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

Talon glanced at Magnus, who frowned, but didn’t dispute the claim. Magnus appeared about to say something, but it was Nakor who spoke.

‘As for your question, young fellow, it’s quite a tale, and one that you’ll need to hear, but not right now.’

Talon looked from face to face, saw a silent exchange between the two men, and realized that somehow Nakor was telling Magnus not to speak any more on the subject of the attack.

Nakor said, ‘Magnus, I believe your father wanted to speak to you.’

Lifting an eyebrow slightly, Magnus replied, ‘No doubt.’ Turning to Talon, he said, ‘I’ll leave you to Nakor’s tender mercies and advise you not to wear yourself out. You’ve been badly injured and need rest and food more than anything.’

Nakor said, ‘I’ll see him back to his room.’

Talon bid Magnus good day and turned back towards his own quarters. His legs were trembling by the time he got back to his bed, and Nakor helped him get in.

There was something about the seemingly frail little man that intrigued Talon. He was certain there was a great deal of strength to him, and more. Yet Magnus’s former teacher had said nothing as they walked back.

‘Nakor?’

‘Yes, Talon?’

‘When will I know?’

Nakor studied the young man’s face, and saw how he fought to keep his eyes open. When fatigue finally overwhelmed Talon, and his eyes closed, Nakor answered. ‘Soon, Talon, soon.’

A week went by and Talon’s strength returned. He watched with interest as his bandages finally came off and discovered a set of scars which would have done any senior member of his clan proud. Not yet twenty years of age, he looked like a veteran of many battles, a man twice his age. For a moment he felt a profound sadness, for he realized there was no one among his people to whom he could reveal these marks of a warrior. And as his hand strayed absently to his face, he realized that even if any such survivor existed, he had no tattoos upon his face to reveal that he was of the Orosini.

Miranda removed the last bandage and noticed the gesture. ‘Thinking of something?’

‘My people,’ said Talon.

Miranda nodded. ‘Many of us come from hardship, Talon. The stories you might hear on this island alone would teach you that you are not alone.’ She sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. ‘Some here are refugees, fleeing from murder and bloodshed, much as you have, and others are survivors, as you are, who have also lost everything of their homes.’

‘What is this place, Miranda? Magnus avoids my questions, and Nakor always turns the conversation to something …’

‘Frivolous?’

Talon smiled. ‘He can be funny at times.’

‘Don’t let that grin fool you, boy,’ Miranda said as she patted his hand. ‘He may be the most dangerous man I’ve met.’

‘Nakor?’

‘Nakor,’ she echoed, standing up. ‘Now, wait here and rest a bit longer, and someone will be along shortly.’

‘For what?’ he asked, feeling very restless and wanting to get out of the room.

‘To take you somewhere.’

‘Where?’

As she left his quarters, she said, ‘You’ll see.’

Talon lay back upon his bed. His body was stiff and aching, and he felt the need to be out doing something, if only for a little while, to stretch his muscles and force air deep into his lungs. He wanted to run, or climb, or stalk a deer in the woods. Even fishing would be welcome, for the hike down to the beach and back would work up a sweat.

Talon closed his eyes and drifted off into his memories – of the men sitting around telling stories before a bright fire in the long house. He thought of the cleansing rituals, for which special buildings were constructed as the snows receded from the slopes of the mountains, where billowing steam from heated rocks would engulf the gathered groups of ten or more men and women, boys and girls who would chant a welcome to the spring and then remove the winter’s accumulated dirt and grime.

He thought of his father and mother and sadness rose up in him. The harsh bitterness he had felt for the first year after the destruction of his people had been replaced by a quiet wistfulness, a resignation to the fact that he was the last of the Orosini and that to him fell the burden of revenge, but beyond that point, his future was unknown to him.

He was drifting, half in a doze, when suddenly he felt someone enter the room.

His eyes snapped open and his heart raced, then he looked up into the face of a young woman he had never seen before. Her face was dominated by the most startling blue eyes he had ever seen, large and the colour of cornflowers. Her face was delicate, with a fine chin, full mouth, and almost perfectly straight nose. Her hair was the colour of pale honey, with lighter streaks from the sun. She wore a simple blue dress, with bare arms and a scooped neckline, one he had seen many of the women at this place wearing, but on her it looked magnificent, for she had a tall, slender body and moved like a hunter.

‘You are Talon?’

‘Yes,’ he said, having to force that single word through his teeth, for she took his breath away.

‘Follow me,’ she said.

He rose and followed her as she left the room. Outside, he managed to catch up enough to walk next to her and asked, ‘What is your name?’

She turned and regarded him with a serious expression, dipping her chin slightly as if to see him better. Then she smiled and suddenly her face seemed alight. She spoke in soft tones, her voice almost musical, as she answered, ‘I am Alysandra.’

He could not think of anything to say. She robbed him of words. Any memory he had of Lela or Meggie vanished before the beauty of this young woman and suddenly an ache sprung up in his stomach.

They crossed a large courtyard and moved towards part of the main house that Talon had never visited before.

All too quickly, she turned and said, ‘In there,’ pointing to a doorway. Then, without waiting, she departed, leaving him standing open-mouthed as he watched her retreat across the courtyard, everything about her tightening the knot in his stomach. He watched for what seemed only an instant and then she vanished through a doorway and he was left alone before the door.

After a moment he gathered himself and regarded the door. It was a simple thing of wood with a single handle. He gripped the handle and entered.

Three men stood in an empty room. Two of them Talon recognized: Nakor and Robert.

‘Master!’ Talon said in surprise.

Robert nodded and said, ‘Stand there, Talon.’ He pointed to a spot in the middle of the room.

The third man was short, with a beard and dark hair, and he regarded the young man with a gaze that caused Talon some discomfort. There was no mistaking that this man had power. His bearing alone showed that, but there was more to it than that. In the time spent with Magnus and Robert before him, Talon had come to sense something of the magic arts in a man, and this man fairly reeked of them.

He spoke. ‘My name is Pug. I am also called the Black Sorcerer.’

Talon nodded, saying nothing.

Pug continued. ‘This is my island and all who dwell upon it are my friends and students.’

Robert said, ‘Pug was my teacher, as was Nakor, Talon.’

Talon remained silent.

Nakor said, ‘The attack of the death-dancers has changed things, boy. We had been evaluating your progress and were waiting to judge you.’