King of Ashes. Raymond E. Feist

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      ‘You make a mistake, you just get sent to your grandfather,’ Hava continued.

      ‘Ha!’ laughed Donte. ‘The preceptors and the other masters are afraid of my grandfather, so he beats me harder than any of them. My grandfather is afraid of no one.’ After a moment, he added, ‘Well, other than my grandmother.’

      Hava laughed, but Hatu said, ‘Do you ever take anything seriously? You know what Hilsbek was saying, don’t you?’

      ‘What?’ asked Donte as they began to look around for a new observation post.

      ‘The day is coming when we’ll know too much,’ whispered Hatu harshly.

      ‘Too much?’ asked Hava.

      Hatu’s expression held exasperation. ‘To let us live,’ he whispered. ‘Once we know all of the secrets …’

      Hava’s eyes widened. Hatu nodded; it was about time she understood. ‘We need to be more careful,’ he added in low tones.

      ‘Life’s too short to be careful,’ Donte responded with annoyance as they reached the centre of the market. He halted and looked around. ‘Where?’

      After a quiet consideration, Hatu said, ‘Over there, I think.’

      He didn’t point – another lesson learned early – just raised his chin in the direction of a large building on the far side of the market. It wasn’t situated as advantageously as their last post but offered a good view of anyone arriving from the docks.

      ‘How’s your ear?’ Hatu asked Donte as they moved quickly through the crowd.

      ‘Hurts,’ was all Donte said.

      Hava shook her head and furrowed her brow as she said, ‘One day you’re going to say something that will get you killed.’

      ‘Maybe,’ said Donte as he led his companions into the alley beside their new vantage point. He took a quick look around and with a nod of his head indicated that Hatu should be the first to climb. Donte formed a stirrup with his hands and his friend hopped into it without hesitation. Thrown upwards, Hatu caught the eave of the roof and pulled himself onto the roof with ease. He turned and lay flat, letting his arms dangle over the edge.

      Donte lifted Hava so she could grip Hatu’s arms and when she reached the roof, she lay next to him. Donte leapt and caught his companions’ hands, and together they pulled him upwards.

      Settling in, Donte said, ‘Two hours to sunset.’

      ‘Try to stay awake,’ chided Hatu.

      Hava chuckled as they started to scan the crowd below for anything unusual.

      The port was the heart of the Coaltachin nation, and yet at the same time it wasn’t. To those who lived in the Kingdom of Night, and their trusted associates, it was called Corbara: the capital city of a sprawling set of tiny islands, populated by a people whose main export was assassination, espionage, and crime. Its residents were expert at detecting which newcomer should be respected and which should be misled. By tradition and habit no one used the name of the city in front of strangers in the port. Corbara was only ever called ‘here’, ‘home’, or ‘this city’. Some travellers had passed through the port more than once and still had no idea where they had been. Such was the culture of Coaltachin.

      This combination of secrecy and commerce forged as strong a brotherhood as there was among any tribe on Garn. The lowest peasant in Coaltachin felt akin to the highest of the masters, and while few natives acknowledged it, the outsiders who had dealings with the island nation were forced to navigate the insular, chauvinistic nature of its people with sensitivity. Anyone not of Coaltachin was at best a necessary nuisance, and at worst a potential enemy. This attitude towards strangers, even friendly visitors, was so ingrained that it was never spoken of, simply learned from childhood.

      The three youngsters watching the market and harbour were already part of the nation’s elite. The sons of masters and preceptors, like Donte, were automatically selected for the schools, as were the children with exceptional potential, like Hava. She had been a combative child, and her early willingness to stand against much larger and stronger children had caught the attention of the local master, Facaria. The others knew nothing about Hatu’s past, hut his admittance to the academy marked him as exceptional, and so the fact he came from outland stock was ignored by those who had been raised alongside him.

      The students were training to become soldiers, but soldiers unlike those of any other nation. The forces of Coaltachin included squadrons of ships, often disguised, but ready to repel the rare incursions by seafarers who didn’t understand whose waters they entered. Some of the larger islands held defensive garrisons with small units of archers, pikemen, and swordsmen. The true militia of Coaltachin was invisible, a thing of reputation and rumour myth and lethal ability.

      In the old tongue, Quelli Nascosti meant ‘The Hidden’, and it was possible that some day the very best among these students would count themselves among their ranks. As the grandson of a powerful master, and son of a deceased master, Donte would almost certainly advance.

      Hava was among the finest students in combat and weapons training, and possessed rare athletic skills.

      Hatushaly’s advantage was unique. He knew he was receiving special treatment: he had heard of no other outland child at his or any other school. The mystery was one of the sources of his constant smouldering anger, as was the uncertainty over his future.

      THAT EVENING, TWENTY-THREE STUDENTS SAT in small groups at the back of a cluttered warehouse. Most of the youngsters were known to the three friends; several were from other villages, here because their masters had been called to an important meeting. As they made their way from the door to the rear of the warehouse, where food waited, Hatu saw a familiar face watching them walk past. Hava saw his expression change and quietly asked, ‘What?’

      Hatushaly lifted his chin towards the youngster who stared in their direction. ‘Raj,’ he said in a venomous tone.

      Hearing that name, Donte turned. Across the room, near to where the students’ travel bags were stored, squatted three young men, eating silently. Raj’s lopsided smile was easily recognisable. The boy had a strange face: delicate features and deep brown eyes that were overshadowed by a heavy brow, giving him an unbalanced appearance.

      Donte sighed and said, ‘Do not start anything, do you hear me?’ He gripped Hatu’s tunic and said, ‘I know Raj’s look; he’s ready to start something. He knows he can goad you, so just leave it alone.’

      Hatu forced himself to look away, and Donte added, ‘We’re already in trouble with Hilsbek, and if you start a fight with Raj …’ He made no further comment, simply put his hand on Hatu’s shoulder and steered him to the waiting food.

      After a few steps, Hatu shrugged Donte’s hand away and said, ‘I’m not going to start anything …’ He glanced back at Raj and saw that the boy was still staring at the three of them.

      ‘What is it between you two, anyway?’ Hava asked.

      Hatu remained silent as they reached the table where food had been laid out on wooden plates. When they had settled into an unoccupied corner of the room, he said, ‘I don’t know, it started …’

      ‘Years СКАЧАТЬ