The Complete Darkwar Trilogy

‘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 before, via the Hall of Worlds, and had agreed to let him study with the Conclave in exchange for sharing knowledge of his mind-magic. Uskavan could produce illusions so vivid in the mind of a subject, that they could cause physical reactions – he could conjure phantom blades that could cut, or imaginary flames that could burn. Pug also found his alien perspective useful.

Uskavan had taken the place of Robert de Lyse, one of Pug’s best students and a valuable servant of the Conclave of Shadows. Robert had died peacefully in his sleep the year before, though he had been less than seventy years old.

Pug began, ‘I have spoken to each of you separately and now want to share some intelligence, so I’ve asked you to join me today to sum up what we know regarding two issues of great importance.

‘The first is the matter of the Talnoy.’ He glanced at Magnus, who stepped out from behind his mother.

Magnus’ face was set in a concerned expression. ‘The Tsurani magicians are as baffled as we are by the nature of the magic used to create these things.’

The Talnoy were artefacts from another circle of reality, created by a race called the Dasati and were extremely dangerous. They were suits of armour powered by the imprisoned souls, or spirits, of the Dasati, and as such they were almost impervious to damage, immune to pain, and mindless in their obedience. According to what Kaspar of Olasko had told the Conclave about when he had brought the first Talnoy to their attention, ‘Talnoy’ was Dasati for ‘very hard to kill’.

Magnus continued, ‘They agree that any major incursion into our level of reality, for lack of a better term, would be catastrophic. As such, they are endeavouring to discover as much as possible about the wards we disturbed when we first discovered the Talnoy repository in the cave.’

He glanced at Nakor who said, ‘Nothing new to report, I’m sorry to say.’ The self-proclaimed gambler who refused to admit that he was a magician, paused as he considered his words. Finally, he continued, ‘Our girls and boys’ – he referred to all the younger magicians on Sorcerer’s Island as girls and boys – ‘are trying very hard to understand these things.

‘The one good thing,’ he said with a grin, ‘is that I think we have found a way to ensure that only we can command them should it come to a confrontation with the Dasati.’

Pug said, ‘That’s something at least. Ten thousand Talnoy under our command is nothing to be taken lightly.’ He ignored the impulse to add that against the hundreds of thousands of Talnoy controlled by the Dasati, that number would amount to very little. ‘But I think our interests are best served if we can discover how they remained hidden for so long. In other words, if we can stay hidden from the Dasati, then we will have accomplished the most important task we have before us.

‘Our other task is hunting down Leso Varen.’

Miranda said, ‘Have we any idea to where he might have fled?’

‘I have agents keeping alert for anything out of the ordinary concerning magic.’

Miranda’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘He’s gone to ground for years at a time.’

Pug said, ‘But this time I think he will be anxious to re-establish his presence. He knows something important is out there, even if he has no idea what the Talnoy represent or how he might use them to his advantage. If nothing else, he will want to deny us something that powerful.

‘His attack on the island and Elvandar last year proved that he has grown bolder, and whatever tendency he had for stealth is gone. He re-manifested his powers quickly after his host was killed by Talwin Hawkins. I think it’s safe to assume we’ll hear from him again, and soon.’

Rosenvar said, ‘Pug, what is it you’ve not told us?’

Pug smiled. He had chosen Rosenvar to join the inner circle because the man had keen insight and an almost intuitive ability to glean answers from very scant information. ‘It is nothing specific, really. Just some troubling dreams, and bad feelings.’

Uskavan’s black eyes were wide as he said, ‘Never ignore dreams, Pug. My people believe that parts of our minds are always at work, always seeking to understand things. Dreams are often the means by which some parts of the mind communicate what is about to become conscious thought; especially when the emotions are strong. Our races are not that different; when it comes to the workings of our minds we have much in common.’

Magnus glanced at the alien magician and Pug could almost read his son’s thoughts: few humans, including Pug, Miranda and Magnus, could even begin to approach the mind-discipline of a novice of Uskavan’s order. Salavan minds were far more complex than human ones, despite Uskavan’s insistence this was only because the Salavans were an older race and had been practising mental arts for thousands of years.

Pug nodded, a slight expression of resignation on his face. ‘Indeed. I fear my dreams may be portends of coming disaster. Or, they may simply be a manifestation of my concerns over the Dasati.’

Magnus said, ‘Father, we must prepare as if they are coming.’

‘I know.’ Pug looked at each member of the inner circle of the Conclave. ‘Send word to our agents who are placed in all the royal courts. I want to know about every ambition, plot or intrigue, and any situation that could be turned to our advantage. If we must, we shall bribe and threaten to secure help in such a conflict.’

