The Complete Darkwar Trilogy: Flight of the Night Hawks, Into a Dark Realm, Wrath of a Mad God

A scream from further down the tunnel told Caleb that another of the Conclave’s men had been slain. Caleb could only hope that the end had come swiftly, for the Nighthawks would think nothing of peeling the skin from a man inch by inch to extract whatever information he might have before finally killing him.

Caleb had lost his lantern when they had retreated. Some light filtered through a distant grating in the ceiling twenty yards to his left, otherwise the tunnel was shrouded in murk.

The three men at the junction stood fast as the Nighthawks rushed at them. The lack of light and their black clothing made it difficult for Caleb to judge how many there were until they were almost upon him.

He slashed at a man who dodged back, then thrust past the man’s retreating form to take another Nighthawk in the thigh. The assassin crumpled with a groan of pain as the man on Caleb’s right sliced at another Nighthawk who also fell down.

Then, without any verbal communication, three remaining Nighthawks stepped back. The one nearest to the wounded assassin skewered the man with the point of his sword, sinking his corpse beneath the sewage that swirled around their legs.

The Nighthawks retreated slowly, until they vanished into the gloom. After a moment, Caleb said, ‘Follow me,’ and led his men towards the sunlight streaming from the grate above.

Upon reaching the pool of light, he found the iron rungs fixed to the wall and indicated the two men with him should climb out of the sewer. When they were safely up the ladder, Caleb climbed out.

It was quiet as the three filthy, blood-splattered men emerged from the sewer in the centre of a backstreet in the warehouse district.

Caleb said, ‘Go to your appointed safe havens. If Chezarul has survived, he’ll know where to find me. If not, then whoever takes his place will know how to reach me. For now, trust no one and say nothing to anyone. Go!’

The men hurried away, and when they were safely out of sight, Caleb took off in the opposite direction.

He paused at a public fountain and leaned over, ducking his entire head under the water. He came up sputtering and shook the water from his long hair – he had lost his hat somewhere in the sewer.

Caleb glanced around and knew that he couldn’t be sure if he was being watched. He could only hope to lose whoever might be following him on his route to his safe house.

As he set off, he wondered about the boys. He had given them strict instructions to follow if he were not back by sundown. They were to walk out of the Three Willows by the route he had taught them until they came to a particular home. There, they should knock on the back door and say a particular phrase. He prayed they would do as they were told.

Caleb dodged around some crates stacked on the corner of two alleys, and a slashing blade cut deep into his left shoulder. He staggered backwards and made ready to receive the attack that would follow.

Two Nighthawks blocked his escape route. Caleb knew the men would have to die in as short a time as possible else he would lose consciousness and bleed to death from his wounds.

The Nighthawk who had caught him by surprise charged first, the other man moved to Caleb’s left, so Caleb took the one opportunity presented to him. He ducked, thrust upwards, and then with an explosive leap, yanked his sword from the stomach of the first Nighthawk, twisting himself completely around and swinging his sword in an arc. The second Nighthawk saw Caleb duck and instinctively moved his blade to his own left, assuming that Caleb would now swing at him from that side, but with the sword turned in a complete circle, the attack came from his right, and before the Nighthawk could bring his sword around to block, Caleb’s blade bit deep into his neck.

The second man fell and Caleb stumbled past him, clumsily putting his sword into his scabbard as he moved in what looked like a drunken stumble. He pushed his hand against his twicewounded shoulder, to stanch the flow of blood and turned his mind to one thing: reaching the safe house before he lost consciousness. ‘Three treys,’ said Jommy, laughing as he scooped up the copper pieces. Zane groaned and threw his cards down on the table.

Tad laughed. ‘I told you not to bet.’

Jommy was about to say something when the smile suddenly faded from his face. His eyes darted around the room and he lowered his voice. ‘Heads up. It’s about to get nasty in here.’

Tad and Zane glanced around the taproom and saw that four men in matching grey cloaks had entered and now stood around the room, effectively sealing off each exit.

‘What is this?’ asked Tad.

‘Don’t know, but it’s not good,’ answered Jommy. ‘Stay close to me, lads.’ He stood up and waited until Tad and Zane did likewise. He said, ‘Get ready.’

‘For what?’ asked Zane, just as Jommy walked towards the nearest man.

