truth.’
Pug stood up, motioning to Nakor that it was time to return to the villa. ‘They’re lying to us?’
‘Well, they’re certainly not telling us everything. Consider who Kaspar met on the peaks of the Ratn’garies.’
‘Kalkin.’
‘Yes, Ban-ath, the god of thieves … and tricksters, and liars …’
‘So you think the Dasati may not be as big a menace as Kalkin portrayed?’
‘Oh, I still think they are all that and more, but I think Kalkin showed Kaspar only what he wanted Kaspar to see. The gods have their reasons, I’m sure, but I’m a cynical bastard at times and I’d like to know what Kaspar didn’t see in that vision.’
Pug stopped and put a restraining hand on Nakor’s shoulder. ‘You’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?’
Nakor grinned. ‘Not yet, but in days to come, we may have to visit the Dasati world.’
Pug stood motionless for a moment, then started walking again. ‘Intentionally opening a rift to the Dasati home world? Could there possibly be a more reckless act?’
‘I’m sure there is. We just haven’t thought of it at the moment,’ said Nakor with a laugh.
Pug laughed with him. ‘I’m not convinced, Nakor. That could be the worst idea in the history of really bad ideas.’
Nakor continued laughing. ‘Perhaps, but what if travelling there prevents the Dasati from coming here?’
Pug’s laughter stopped abruptly. ‘What if—?’ He walked with his eyes down as if he was lost in thought, then he said, ‘Perhaps it is something we need to discuss.’
‘Good. And while we’re at it, when are you going to tell me more about these messages from your future self?’
‘Soon, my friend,’ said Pug. ‘Soon.’ He looked up at the afternoon sun sparkling across the waves. ‘I wonder how Caleb and the others are doing down in Kesh? We’ve not had word from them in days.’
‘Oh, I’m sure we’d have heard if there was anything of importance going on.’
Caleb lunged to his left as the assassin drove the point of his sword through the air, barely missing his chest. Caleb ignored the burning pain in his left shoulder as it slammed into the moss-covered stones of the sewer, and drove his own sword point into the Nighthawk’s stomach.
The trap had been diabolical in its planning and execution. Caleb cursed himself for being a smug fool. Not only had he and Chezarul’s men failed to stay one step ahead of the Nighthawks, they were now clearly at a disadvantage.
The only reason they were still alive was blind luck.
Chezarul had agents following the merchant and other men watching the house where Zane had spied Mudara speaking with the Nighthawk. The night before, one of Chezarul’s agents had reported uncovering the Nighthawks’ base. It had taken days, but now it seemed that their patience was paying off.
Chezarul had identified a basement of an abandoned warehouse as the Nighthawks’ headquarters, and had planned a double-pronged assault on them, with men emerging from the sewers, while others attacked the building from the street.
As the Nighthawks were most active during the night, it was decided that a mid-afternoon attack would catch the majority of the assassins as they slept.
Guided by one of Chezarul’s men, Caleb had taken his group through the sewers, taking an entire morning to work their way to positions surrounding the Nighthawks’ suspected lair.
What they had found instead of the nest was a trap, which had only been revealed because a company of rats had been disturbed and one of the men felt a stray gust of breeze which had carried a faint hint of smoke. Caleb barely had time to call out a warning before the sewer swarmed with black-clad Nighthawks. Three of Caleb’s men had died before they realized what was occurring and the rest fell back in a disordered manner.
The attack had been turned into a rout, and now Caleb’s only concern was getting the surviving men out of the sewers alive. He urged them past him while battling the Nighthawks at a slower pace, so that eventually only he and four others held the mouth of the tunnel at the entrance to a large junction.
Caleb knew that he needed to keep the intersection clear for at least another couple of minutes so that the rest of the Conclave’s agents could flee into the city above.
He had no doubt that other Nighthawks would be waiting in the vicinity, but he doubted that any of them would assault Caleb’s men in broad daylight. The City Watch was usually disinterested, but proved aggressive and brutal when it came to public unrest. Armed conflict in the streets of Kesh was close enough to rebellion to provoke a swift reaction, and if the fighting got out of hand the Inner Legion would answer their call. If that happened, the only options would be run, or die.
The man next to Caleb gurgled as his lungs filled with blood from a puncture wound to his chest. Caleb slashed down hard and removed the offending Nighthawk’s arm at his elbow and he fell back into the foul water screaming. Caleb stood his ground with two of Chezarul’s men at his side, and for a brief moment the Nighthawks gave them respite as they regrouped.
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