King of Ashes. Raymond E. Feist
to see or hear his own child and not think of the one dead at his hand, especially that of a friend betrayed. Daylon nodded. ‘You are correct, as you often are.’
Balven chuckled. ‘Had our father left me to die …’
‘I’d never have found anyone to trust in my household,’ finished the Baron of Marquensas. ‘You might be a bastard, hut we share blood.’
‘How many brothers and sisters do you think we are still ignorant of?’ asked Balven.
Daylon gave a cynical laugh. ‘The only man I’ve met who rivals Father’s appetite for pretty young women is Rodrigo.’
‘And Father had no taste for pretty boys.’
Daylon nodded. ‘He had a few, I suspect.’ He stared off into the distance, towards the sea, as they started upon the path to the battlefield above.
Balven said, ‘What troubles you, my lord?’
Daylon took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he urged his horse upwards. ‘It might be years yet, but this matter is far from over.’
Balven nodded and said, ‘This day may prove useful. Many do not suspect the Firemane baby may be out there in the world. A few do, but we know he is. Entrusting his care to the Lords of the Unseen was an … unexpected move, but it may prove to be a great advantage.’
Daylon lost some of the tension in his features. ‘You always anticipate the advantage in any situation.’
‘Worry not, my lord. Turn your mind to more pleasant prospects and let me worry for you.’
Daylon said, ‘That’s one of the reasons I keep you around, brother.’ The notion that this baby would some day prove useful comforted him, but the idea of another baby, soon to be in his home, made him smile widely.
His name was Hatushaly, though the other boys and girls called him ‘Hatu’.
He was by nature a youngster prone to anger, often barely able to control it and quick to erupt, but at this moment, Hatu was trying very hard not to laugh.
His two closest friends flanked him as they lay on a heavy awning of bright green and white striped canvas extending from the rooftop of an open-front shop, hidden from the view of those below. They were trying hard not to be detected.
Hatu’s anger was usually forgotten in Hava’s or Donte’s company. For reasons he would never understand, they had become his friends despite his constant rage and furious outbursts, and both had conspired to make his life even more complicated. When he was alone, Hatu became introspective and angry, but when he was with them, the dark thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him were forgotten.
Donte, Hava, and Hatu had been given a task: to observe the comings and goings in the market. Donte had insisted on adding a ridiculous commentary to the scene that had nothing to do with their lesson but threatened to expose their position to the merchant in the shop below as his companions struggled not to burst into laughter. One of Donte’s many talents was a wry wit, but he often lacked any sense of appropriate timing, which earned him his fair share of reprimands, disciplinary duty, and beatings.
Hatushaly tried to ignore his friend’s commentary, while Hava simply closed her eyes and lay with her forehead against her left forearm, both trying not to hear Donte. Hatu could do so with more ease than Hava. The market square was busy: fisher folk, farmers, traders, and travellers crowded every corner of the town. Harbourside was actually a part of the city of Corbara, the main port on the island of Coaltachin. The Kingdom of Night centred on the large island but also spread across dozens of smaller isles, home to many fishing villages, farming communities, small fortresses, and the moorings for a huge fleet of trade and warships.
The three youngsters were taking advantage of the excursion: the instructors rarely sent them away for a day. Hatu, Donte, and Hava were students at one of the many nameless schools in Coaltachin, on Morasel, a little island that was home to a small fishing village on the coast and a farming hamlet inland. All who lived there laboured under the firm command of Master Facaria.
Hava was a girl of intense moods, both light and dark, who performed few tasks without thought and determination. Her dark hair usually hung to her shoulders, but today she had bound it in a simple black scarf to keep it out of her face. She wasn’t what most men might call pretty, but Hatu liked her appearance. Her face was narrow and she always seemed to be squinting, even when inside, though her vision was superb, as she proved every time she shot a bow. Her mouth was slightly turned down at the edges, but he thought she had a wonderful smile. He’d known her all his life. She was agile and strong, and as Hatu had started to change from boy to man, he had also begun to find her lithe body more attractive and disturbing. He’d seen Hava naked many times, for the students often swam or bathed together in the stream behind the school, but now he sometimes found the sight of her troubling, even more so than that of the other girls. Right now she was struggling not to laugh, which made it difficult for Hatu not to laugh.
Donte seemed always to be smiling or laughing. Like Hava, he had dark hair, but his locks were much darker, bordering on black. He was broad-shouldered and stronger than any boy in the school, and faster than all but Hatu and Hava. When Donte decided to become friends with someone, they didn’t have much say in the matter. There was a quiet madness in his approach to life, a willingness to put himself in harm’s way for the thrill of it. No matter how dark the moment, Donte could always contrive a joke, often a completely inappropriate one, to bring sudden laughter, even if his joke itself wasn’t particularly funny. Hatu worried about him, but Donte seemed to move through life without a single care or concern. He was diligent enough in his lessons that his careless manner caused him no serious difficulties. While Hatu considered the future, Donte lived for the moment, seeking only immediate gratification, be it a stiff drink or a pretty girl. Yet Donte was still Hatu’s closest friend among the boys at the school.
‘Look,’ said Hava, pulling them out of their joke. She thrust her chin towards the main street from the docks to the market. ‘Far side, four men.’
Hatu spotted the men, sailors by the look of them, but of a fashion new to him. Coaltachin sailors favoured baggy trousers of light weave, their linen shirts worn loosely to protect them against the heat. Coaltachin people tended to tan or have dark skin, with brown and black hair, but these men were fair-skinned and burned red-bronze by the sun. Two of them had light brown hair, one was blond, and the last was red-haired.
‘Kin of yours?’ asked Hava.
Hatu sighed. ‘That joke was old years ago.’
Only the students who had been raised alongside Hatu knew what his normal hair colour was. He dyed it regularly and had been forced on a few occasions to rub dirt or grease into the roots until he could wash and dye it again. Hatu stood out among the rest of the students. The islands to the east of the twin continents had for centuries been home to a people known as the Igara. They tended to range in height, but most possessed skin easily bronzed by the sun and hair that was typically coloured black to medium brown. A few were blond, but Hatu was one of the two people he knew to have red tresses. Hava’s dark auburn hair only truly looked red after hours in the hot sun – sun bleaching was common with the fishermen and farmers if they didn’t wear hats – but Hatu’s was a unique copper red with golden highlights. ‘Look at that low forehead; more like your kin,’ he said weakly, which caused Hava to chuckle slightly, almost a sound of pity, and Donte to shake his head dismissively.
‘Ya,’ said Donte. ‘It’s not bright enough. Hatu’s is more like a flaming copper. That man’s is … dark carrot, if such a colour exists.’
Hava chuckled again. ‘Why don’t you just shave it off?’
Hatu shook his head.