The Complete Conclave of Shadows Trilogy: Talon of the Silver Hawk, King of Foxes, Exile’s Return. Raymond E. Feist
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СКАЧАТЬ heard speech that was tantalizingly familiar, peppered here and there with words that he recognized. He put out his hand and halted Caleb, who turned to see what was wrong. Noting the expression of concentration upon Talon’s face, Caleb said nothing but waited as Talon strained to make sense of what he heard.

      After a few moments of listening to a man speaking with a woman whom Talon took to be his wife, he realized he understood the speech, even though it was heavily accented and contained several strange words and phrases. Leaning close to Caleb he asked in low tones, ‘Who are these people?’

      Caleb motioned for Talon to follow him and as he moved away from the couple of strangers, he replied, ‘These are the Orodon. They live on the other side of a mountain range to the north. They are distant kin to the Orosini, though they are plainsmen and fishermen of the deep oceans, not mountain people. They have villages, but no cities, so each winter many of them journey south and in the early spring come here to the market in Latagore. There are traders who also put in at coastal villages up and down the land of the Orodon regularly.’

      ‘Why have I not heard of them?’

      Caleb shrugged. ‘You would have to ask someone who is now dead – your father or grandfather. Once all these lands belonged to your ancestors, Talon. Men from the south, city men, moved northwards and pushed your people up into the mountains, and the Orodon to the north. The nations to the south are all related to the nation of Roldem, which is why that language is spoken throughout these kingdoms.’

      Talon glanced over his shoulder as they left the open market and walked down another street. ‘I would like to know more of these people.’

      ‘Magnus will be thrilled,’ Caleb said. ‘He has a particular bent for history and will be happy to teach you. It bores me, I’m afraid.’

      They reached an inn, the sign of which showed a man in footman’s livery running after a departing coach. ‘The Running Footman,’ said Caleb. ‘In which we’ll find our friend Dustin Webanks.’

      They entered the relative darkness of the common room of the inn and stood blinking for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then with an inarticulate shout of rage, Talon drew the sword at his side and charged straight at a man who was standing at the bar.

       • CHAPTER SEVEN •

       Education

      CALEB MOVED SWIFTLY.

      He saw Talon draw his sword, shout in rage and charge at a man standing at the bar. The man – a mercenary, judging by his garb and weapons, was a seasoned veteran who reacted with shock only for a moment before recognizing a threat. But as his hand moved to his sword, Caleb reached out with his left leg and caught Talon’s right ankle, tripping him.

      A second later Caleb had his own sword in his hand and had moved to stand between Talon, who was scrambling to his feet, and the man at the bar. He lowered his swordpoint in the general direction of the stranger and with his left hand pushed Talon back to his knees as he attempted to rise.

      ‘Hold on!’ Caleb shouted. ‘Wait a minute!’

      The mercenary assumed a defensive position rather than attacking either of the two men he faced. ‘I’m holding,’ he replied. ‘But not for long.’

      Talon attempted to get up again and Caleb grabbed his tunic by the fabric at the shoulder and hauled at him. Instead of the resistance he had anticipated, Talon found his upward motion aided so that suddenly he was standing upright on his toes. Caleb let him hang there for a moment before releasing him. Talon crashed to the floor, landing on his backside.

      ‘Wait, damnit!’ shouted Caleb.

      Talon waited.

      ‘What is this about?’ yelled the mercenary.

      ‘He’s a murderer!’ Talon shouted, trying to rise once more, his face full of rage. In his anger, he had reverted to his native language.

      Caleb let him get halfway to his feet, then kicked his left heel, sending him back to the floor again. In the language of the Orosini, Caleb said, ‘No one here but me understood what you just said. Who do you think this man is?’

      ‘One of the men who killed my people!’

      Caleb did not take his eyes off the mercenary for more than a second. ‘Your name?’ he asked the man in Roldemish.

      ‘Who wants to know?’

      ‘Someone trying to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,’ answered Caleb.

      ‘My name is John Creed, from Inaska.’

      Glancing at Talon, to make sure he was still behaving, Caleb asked, ‘Have you ever served with Raven?’

      Creed nearly spat. ‘I wouldn’t piss on Raven if his arse was on fire. I’m a mercenary, not a child killer.’

      Caleb said to Talon, ‘Slowly,’ and let him rise.

      Sensing the crisis had past, the mercenary asked, ‘Who’s your hot tempered friend?’

      ‘This is Talon, and I’m Caleb.’

      Putting his sword away, John Creed said, ‘If that lad’s looking for Raven’s bunch and he acts like that you’d better make sure he has enough silver on him to pay for his funeral pyre. They’ll cut him up for dog meat without spilling a drop of ale and laugh while they’re doing it.’

      Turning to Talon, Caleb said, ‘What were you thinking?’

      Talon slowly put his sword away, not taking his eyes from Creed. ‘He looks …’

      ‘He looks like someone else, so you just go witless and forget everything you’ve been taught, is that it?’

      Talon studied the man, attempting to fit him into the images that still were vivid in his memory and gradually realized how foolish he had been. Creed was a brawny man with black hair which hung to his shoulders. His nose had obviously been broken more than once and was little more than a distorted lump in the centre of his face. His mouth was topped by a drooping moustache. His face was unremarkable, except for his eyes, which were narrowed as he studied his erstwhile attacker. Talon recognized his eyes; they were like Caleb’s, dark and intense, and they didn’t miss a detail of what they saw. This man resembled one of the men who had destroyed his village, one of the men Talon had surprised before he was shot with the crossbow bolt, but he wasn’t the same man.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said to Caleb.

      ‘Don’t tell me. Tell him.’

      Talon moved past Caleb and stood before John Creed. ‘I was wrong. I am sorry.’ He looked the mercenary straight in the eyes.

      Creed was silent for a moment, then the left corner of his mouth moved upward and with a crooked smile he said, ‘No harm done, lad. A hot temper is a sign of youth. You’ll outgrow it … if you’re lucky to live long enough.’

      Talon СКАЧАТЬ