The Complete Darkwar Trilogy - Raymond E. Feist

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the reasons why they had been drawn to each other was his ability to read her mood so accurately. ‘Tad asked me if we were going to wed.’

      Caleb was silent for a moment, then he let out a long sigh. ‘If I were the the marrying kind, Marie, it would be you.’

      ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But if you won’t stay, marry me, and be a real father to the boys, you have to take them with you.’

      Caleb moved out from under her and levered himself up on his elbow. Looking down at her, he said, ‘What?’

      ‘You can see how it is for them, Caleb. They have no future, here. I had to sell the farm and that coin won’t last forever, even if I grow most of my food in the garden. I can make do alone, but feeding growing boys … And they have no one to teach them farming, and no guild to teach them a craft. Every other lad was apprenticed to a farmer, trader, sailor, or guild two years ago at the Choosing, but my boys stood alone at the end. Everyone likes them, and had they means to help, Tad and Zane would be apprenticed by now, but there just isn’t enough work here.

      ‘If you don’t take them with you, they’ll become layabouts or worse. I’d rather lose them now than see them hanged for robbers in a few years.’

      Caleb was silent for a long moment. ‘What would you have me do with them, Marie?’

      ‘You’re a man of some stature, despite your homespun garb and leather hunting togs, or at least your father is. You’ve seen the world. Take them with you as servants, or apprentices, or take them to Krondor and find them work there.

      ‘They have no father, Caleb. When they were little a ma was all they needed – to wipe their noses and hold them when they were scared. We did a lot of that after Zane’s folks were killed in the troll raid. But at this age they need a man to show them what to do and what not to do, to knock some sense into them if need be, and to praise them when they do well. So, if you won’t wed me and stay here, then at least take them with you.’

      Caleb turned, and sat with his back against the plastered wall. ‘What you say makes sense, in a way.’

      ‘Then you’ll do it?’

      ‘I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to, but yes, I’ll take them with me. If my father doesn’t know what to do with them, I’ll take them to Krondor and see them apprenticed with a trader or placed in a guild.’

      ‘They’re like brothers now. It would be a crime to split them apart.’

      ‘I’ll keep them together. I promise.’

      She nestled closer to him. ‘You’ll come back from time to time and tell me how they’re doing?’

      ‘Yes, Marie,’ said Caleb. ‘I’ll make them write to you often.’

      ‘That would be grand,’ she whispered. ‘No one has ever written to me before.’ She sighed. ‘Come to think of it, no one’s ever written to anyone I know.’

      ‘I’ll see that they do.’

      ‘That’s lovely, but you’ll have to teach them to write, of course.’

      ‘They don’t know their letters?’ Caleb couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

      ‘Who would teach them?’

      ‘Don’t you …?’

      ‘No, never learned,’ she said. ‘I can make out word-signs a bit, because I’ve heard them at the shops, but I’ve never really had a need for them.’

      ‘Then how will you read what they send you?’

      ‘I’ll find someone to read them to me, I just need to know that they’re doing well somewhere.’

      ‘You’re a rare woman, Marie,’ he said.

      ‘No, I’m just a normal mother worried about her boys.’

      Caleb settled back into bed and let her return to the crook of his shoulder. Silently he wondered what he had got himself into.

       • CHAPTER TWO •

       Council

      PUG HELD UP HIS HAND.

      He was a short man who looked no more than forty years old. He was dressed, as always, in a simple black robe, and his dark eyes surveyed all the people who stood before him. His eyes were the one feature that betrayed the extent of his power. Otherwise he was, to all outward appearances, a very average looking man.

      The cave on the north side of Sorcerer’s Isle had become the traditional meeting place for the Conclave’s leaders. It had a narrow entrance, with a low ceiling. It was dry, free of moss and lichen, and from time to time, it was dusted to provide a modicum of comfort for those who met there. The cave was almost bare, save for two stone shelves and a few rocks which offered the only resting places. Light was provided by a spell that Miranda employed – an enchantment which caused the walls themselves to glow faintly. Only one feature of the cave was unnatural: a bust of Sarig, the putative God of Magic rested upon a pedestal against a wall.

      Over the years, Pug had slowly come to understand more about the way in which the gods ‘died’. Sarig was lost, and had been presumed dead since the Chaos Wars, yet Pug was coming to the conclusion that he still existed in some form and still had a hand in things. The bust flickered as the features of the icon shifted constantly, occasionally resembling Pug, or one of Pug’s companions. Its changing countenance illustrated the theory that all magicians were avatars of the god in one manner or another.

      Pug pushed his chronic curiosity over that artefact away, as he looked from face to face, seeing his most trusted advisors. All but two of them were former students. Those two – Miranda and Nakor – stood quietly to one side. Magnus, Pug and Miranda’s son who had recently returned from the world of Kelewan, stood behind his mother. Pug caught a glimpse of resemblance between them in the faint light and smiled slightly. Magnus and Caleb were unmistakably brothers, save for their skin tone and hair colour – Magnus was pale with white hair while Caleb’s skin was tanned and his hair dark brown – but neither looked especially like their parents. There were hints and glimpses of similarities from time to time, but Pug had wondered more than once whether the boys might carry the look of one of their paternal grandparents, neither of whom was known to him.

      Miranda had not changed since Pug had first met her over fifty years before. Her dark hair held only a fleck of grey and her eyes changed colour with her mood – dark grey, to green, to brown-flecked hazel, to dark brown. She had high cheekbones and a determined set to her mouth that at times could undermine her regal beauty.

      To Pug, she was always beautiful, even when he was angry enough to strangle her. It was her strength and passion that made him love her. Katala, his first wife, had possessed the same qualities in her youth. Pug’s eyes locked with his wife’s for a moment and they exchanged the silent communication they had shared for years.

      Nakor settled down on a rocky ledge, and Pug wondered again if he would ever truly understand the strange little man. Nakor refused to accept the traditional concept of magic, always insisting that it was just tricks, the deft manipulation of some kind of mystical stuff that underpinned all things. There were moments when the bandy-legged little man drove Pug to distraction with his abstract musings on the nature of things, but at other times Nakor could provide insights into and had a grasp of magic that stunned Pug. The Isalani was also, to Pug’s mind, potentially the most dangerous magician in the world.

      The newcomers to the Conclave’s inner circle sat waiting for Pug to speak. They were: Rosenvar, a middle-aged magician from Salmater and Uskavan, a mindmaster from the world of Salavan.

      Uskavan looked human but his skin had a decidedly magenta hue if you were close enough to notice. Pug had made contact with his homeworld a decade

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