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

For blades were the reason for the existence of the Masters’ Court. Over two hundred years ago the King of Roldem had commanded a tourney to name the greatest swordsman in the world. Nobles, commoners, soldiers and mercenaries had travelled from as far away as beyond the Girdle of Kesh – the mountains that separate the northern and southern halves of the Empire, the Far Coast of the Kingdom, and all points in between. The prize had been fabled: a broadsword fashioned from gold and studded with gems – an artefact worth a kingdom’s taxes for years and years.

For two weeks the contest had continued until a local noble, a Count Versi Dango, had prevailed. To the King’s astonished delight, he announced he would reject the prize, so that the King might make use of the value of the sword to pay for the construction of an academy dedicated to the blade, and there hold the contest on a regular basis: and thus the Masters’ Court was born.

The King ordered the construction of the school which covered an entire city block in the heart of the island kingdom’s capital, and over the years it had been rebuilt and refined, until now it resembled a palace as much as a school. Upon its completion, another tourney had been organized, and Count Dango had prevailed in defence of his rank as premier swordsman in the world.

Every fifth year the contest was held, until on his fourth defence, Count Dango was wounded in his match by the eventual winner and was forced to retire from the contest.

Since then thirty-one different men had won the championship. Talon of the Silver Hawk, now known as Tal Hawkins, planned to be the thirty-second such champion.

The duelling master approached and Tal bowed. ‘Master Dubkov,’ he said with respect.

‘That was a fine display, but you took your opponent for granted. If you did that with a more experienced swordsman, you might have found yourself taken, my young friend.’

Tal inclined his head in acknowledgement of the duelling master’s correct appraisal. Then he grinned and said, ‘If I never offer the less skilled a slight chance to win, what motive do they have to spar with me?’

Master Dubkov laughed. ‘And those with more experience – say, those anticipating a place in the tourney – will not spar with you lest they reveal too much and disadvantage themselves to you during the contest, eh?’

‘Exactly,’ said Tal.

‘Well,’ said the duelling master, lowering his voice, ‘I don’t know how much good you think you’re doing yourself by these exercises, but the crowds enjoy them – especially the young ladies.’ He inclined his head towards an area of the gallery where a dozen of Roldem’s noble daughters sat observing the bouts.

Several smiled and nodded in Tal’s direction. He smiled back and returned the nod in their general direction without making eye contact with any specific girl. Master Dubkov raised an eyebrow at this. Then he said, ‘Well, I must be about my duties. Good day to you, young Talwin.’

‘Good day to you, master.’ Tal bowed like a lifetime courtier.

He removed the padded jacket with Pasko’s assistance, and Pasko handed him a towel. Tal dried his neck and his damp hair, which was clinging to his head. Then he donned a fine brocade jacket, suitable for afternoon wear, and stood patiently while Pasko fastened the frogs and loops. ‘Dinner invitations?’ he asked.

‘Four, m’lord. The Lady Sabrina wishes you to dine with her and her father. The Ladies Jessica and Mathilda each wish for you to dine with their entire families, and the Lady Melinda wishes for you to dine with her, and mentioned that her father is away on business.’

‘Melinda it is, then,’ said Tal with a grin.

‘You seem unusually happy today,’ Pasko observed. Robert’s former servant had appeared during the first month Tal and Caleb had taken up residence in Salador. He played the part of manservant with such conviction and ease that Tal could easily believe he had held such a post for a nobleman at some point in his obscure past. He had certainly inculcated Talon of the Silver Hawk with all the necessary nuances of noble manner and bearing to become Talwin Hawkins.

Tal nodded and smiled. ‘Rumours, idle gossip and sources of impeccable unreliability lead me to believe that before the contest I shall be invited to the palace for an audience with the King, or at the very least, be listed as a guest for the next gala.’

‘That’s unsurprising, Master,’ said Pasko. Dropping his voice so that he could be heard only by Tal as he put a cape around the young man’s shoulders, he said, ‘What’s surprising is that it’s taken so long.’

Tal smiled. ‘Indeed.’

They departed from the practice hall, past the gallery, and as they entered the grand hall that led to the outer courtyard, more than one servant pressed a note into Pasko’s hand. Portraits of past champions lined the walls of the grand hall and in the centre of the entrance, a heroically large bronze statue of Versi Dango welcomed visitors and students to the Masters’ Court. They hurried down the steps to a waiting carriage, and the driver held the door open for them.