The direct approach of the large red-headed boy must have confused the man, for he didn’t attempt to draw his sword until Jommy had picked up a chair and sent it crashing towards him, foiling his attempt to pull out his weapon.

While the man ducked under the first chair, Jommy picked up another and smashed it down on the man’s head, at about the same time Pablo Maguire came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what the problem was. Before he made two steps, one of the greycloaked men had pulled a small crossbow out from under his cloak and fired at the old man. Pablo ducked behind the bar and avoided being killed, and rose up with a sailor’s cutlass in his hand.

Jommy and Pablo both shouted, ‘Run!’ at the same time, and Tad and Zane ran out the door. Jommy paused only long enough to kick the downed man in the face, before he leaped through the doorway, with the two closest men following after him.

The boys had reached the boulevard and were heading into the plaza by the time the men began to overtake them. Jommy glanced over his shoulder to make sure Tad and Zane were still behind him and shouted, ‘Follow me!’

He hurried to the fountain where the usual gang of apprentices and girls were gathering and came to a grinding halt in front of Arkmet and the other Bakers’ Boys. He said, ‘You feel like hitting someone?’

‘You?’ asked Arkmet, taking a step back.

‘No,’ said Jommy as Tad and Zane caught up.

‘Them?’ said Arkmet with a grin.

‘No,’ said Jommy, pointing past the brothers at the two greycloaked assassins who had pursued them into the plaza. ‘Them.’

Arkmet shrugged. ‘Sure.’

Jommy, Tad, and Zane took off, and the two assassins moved forwards, their cloaks hiding their weapons from the city watch. The Bakers’ Boys moved to intercept the two men and Arkmet said, ‘What’s the hurry?’

One assassin, a grey-bearded man with a bald pate, threw back his cloak, revealing a sword and dagger in either hand, and said, ‘You don’t wish to know, boy.’

Seeing weapons, the Bakers’ Boys stepped away but continued to block the route Tad, Zane, and Jommy had escaped by. Putting up his hands, Arkmet also backed away, and said, ‘No one said anything about blades.’

‘No one said anything about stupid boys getting in the way, either,’ said the assassin. He made a menacing gesture with the dagger in his left hand, while his companion slipped around him to the right, and tried to see which way the three boys had fled.

‘Stupid?’ said Arkmet as the man tried to shoulder past him. ‘Stupid?’ With stunning fury, the broad-shouldered boy lashed out, catching the assassin on the left side of his face, right at the point of his jaw. The man’s eyes rolled in his head and his knees buckled. His companion turned to see what the noise was and was greeted by a brick, thrown with precision by another Bakers’ Boy. The brick caught the man on the bridge of his nose and his head snapped backwards.

Someone pushed him over and the Bakers’ Boys gathered around the two fallen men and proceeded to stomp and kick them, continuing long after they had fallen unconscious.

Tad, Zane, and Jommy hugged the wall in the darkness. They had been on the move for hours and at last were fairly sure they were not being followed. Perspiration dripped off all three of them, for the night was hot and they had not had the chance to rest for ages.

‘What now?’ asked Zane.

‘We go where Caleb told us to go if something went wrong,’ Tad replied. ‘Four men trying to kill us is most certainly something wrong, don’t you think?’

‘You’ll get no argument from me, mate,’ said Jommy. ‘Where did he say we were supposed to go?’

Tad said, ‘Follow me.’

He led his two companions through the streets of the city, getting lost twice but eventually finding his way to the appropriate home. As instructed, he did not approach the house directly, but from a narrow alleyway, and through a broken board in the back fence, which let the three boys into a small garden behind a modest building. At the kitchen door, he knocked and waited.

‘Who’s there?’ demanded a man’s voice.

‘Those who seek shelter in the shadows,’ Tad replied.

The door opened quickly and a broad-shouldered man in a simple tunic and trousers urged them inside. ‘Come in, quickly!’

He said nothing but moved towards the centre of the room and rolled back a carpet. Under it lay a trap door and he motioned for Zane and Jommy to pull it open. A narrow flight of stairs led down into the gloom. The man lit a lantern from a taper thrust into the fire in the kitchen, then led the boys down. ‘I’ll close that when I come back up,’ he said at the bottom of the stairs.

The stairs gave way to a narrow tunnel which headed away from the house in the direction they had come. A deserted shed had stood on the opposite side of the alley, and Tad judged they were now somewhere beneath it.