Pug fell silent for a minute. He remembered the Riftwar; for twelve years, while the Tsurani had fallen upon the Kingdom and the Free Cities, Queg, Great Kesh and the lesser kingdoms to the east had watched with keen anticipation, seeking any opportunity to advance their own cause at the Kingdom’s expense. ‘Should the Dasati come, we must have friends in high places who will argue that every nation needs to respond quickly, no matter where the invasion strikes.’

Magnus said, ‘Father, that is all well and good should an attack happen in Triagia – all the monarchs on this continent have some sense of vulnerability – should aliens set foot on close by soil they would be equally vulnerable and will unite, but what if the beachhead is some deserted shore of the Sunset Islands, or down in the grasslands of Novindus, or the high plateau of Wynet?’

‘A more difficult task, then,’ said Pug. He looked at his council, pausing a moment to study each face. Miranda seemed as enigmatic as a stranger. She often kept her own counsel and took matters into her own hands. They had fought more than once over the years about her putting agents into the field without consulting him or giving orders that he disagreed with. He smiled slightly. As long as his wife was involved, Pug could never be accused of ruling the council of the Conclave of Shadows. She nodded slightly and returned his smile, and he knew this time she was in full agreement.

Rosenvar’s lined face looked as if it was fashioned from sunburnt leather. His reddish hue was accentuated by a shock of unruly blond hair, now rapidly turning white. ‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that we might be well served if we started leaking a rumour or two.’

Pug was silent for a moment. ‘To what end?’

The magician from Salmater smiled and Pug recalled the first time he had met him, sitting in the corner of an ale house, dispensing sage advice, minor charms and outright lies with equal abandon to anyone who’d stand him the price of a drink. Since coming to the island, he had stayed relatively sober, and his drinking bouts were few and far between.

‘Rumours are wonderful things, when employed correctly,’ said Rosenvar. His voice tended to rumble as if it started somewhere deep within his bowels and slowly worked its way up through his throat. ‘I’ve seen entire cities turned on their collective ear by the right rumour, Pug. Rulers distrust official reports and credible witnesses, but a juicy rumour … ah, that’ll set them running around like turkeys in a storm, heads turned upwards with mouths agape, trying to drown themselves in the downpour.’

Pug chuckled. He enjoyed Rosenvar’s turns of phrase. ‘Very well, but what rumours?’

Rosenvar lost his smile. ‘Word is Duke Erik is ill, perhaps dying, in Krondor.’

Pug nodded. ‘So I have heard.’

Miranda said, ‘He is the last.’

Pug knew what she meant. He was the last survivor of Calis’ company of ‘Desperate Men’, those prisoners given their freedom in exchange for making the journey down to Novindus at the start of the Serpentwar, and the only man of rank still serving who had survived the conflict. Erik knew what distant dangers could mean. ‘Then we start in Krondor?’

‘It seems wise,’ said Rosenvar. ‘There are a couple of rumourmongers who have various highly placed officials of the Western Realm among their clients. If we start something vague enough to not cause an immediate response, but something familiar enough to Lord Erik that he’ll feel obliged to warn the Prince of Krondor … well, it’s a start.’

Magnus said, ‘And if the Kingdom of the Isles takes the warning seriously, so will Great Kesh.’

‘And if Great Kesh and the Kingdom start to marshal their defences, so shall every other kingdom in their vicinity,’ added Miranda.

‘But we can only hold them alert for so long; we must not rush this,’ said Rosenvar.

Pug said, ‘We need Erik around long enough to make this work.’

Nakor said, ‘I’ll go to Krondor and visit the Duke. I’ll make him well for a while.’

Pug nodded. Nakor had travelled with Erik, Calis on the journey to Novindus when they first encountered the Emerald Queen. The old duke would trust Nakor.

Pug said, ‘Rosenvar, I need you to coordinate what rumours to start, where, and when. We have some well-placed agents in nearly every capital of importance on Midkemia. But I want to ensure it’s a gradual discomfort and concern, not instant blind panic.’

‘Understood,’ he replied, standing. ‘We’ll draw up a list of ideas to put the rulers of the world on edge.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Slightly on edge.’

To Uskavan, Pug said, ‘If you would, I’d like the names of your very best students. We may need to dispatch them to work in the field soon.’

The alien magician nodded, rose, and departed with Rosenvar, leaving Pug, Miranda, Nakor, and Magnus alone in the cave. Pug looked at his older son and said, ‘Where’s your brother?’

