neither power nor wealth. You are at the mercy of others as others have been at your mercy for most of your life. Tal Hawkins wished you to dwell on your errors, to contemplate your sins and what you have lost. Here you may do that every day of your life, however much of it you have remaining.”
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Kaspar’s jaw set firmly. “This is not the end of it, magician. I will find a way back, and I will regain that which has been taken from me.”
Magnus said, “I wish you good fortune, Kaspar of Olasko.” He waved his hand, and the shackles and manacles fell away. “I leave you with your wits, your strength, and your talents, for they are all you need, if you learn humility.” He pointed off to the east, where a faint haze of dust could be seen on the horizon. “Those are nomads, Kaspar. Men who will either kill you or enslave you, depending on their mood. I suggest you find a hiding place and consider this your first opportunity to learn.”
The Magnus vanished, leaving the former Duke of Olasko alone on a dirt road, halfway around the world from home, with enemies advancing.
Kaspar looked around and saw a small copse of trees on a distant hill. If he started running immediately, he might be able to hide before the nomads caught sight of him.
He looked at the rising sun and felt a fresh breeze blowing. There was no familiar hint of sea salt, something he had grown to take for granted in Opardum, and the air was dry.
His skin prickled in anticipation, for he had been plucked from abject failure to a new beginning. His head swam with images, and he knew that somehow he had been used by forces he didn’t understand. When Leso Varen had died, it was as if a nagging ache in the base of his skull had ceased. He didn’t know what that meant, but he knew he felt oddly good. Despite being thrown in a cell in his own dungeon, he had slept well, and when he had been taken from there, he had expected to die.
Now he was here, wherever
here
was, free to make his own way. He glanced around. Not much of a world to _______________
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conquer from what he could see, but Kaspar expected there were better places somewhere around here. Either way, he couldn’t start any sooner. He picked up his chains and hefted them, swinging them as a weapon as the riders came into view.
He grinned.
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It has become a tradition that I begin each acknowledgment with a heartfelt “thank you” to the original creators of Midkemia, and this book is no different.
So, again, I acknowledge my never-ending debt to Steve, Jon, Anita, Steve, Bob, Rich, Tim, Ethan, April, and Conan. As I explain at every opportunity, yours are the
“other voices” that permeate my work.
To Jonathan Matson of the Harold Matson Company, Abner Stein of the Abner Stein agency, Nicki Kennedy of In-tercontinental Literary Agency, and the folks at Tuttle-Mori Agency for taking care of the franchise around the world.
To Jennifer Brehl and Jane Johnson for being amazing: they know how to make a writer look better.
To Ralph Askren for the great maps.
To so many friends for keeping me upright and sane over the last few years.
_______________
To the members of the Feist Fans Mailing List at Cor-nell University who are not shy about telling me what they like and dislike but who have also become virtual friends, and a few who’ve become more than virtual.
Thanks for keeping things interesting.
To Jennifer, Roseanna, Rebecca, Milisa, and Heather for keeping things lively.
To Jamie Ann for keeping things interesting and lively.
To my mother, for so many reasons, and my children, for even more reasons.
And last, but certainly not least of all, you, the readers, for keeping me working at a craft I love.
Raymond E. Feist’s novels include
Magician
;
Silverthorn
;
Faerie Tale
;
Prince of the Blood
; and
The King’s Buccaneer
; as well as his
New York
Times
-bestselling Serpentwar Saga:
Shadow of a Dark Queen
;
Rise of a
Merchant Prince
;
Rage of a Demon King
; and
Shards of a Broken Crown
; and The Riftwar Legacy:
Krondor
:
The Betrayal
;
Krondor: The Assassins
;
Krondor: Tear of the Gods
. He is the creator of the immensely popular computer games “Betrayal at Krondor” and “Return to Krondor.” Mr. Feist lives in Southern California.
TA L O N O F T H E S I LV E R H AW K
S I LV E R T H O R N
A D A R K N E S S AT S E T H A N O N
FA E R I E TA L E
T H E K I N G ’ S B U C C A N E E R
R I S E O F A M E R C H A N T P R I N C E
S H A R D S O F A B R O K E N C R O W N
K R O N D O R : T E A R O F T H E G O D S
K R O N D O R : T H E B E T R AYA L
K R O N D O R : T H E A S S A S S I N S
With Janny Wurts
S E R VA N T O F E M P I R E
Designed by Renato Stanisic
Maps by Ralph M. Askren, D.V.M.
J a c k e t d e s i g n b y Ric h a r d L . A q u a n J a c k e t il l u s t r a t io n b y Pau l Robin s o n This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
KING OF FOXES. Copyright © 2004 by Raymond E. Feist. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of PerfectBound™.
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Adobe Acrobat eBook Reader March 2004 eISBN 0-06-075540-7
FIRST EDITION
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