Once inside, Tal said, ‘I am only the second swordsman in the history of the Masters’ Court never to have lost a bout.’

‘Hmmm,’ said Pasko. ‘I seem to remember you taking a drubbing from Master Dubkov one afternoon, m’lord.’

‘That wasn’t a bout,’ said Tal. ‘And it was instructional. And, mainly, it was because I let him.’

‘You let him?’

‘Yes, for two reasons,’ said Tal as the carriage pulled out of the courtyard and entered the streets of Roldem. ‘First, he is a Master of the Court and I need friends there, and second, I learned more in losing that match than I would have if I had pressed and won.’

‘So that’s why you’ve settled for draws in some bouts?’

‘Yes,’ said Tal. ‘But only in practice, you’ll note. I’ve never lost in competition and I don’t intend to start doing so any time soon.’

‘Swordsmen from all over the world are coming for this competition, I’d remind you, m’lord.’

‘Yes, and I may lose, but that is not my intent.’

‘Good,’ said Pasko.

The carriage wended its way along the cobbles, and Tal sat back and enjoyed the passing view while Pasko quickly read and discarded the notes pressed into his hand. They were all the same, young women asking Tal why he had not called upon them recently.

Tal sat back and let the fresh ocean air that blew constantly from the west refresh him, while he drank in the sights. He had seen three great cities, Krondor, Salador and now Roldem, and by far he preferred his present location. Krondor seemed roughhewn and almost primitive compared to the other two, perhaps as a result of having been largely rebuilt from rubble over the last thirty years. Caleb had told him the story of the Emerald Queen and the destruction of the city by her forces, and about the gallant stand by the Kingdom Army at Nightmare Ridge.

Salador, by contrast, was an ancient city, sprawling and metropolitan. The outer districts were dominated by small local markets and streets of businesses, and the inner city bore little resemblance to the ancient walled fortress it must once have been in the dim past. Tal remembered passing through an open gate from one precinct of the city to another, but otherwise there was little to indicate the great wall which must once have been the city’s main defence.

Salador possessed some charms, and the two years Talon of the Silver Hawk had spent there becoming Talwin Hawkins had been two of the best years of his life until he had come to Roldem. He had learned to play the lute, the brass horn and a variety of percussion instruments. He had lost all accent when speaking the King’s Tongue or Roldemish, and could pass as a gentleman from either nation. He had refined his painting, learned to tell a good wine from a poor one – discovering a passion for the former – and mastered the intricacies of court dances.

He had read books and scrolls and studied everything he could about the history of the nations of this continent of Triagia. He learned of the other nations he had not visited, and became an avid student of history.

He had met and known women. At first he had nursed his injury at Alysandra’s hands, but Caleb had forced him one night to accompany him through the city, drinking at inn after inn until at last they had arrived at a particularly well-regarded brothel. There Caleb had entrusted Tal’s care to a cadre of skilled and enthusiastic young courtesans who had found ways to revive his interest in women. After that, there had followed liaisons with serving girls, merchants’ daughters, and the occasional daughter of the minor nobility.

By the time his twentieth birthday arrived – he had adopted the Kingdom custom of using Midsummer’s Day to mark his birth – he was ready to make his entrance at the Masters’ Court.

Robert had appeared one night with forged documents, naming him Talwin Hawkins, a distant cousin to a minor noble in Yabon Province in the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles. So Talon of the Silver Hawk had become Talwin Hawkins, Squire of Morgan River and Bellcastle, Baronet of Silverlake, vassal to the Baron of Ylith, who had left his father’s home to serve with the northern garrison for a while as a Bannerette Knight Lieutenant under the command of the Duke of Yabon, and had honourably left that service to seek his fortune: a young man of rank but no wealth.

Along the way, somehow, he had amassed enough resources to purchase a modest, but tasteful, apartment in the better quarter of the city, where he entertained small groups of young nobles; and had distinguished himself as the finest swordsman and the most eligible foreign bachelor to have arrived in the city in years.

Tal had been impressed with the amount of work that had gone into preparing his way into Roldem society. Letters of credit, introductions, and references had all been prepared in advance. Several locals presented themselves as old acquaintances, even going so far as to remind Tal of details of their past encounters.