‘Down in Stardock, I believe. He should be delivering some supplies, but no doubt he lingered for the festival.’

Miranda said, ‘Lingered to spend time with that widow, you mean.’

Pug shrugged. ‘Let him grab whatever joy he can, beloved. We don’t need him back here for anything special, and I expect he’s enjoying himself.’

Magnus looked at his mother and asked, ‘Shall I find him, or return to Kelewan?’

Miranda glanced at her husband. ‘Which?’

‘Neither. Go to Novindus and continue Nakor’s work on the Talnoy. The Great Ones of the Assembly of Tsuranuanni can muddle along without you for a while. When Nakor returns from Krondor, I’ll send him back to you and you can go back to Kelewan.’

Nakor smiled. ‘Don’t break anything before I get there.’

Magnus glanced with a wry smile at the little gambler, nodded, reached inside his robe and pulled out a golden orb. He clicked a switch and suddenly vanished.

Miranda came to stand behind her husband and put her arms around him. ‘You’re worried.’

‘I’m always worried,’ said Pug.

‘No, this is something more.’ She studied her husband’s face. ‘You sense something?’

Nakor said, ‘I think I know what you’re going to tell her. I will go to Krondor and see that Duke Erik stays alive long enough to help us.’ He glanced at Pug and Miranda and said, ‘You two really do need to talk to each other more often. Really,’ he repeated, picking up his rucksack and staff, then vanishing from before their eyes.

Pug closed his eyes a long moment, then answered his wife’s question. ‘Yes, I do sense something. And it’s growing. I don’t know what to call it, but it feels more … intense than mere foreboding.’

‘A premonition?’

‘The dream troubles me, love. I think something is approaching and when it emerges, the struggle will be more fearful than anything we could ever imagine.’

‘Given what we have seen, husband, that’s quite a lot.’

‘Once, during the time of the Great Uprising, Tomas and I faced a Master of the Dread. We bested the creature, though it took all of our magic and no little guile. Then at the end, in Sethanon, I beheld a Dreadlord – a Greater Dragon, with all her magic and might, could barely contain it.’

‘But the Dread come from one of the lower planes, while these Dasati are from the second. Surely they are only slightly more dangerous than men?’

Pug held his wife’s hand. ‘You know more than I do on many subjects, Miranda, but scholarship has never been your first love.’ She furrowed her brow but said nothing, acknowledging the truth in his words.

He sighed and lowered his voice. ‘It’s the nature of beings from the lower levels of creation to absorb the life force from those from the higher. Think of it as water running downhill; just the touch of a Dasati would cause damage after only a few moments.

‘The Dread are the most fearful beings able to reach this level of reality and survive; creatures from the depths below them draw so much energy to themselves so fast that they are destroyed when they reach our plane, unless they employ powerful magic to keep themselves alive. No, it’s the fact the Dasati are from but one level below us that makes them so fearful to contemplate, my love.’ He sighed as if fatigued. ‘Nakor understands, for he has spent more time studying the Talnoy than anyone else.’ He glanced at the mouth of the cave. ‘The others will discover what I’m telling you; no need to create any risk of panic.

‘The Dasati are mortal like ourselves, but if they reach this level of reality, they will slowly draw life force from around them, from the very grass they tread upon, so that even should we establish a military stalemate, as we did with the Tsurani during the first Riftwar, they would eventually wither us to defeat. Also, the flow of life force towards them makes them harder to kill and ourselves weaker. The longer we are locked in struggle, the more difficult victory will be. And we must remember the numbers; if Kaspar is correct and he saw a true vision of that world, they would not send thousands of warriors, but tens of thousands. If they find us, we must react and react quickly. We can’t have the monarchs of Midkemia fully understanding what we must face, at least for a while, else fear might overwhelm their resolve.’

Miranda studied her husband’s face for a while, then said, ‘We shall do everything we can.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Now, we both have work to do.’

‘How are you going to return?’

He smiled. ‘I’ll walk. The fresh air clears my head and helps me think.’

She kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll see you at home.’

Before she could vanish, he said, ‘Wait a minute! Did you see Nakor use an orb to leave?’

‘Not that I noticed.’

He smiled. ‘Another of his “tricks”, I expect.’

She smiled in return and then was gone. No one could transport herself better than Miranda. She had been trying to teach Pug and some of the others how to do it without the aid of patterns or the Tsurani orbs, but few achieved it through mind alone, and then only to very familiar locations.

Pug concluded that Nakor must have studied with her. The wily little man was right, he and his wife did need to talk more.

