Raymond E. Feist - The Complete Conclave of Shadows Trilogy - Talon of the Silver Hawk, King of Foxes, Exile’s Return

He saw smoke, and death, and fire. And he saw a man on a black horse.

‘Raven!’ he shouted as he sat up.

A woman gripped his shoulders and said, ‘Calmly. Relax. You’re going to be fine.’

Talon realized that he was drenched with perspiration. He felt light-headed. His bandaged body shook with a sudden chill as bumps rose on his arms. He looked around the room.

The room he was in was white with several finely made pieces of furniture, and through a large window he could see a blue sky, a warm day. A scented breeze blew through the window and he could hear voices in the distance.

‘Where am I?’

The woman stood up. ‘You’re among friends. I will get Magnus.’

Talon fell back against a trio of heavy pillows stuffed with soft down. He rested naked between sheets of fine white cloth, unlike anything he had seen before. The sheets were drenched, and he knew he had just broken a fever. Bandages covered his shoulder, back, his ribs on the left side, both thighs, and his right calf.

A few minutes later, Magnus appeared with the woman a step behind him. ‘How are you feeling?’ asked the white-haired magician.

Lying back on the pillows, Talon said, ‘I couldn’t fight a kitten.’

Magnus sat on the side of the bed and put his hand on Talon’s forehead. ‘Fever’s gone.’ He put his thumb on the top of Talon’s left eyelid and lifted it slightly. ‘So is the jaundice.’

‘What happened?’ Talon asked.

Magnus said, ‘It’s a long tale. The short version is that someone sent three death-dancers to kill me. They found you instead.’

‘Death-dancers?’

‘I’ll explain it all, at length, but for now you need to rest. Are you hungry?’

Talon nodded. ‘I could eat.’

The woman said, ‘I’ll get some broth,’ and left the room.

‘How long have I been like this?’ asked Talon.

‘Ten days.’

‘I’ve been here ten days?’

Magnus nodded. ‘You almost died, Talon. Had you been just about anywhere other than this island, you almost certainly would have done. Perhaps a powerful temple priest might have saved you, but few apart from those living here would have possessed the skills to keep you alive.

‘The death-dancer’s touch is poison, so even if the kill isn’t clean, the victim rarely survives.’

‘How did I get here?’

‘When the death-dancers set foot upon the shore, some of us knew instantly something was amiss. We hurried back to the hut once it was clear no attack was mounted here. The death-dancers expected to find a magician, alone in the hut, and instead they found a swordsman.

‘Had they been hunting you, you would have died without knowing who struck you down. But they were prepared for magical resistance rather than cold steel and that bought you enough time for us to rescue you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Talon. ‘Who is “us”?’

‘Myself, and others,’ said Magnus. He stood up as the woman returned with a large bowl of broth and a slice of bread on a tray.

Talon elbowed himself up so that he could eat, but the exertion made his head swim. The woman sat down next to him and picked up the spoon and rather than object, he allowed her to feed him. She was a beautiful woman, possibly in her middle thirties, with dark hair, striking blue eyes and a firm set to her mouth that made her appear stern.

He glanced from her face to Magnus’s and between spoonfuls of steaming broth, said, ‘I can see a resemblance. You never said you had a sister.’

The woman smiled and Magnus did as well, and the resemblance became even more pronounced. The woman said, ‘You flatter me.’

‘Talon, meet Miranda, my mother.’

Talon swallowed and said, ‘I find that difficult to believe.’ If anything, she looked younger than her son.

‘Believe it,’ said Miranda. ‘This is a very remarkable place.’

Talon said nothing and continued to eat. When he was finished, Miranda set aside the bowl. At once he started, ‘What—’

‘Not now,’ she interrupted. ‘You will have time to ask questions, later, but for now you must rest.’

Talon’s curiosity was overwhelmed by his fatigue, and even before she had left the room, his eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and rhythmic.

Two days after he had regained consciousness, Talon was allowed to get up and walk about. Magnus lent him a staff, which Talon leaned on, since both his legs were weak and sore from his injuries, and he hobbled along next to the magician, who said: ‘Welcome to Villa Beata.’

‘That’s the name of this place?’

‘Yes, it means “Beautiful home” in an ancient tongue.’

They were in a large courtyard, surrounded by a low wall. The buildings around them were all white plastered, with red tile roofs.

‘I’ve never imagined a place like this.’

‘Those who built it were less worried about defending this place than they were about comfort. There are many stories about how it came to be.’

‘Do you know the truth?’

Magnus smiled. ‘I don’t. My father claimed to have heard the truth on the subject, but the man who told him the story was known to make inventions when it suited him, so we may never know how this place came to exist.’

‘Is this your home?’

‘This is where I grew up, yes,’ said Magnus.

Talon looked around and his eyes grew wide as he saw a creature with blue skin and silver horns carrying a large basket of wet laundry around the corner and into a building. ‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘That was Regar, a C’ahlozian. You will find many people here who look nothing like you or me, Talon. Just remember they are still people. You would be as out of place in his homeland as you think him to be here.’

Talon said, ‘Before I met you, Magnus, I would have thought him a thing of campfire tales, and when I saw him during my illness, I thought him part of a fever dream. Now, I begin to think little can surprise me.’

‘Oh, just wait a bit, my young friend. There are surprises aplenty waiting for you. But for now, just enjoy the warm afternoon and walk around these grounds for a while. You need to rebuild your strength.’

As they walked slowly around the compound, Talon caught a glimpse of people scurrying here and there upon errands, most looking very normal, but one or two decidedly not. The walk caused him some shortness of breath, so he saved his questions for later, but he did manage to pause long enough to ask, ‘Magnus, who was trying to kill you?’

‘That, my young friend,’ replied the magician, ‘is a very long story.’

Talon smiled; it hurt too much to laugh. ‘I don’t seem to be going anywhere for a long while.’

From behind him, a voice said, ‘A sense of humour. That’s good.’

Talon turned and saw a small, frail looking man standing behind them. He was bald-headed and wore a simple tunic that closed over his left shoulder, leaving the right bare. Upon his feet were cross-gartered sandals, and he held a staff in his left hand. Across his shoulder hung a bag, and his face appeared ancient, yet possessed an almost childlike quality. Dark eyes studied Talon, eyes with a strange, almond-shaped cast to them.

Magnus said, ‘Talon, this is Nakor.’ With a slight change in tone that Talon didn’t quite understand, Magnus added, ‘He’s one of my … teachers.’

Nakor nodded and said, ‘Some of the time. At other times I felt more like a cell guard. Magnus when young was quite a troublemaker.’

Talon glanced at Magnus, who frowned, but didn’t dispute the claim. Magnus appeared about to say something, but it was Nakor who spoke.

‘As for your question, young fellow, it’s quite a tale, and one that you’ll need to hear, but not right now.’