Flight of the Nighthawks by Raymond E. Feist Read Free Book Online Page A

resignation on his face. “Indeed. I fear my dreams may be portents 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.”
    â€œI 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 toadvance 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 all 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?”
    â€œA more difficult task, then,” said Pug. He looked at his council, pausing a moment to study each face. Miranda seemed as enigmatic as any 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 were fashioned from sunburned 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 rumor 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 alehouse, 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.
    â€œRumors 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 rumor, Pug. Rulers distrust official reports and credible witnesses, but a juicy rumor…ah, that’ll set them running around like turkeysin a storm, heads turned upward with mouths agape, trying to drown themselves in the downpour.”
    Pug chuckled. He enjoyed Rosenvar’s turns of phrase. “Very well, but what rumors?”
    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’s 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?”
    â€œIt seems wise,” said