Pug left the cavern and stopped at its mouth. It was late afternoon on Sorcerer’s Isle and by the time he reached the Villa it would be almost suppertime. He took one more look around the cave and then started his walk home.

The Royal Chirurgeon shook his head and spoke softly to the attending squire. ‘I fear he will not make it through the night.’ The two figures were dwarfed by the enormous chamber in which the Duke of Krondor lay dying. A single candle burned on the table next to the bed.

‘Shall I inform the senior squire, sir?’ asked the young man, a blond-headed rail of a lad no more than fifteen years old. The senior squire served Prince Robert, ruler of Krondor these last eight years, and heir apparent to the Kingdom of the Isles.

‘The hour is late. I shall check on the Duke again very soon. If his condition worsens, there should be time enough to wake the Prince.’

‘Yes, sir. Shall I stay?’

‘No need,’ said the old healer, his face drawn with worry and fatigue. ‘He’ll not rouse and I have other patients to care for; the stomach flux has struck the royal nursery, and though it may not be fatal, the wrath of the Princess is sure to be if I can’t get the children to rest through the night.’

The healer snuffed out the single candle next to the bed and he and the boy left the Duke’s large sleeping chamber, closing the door quietly behind them.

A moment later a figure stepped out of the shadow behind a large curtain. He crossed the room to the bed and touched his fingertip to the still-warm candle wick, and the flame instantly reappeared. Glancing down at the recumbent figure, he softly said, ‘Oh, Erik, you don’t look so good.’

Nakor had known Duke Erik when he had been a boy, fresh from the smith’s forge, tall, with huge shoulders and the strength of three men. He had also been born with a temper, which had almost got him hung for murder, but in the end he had served the Kingdom of the Isles well and had risen in rank to Knight-Marshal of the West, and held the title of the Duke of Krondor under young Prince Robert.

Nakor now looked down on an old man, past eighty years of age. His skin was like old parchment drawn tightly across his skull. His shoulders showed none of the massive strength of his youth, and were lost beneath the voluminous nightshirt he wore.

Nakor retrieved a vial from his rucksack and pulled out the stopper. He administered a single drop on the dying man’s lips and waited. Erik’s mouth moved, slightly, and Nakor poured in another drop. He repeated this application for almost fifteen minutes, a drop at a time, then sat back on the side of the bed and waited.

After a few more minutes, the Duke’s eyes fluttered, then opened completely. He blinked, then said in a soft, hoarse whisper, ‘Nakor?’

The little man grinned. ‘You remember me?’

With a deep intake of breath followed by a long sigh, Erik von Darkmoor – once a sergeant in Calis’ Crimson Eagles, veteran of the Serpentwar, hero of the Battle of Nightmare Ridge and now Duke of Krondor and Knight-Marshal of the Western Realm – sat up and said, ‘You’re damned hard to forget, old friend.’

‘You look better,’ said Nakor.

Erik moved his arms and said, ‘I feel better. What did you do?’

Nakor held up the vial. ‘I bought you some time. I need to talk to you.’

‘Then hurry,’ said the Duke sitting back. He chucked, a dry raspy laugh. ‘By all accounts I don’t have much time – wait, how did you get in here?’

Nakor waved the question away. ‘I just waited until no one was looking then came in through the window.’

Erik smiled. ‘Like old Duke James when he was a boy, then?’

‘Something like that.’

‘So why are you troubling a dying man?’

‘I need you not to die for a while, Erik.’

‘I’d be pleased to accommodate you, but I believe fate has other plans.’

‘How do you feel?’

The Duke stretched out his hands before his face and said, ‘Surprisingly good, all things considered. I’ll ask again, what did you do?’

‘It’s a potion, which I got from a priest who lives a great distance from here. It will … restore you.’

‘Restore me?’

‘It’ll keep you alive for a while longer, or if you drink a lot, for a lot longer.’

The Duke shifted himself higher in the bed, so he could sit up. ‘I’m not sure I’d like that, Nakor. My body has betrayed me and, to put it bluntly, it vexes me to be so dependent on others. It’s hard not to be able to walk to the jakes and take a piss. Nothing humbles a man as much as waking in the morning, sopping wet like a baby. I think I’d rather die than have to spend more days in bed.’

‘Well, you don’t have to do either,’ said Nakor with a grin. ‘The potion will make you stronger, too.’

Erik’s gaze fixed upon Nakor. ‘I can see better; I’ve just realized.’

‘Yes,’ said Nakor. ‘It’s a pretty nice potion.’

