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

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      The two creatures who had come in through the door stepped forward, one blocking the door, the other coming towards him. The one nearest the door was limping visibly, and Talon knew instinctively that was the one he had cut with the scaling knife.

      Now that he had his sword, Talon felt too confined to fight. He needed to be outside, but only just outside, blocking the door so the creatures could come at him only one at a time. The figure nearest him reached back, as if about to attack with its flail again, and he leapt out, striking with his sword, seeking to drive the thing back. He jumped the fallen table, lowering his uninjured shoulder and slamming into the midsection of the one waiting before the door.

      Pain exploded along his back and ran down his left hip. He gasped in agony. The creature to his left had managed to get in a strike, and Talon felt his knees go weak.

      As he fell to the ground, he lashed down with his sword and was rewarded with a deep, meaty bite and an inhuman shriek that ended abruptly.

      Rolling away, he tried to come to his feet as something flickered through the door. There was a third assailant! He swiped backhanded with his sword in the general direction of the door, and had made it almost to an upright position when pain seared down his left cheek, shoulder and chest.

      Shortness of breath, a soaking tunic, and shaking knees meant he was losing too much blood, too fast. His heart pounded and Talon knew that unless he somehow killed the remaining two creatures he was doomed.

      There was another flicker at the door and Talon knew that both of them were now outside with him. He blinked and turned his head this way and that, trying to see something of their dark shapes in the night, but to all intents and purposes, they were invisible.

      He had a sense of motion to his right and so fell to his left. He had meant to catch himself and come upright, but his left leg failed to obey him, and he crashed to the ground. A searing pain ripped down his right leg. He lost his grip on his sword; and as much as his mind willed his body to roll away, to put distance between himself and the two creatures, he could not force it to do so.

      There was another searing line of fire across his right shoulder and Talon screamed out. He was about to die.

      His people would go unavenged, and he would never know who his murderers were or why he had been chosen to die.

      His final thoughts were of dark despair and deep regret as a blinding white light exploded around him, and he fell into oblivion.

      

      Talon was adrift in a sea of pain. Fire burned his skin and he was bathed in torment. Yet he couldn’t move. Voices and images came and went, a few familiar, most alien.

      ‘… too much blood. I don’t know …’

      Blackness folded over him and then more pain.

      ‘… survived is beyond my understanding …’

      A strange sound rang in his ear for what seemed to be the longest time, then suddenly it resolved itself into music. Someone nearby was playing a flute.

      Then more darkness.

      

      Time passed in fits and starts, vaguely remembered images, sounds, smells, and textures. A woman’s face appeared before him repeatedly. Her features were lovely, but her expression was stern, even harsh. She spoke to others nearby, but often he couldn’t hear or understand the words.

      Fever dreams gripped him in which creatures of nightmare appeared. A blue being with silver horns hovered over him for a time, speaking in a language of hoots and whistles. Other faces came and went, some clearly human, others with subtle differences, an ear too long, an eyebrow of feathers, or a nose with a small thorn at the end.

      Other dreams came, dreams of his childhood at the village of Kulaam. He saw the face of Eye of the Blue-Winged Teal, her honey-coloured eyes looking down on him with sadness. He saw his grandfather, Laughter in his Eyes, living up to his name, smiling at him with amusement. He saw his mother and sister, and the other women going about their chores.

      He saw himself coming down the mountain, exhausted yet running as fast as he had ever run.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