To Pasko and Robert’s delight, Tal turned out to be a skilled gambler, the result of the logic games forced upon him while he studied with Robert and Magnus. He resisted the temptation to win large stakes, preferring to consistently win small amounts. To ensure that he was invited back to games of cards and dice, he conspired to lose upon occasion, with grace and good humour.

He was judged by everyone who knew him an upstanding young man. Direct, polite, and amusing, he was counted as a prize dinner guest, and rarely did he eat alone at home. His fluency in many languages, his grace as a dancer, his ability to sing and play many instruments, all made him one of the most popular young men around town. Only an invitation to one of the King’s galas was lacking; and now rumour provided hope that might be imminent.

The only criticism levelled at Tal Hawkins was from the young ladies of Roldem. He was charming, handsome, witty and, at the right time, ardent. But more than one young woman had accused him of having no heart, for he would never speak to them of love. Desire and the pleasures of the body, yes, and his directness and bold approach had won more than one young flower of Roldem who had been determined to resist the notorious young man from the west. His bed was empty only when he wanted it to be, but often he found little joy in those who shared it with him. Release, pleasure, and amusement; but never joy. His mind turned to Alysandra from time to time, and he wondered if he was becoming like her, and then decided he was not for he still felt affection for his mentors and remembered the love he held in his heart for his family and those of his village; but when it came to young women, he found them a means to an end, either to satisfy his lust, to gain him social access, or merely providing diversion.

The carriage stopped in front of his apartment, a three-room, first-floor flat. The ground floor home was occupied by a moneylender and his family. The family had a daughter who was far from unattractive, but Pasko had commented and Tal had agreed to leave that one young lady alone; having an angry father with money as a neighbour could prove to be difficult. For although the father might not be any threat with a blade, money could buy many blades. So Tal was polite to the father and mother, brotherly to the young son, and slightly flirtatious, but always mannerly, with the girl.

The driver opened the door and Tal and Pasko got out and Pasko went ahead to the door to the stairs leading to the apartment while the carriage rolled off to a public stable a street away where the driver lived in quarters and was available to Tal whenever he was needed.

Tal made his way upstairs and entered the apartment. Pasko said, ‘Shall I draw a bath?’

‘No,’ said Tal. ‘A cold wash doesn’t appeal to me right now. I think I’ll take a nap and in an hour go to Remarga’s Bath House and dress there for supper with Melinda. While I sleep, please send a note to her that I will be more than pleased to dine with her this night, and send my regrets to the other ladies who invited me.’

‘Yes, m’lord,’ replied Pasko. Initially, to Tal’s initial surprise, Pasko had treated him as if he had been born to the nobility, and never once referred to Talon’s past history or forgot his place, even when they were alone. And in the entire time since they had arrived in Roldem, Talwin Hawkins had come to live the role of an adventuring nobleman of the Kingdom of the Isles so deeply and so well that his past before arriving in Salador was even starting to become to him a dim memory, as if it belonged to someone else.

When Pasko set off with the messages, Tal undressed himself. He removed his cloak, jacket, and tunic and boots, then threw himself across his bed wearing only his trousers. He was tired from the practice, yet sleep was elusive, for he was restless, tensed up in anticipation of news of an invitation to the palace. And, in addition to that, the tournament began in less than a month’s time. He was beginning to feel the edge build. He must be careful; too much of an edge could make him overly anxious, make it difficult for him to keep his focus on the task at hand.

And he also knew that once the tournament was over, something else lay ahead for him, and he didn’t know what. Adopting the role of a Kingdom gentleman appeared to be as Rondar had predicted, the ostensible reasons for his years of training, but as yet no one had explained to him why.

His personal agenda had not changed. Eventually he would hunt down and destroy those who had murdered his family and friends, but until this current role was completed, until such time as Master Pug and his companions decided that his duty to the Conclave was discharged, then he must wait.

Even so, over the last few months a growing concern had been gnawing at him; what if he was never considered discharged of his duty to the Conclave; what if he were to die before he could avenge his people? The second alternative could not be considered, for if fate decreed that the last of the Orosini died before vengeance was visited upon the guilty, then so be it. But the first possibility worried him, for which duty was paramount? A life-debt was not something that any Orosini would lightly discard, for to do so would not only shame the man, but also his family and his ancestors. But the blood-vengeance demanded by his culture was equally important. Perhaps the gods would turn a kind eye and show him a way to serve both debts honourably?

He rolled over onto his stomach, and then thought maybe they would not. Such things were out of his hands, so it was best not to worry.