‘Is that how you’ve remained unchanged over the last fifty to sixty years?’

‘No. I know some other tricks.’

‘Very well, if you can get me out of this bed so I can protect the Kingdom a while longer, I’ll stay around, but what is your reason for this?’

‘Well, first of all, I like you.’

‘Thank you, Nakor; I like you, too.’

‘You are the last of the Desperate Men who went south with Calis and Bobby.’

‘I was there; I remember. Now, I appreciate nostalgia as much as the next man, Nakor, but what’s the real reason?’

‘We need someone who is close to the Crown to listen and help when the time comes.’

‘We?’ asked the Duke. ‘You mean the Black Sorcerer?’

‘Yes, Pug.’

Erik sat back with a long exhalation of breath, shaking his head slightly. After the Serpentwar, Kesh had moved against and almost destroyed Krondor, seeking to an advantage itself in its seemingly never-ending struggle with its northern neighbour. Pug, who was Duke of Stardock at that time, and vassal to the Crown of the Kingdom of the Isles, had refused to use his powerful magic to destroy the invaders, but rather had ordered the Keshians home, while at the same time publicly humiliating Patrick, who was then the Prince of Krondor, and was now King of the Isles.

Erik said, ‘Pug’s been persona non grata since he defied Prince Patrick, after the Serpentwar. Robbie may be related to Patrick in name only – he’s as thoughtful as Patrick is rash – but the collective royal memory is a long one. Pug pulled Stardock out of the Kingdom and set it up as an independent state; that looks like treason from the throne’s point of view.’

‘That’s why we need you to persuade them otherwise. ‘Something bad is coming, Erik.’

‘How bad?’

‘Very bad,’ said Nakor.

‘As bad as the Emerald Queen?’

‘Worse,’ said the short gambler.

Erik sat motionless for a moment, then said, ‘Go over to that table, Nakor.’ He pointed to a long table set against the wall. ‘Open that box.’

Nakor did as requested and found the simple wooden box with a small brass hasp and ring latch. Inside it he found a black amulet. He pulled it out, letting it hang from the chain. ‘Nighthawks?’

‘We received that from one of our agents in Great Kesh. I suspect you and your companions have as many agents down there as we do.’

Nakor turned to regard the old Duke. Erik’s blue eyes were now alight with energy and his voice was growing stronger by the moment. ‘Oh, I have no problem with your … what do you call it? Your Conclave?’

Nakor said nothing, but smiled slightly.

‘But you’re not the only ones out there paying for information, my old friend,’ said the Duke. ‘I served with you and Calis long enough to have no doubt you only intend good, no matter what the Crown’s official position on your activities may be. Truth to tell, Patrick needed the public spanking that Pug gave him when the Keshian army was outside the city walls. Just as much as the Keshians needed to be sent home with their tails between their legs.

‘But if it ever comes down to choosing between your vision of a larger good and my duty to the Crown, you know what I will do.’

‘I know, Erik.’ Nakor understood if it ever came to a choice, Erik would put his oath and duty to the Crown ahead of anything Pug asked. He put the amulet back. ‘How long have you had it?’

‘A week. Some minor court officials and influential merchants are starting to turn up dead in the City of Kesh. It’s a big place and the dead men are of marginal importance, so the Keshians don’t appear to be taking note of it yet.’

Nakor was thoughtful. ‘Or someone highly placed is ensuring they don’t.’

‘My thought, as well,’ said the Duke. He looked at the window, and said, ‘How long before dawn?’

‘Four hours or so,’ said Nakor.

‘I think I will stick around a while longer, Nakor. If the approaching danger is worse than the Emerald Queen’s army, I want to be fit enough to stand on the wall with my sword in my hand.’

Nakor grinned. ‘You will.’

Erik smiled back and Nakor could see the health returning to his cheeks. When Nakor had seen him sleeping, Erik had looked like an eighty-year-old man, near death’s door. He now seemed more like a vigorous man of seventy or less.

‘I need to go. Drink the rest of that vial now.’ Erik did so and handed the empty bottle back to Nakor. The skinny gambler pulled another and said, ‘Hide this somewhere. Drink half of this one in a week’s time if you don’t feel as strong as you’d like to. And if you want to feel really wonderful, drink the rest a week after that.’ He put it on the pillow next to the Duke. ‘I’d leave more, but it would be difficult for you to explain to the Prince why you suddenly look younger than he does.’ Grinning, he added, ‘It’s a good thing you were born blond, Erik, because people won’t notice your hair isn’t as grey as it used to be.’