He lay quietly for almost half an hour, but still sleep wouldn’t come. At last he decided that his mood would be better served by a longer bath than he had anticipated. He stood and called out for Pasko, whom he had heard returning from his errands.

The servant appeared and Tal said, ‘Bring clothes. I’m for Remarga’s. Follow as soon as you have selected suitable attire for tonight’s supper. Have the carriage pick us up at Remarga’s an hour after sundown.’

‘Yes, m’lord,’ said Pasko.

Tal dressed and left his apartment, walking briskly down the streets of Roldem. He never tired of the experience of travelling by foot through the city. The hive of shops clustered along each street, the press of people of all stripes – young, old, men and women, merchants, sailors, nobles and commoners. The scent of the sea was everywhere, and that combined with the noise and confusion was intoxicating to a boy who had been raised in the isolation of the mountains.

Tal wondered if fate would provide him with an opportunity to return to his boyhood, and whether he would take that opportunity if it were offered. After barely a moment’s reflection, he knew he would. For no matter how wondrous the things he had gained, the knowledge, experience and material wealth, they paled in comparison to what he had lost: home, family and an authentic way of life.

Had he a wish, he’d trade everything to have his mother, father, sister and the rest of his clan healthy and happy at home. It was a bitter thought that even the mightiest magician, or every one of them put together could never bring that wish into being.

He reached an intersection, turned right and wended his way through the late afternoon crowd. After just a few seconds he knew he was being followed. His hunter’s instinct or his ‘bump of trouble’ as Nakor had called it, a casual glance to the rear, a reflection in the window of a shop, something had alerted him: somehow he knew there was a man about thirty feet behind him who had been tailing him since he had left his apartment.

Talon paused to look into a shop-window as if inspecting some item on display. The figure he saw out of the corner of his eye resolved itself as the man halted and appeared to be searching for something he had forgotten. With a feigned look of disgust, the man quickly turned and walked away, but not before Tal had marked him. He was a short, wiry man, but he walked quickly and with an economy of movement that alerted Tal: this man was dangerous.

Tal knew he would vanish into the crowd, so he did not pursue him. It would prove to be pointless and would also reveal to the man that Tal had discovered him. That man, or another, would soon be back. Someone was stalking Tal and he needed to find out who and why.

If it were an assassin employed by some angry young woman or her father, that was one thing, but if this had anything to do with the Conclave of Shadows, that was another. He might have to send Pasko to alert Robert and the others.

Talon took a leisurely stroll to the bathhouse, avoiding his usual route, and stopped several times to ensure he was no longer being followed.

At Remarga’s he was greeted by one of the many attendants, this one well known to him. ‘Good afternoon, m’lord,’ the man said.

‘Good afternoon, Sven,’ Tal replied. ‘Is Salmina free?’

‘I shall see, sir. You wish to have her services?’

‘Yes,’ said Tal, and he went into the changing room.

Sven stood by to care for Tal’s clothing and provide him with whatever he needed. To begin with, Tal was given a large cotton towel, in which he wrapped himself. As he left the changing room, Sven put his clothing and sword away. Tal found himself a small wooden stool next to a large bucket of warm water. Beside the bucket was a bar of scented soap and a brush. Placed next to the stool was a tray containing small, delicate, earthenware jars adorned with floral designs. Tal picked up the bucket and poured the contents over his head, and as soon as he set it down, a young boy appeared with a fresh bucket of warm water and took the empty one away.

First of all Tal treated his hair with a scented oil, and wondered not for the first time what his grandfather would have thought of all this. The old man’s way of taking a bath had been plunging into the iciest streams and lakes and revelling in it. But given his grandfather’s appreciation of comfort, Tal decided that the old man would have approved of the entire process. Just then a young woman appeared, wearing a brief robe of white linen, which clung to her in the damp heat of the bathhouse. Tal knew his grandfather would very much have approved of this, for the old man had never lost his eye for women, a fact he regularly commented on, to the ire of Tal’s grandmother.

Feeling a moment of nostalgia, he said nothing but allowed her to begin soaping his back. Remarga trained his staff well: she would not speak unless spoken to first. Some customers wanted banter and flirtation, and a few desired more personal services, which could be arranged for a price which included a small private suite at the back of the building. Others preferred calm and quiet and wanted nothing more than to keep their thoughts to themselves while they bathed.

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