“Agents?”
“You are working on behalf of the Conclave; that you know.” He glanced over at the boy, and Talon nodded. “Nakor and my father will someday tell you more, but I can tell you this much, even if they don’t think you’re ready to know: we are agents of good. It is ironic that sometimes we must do things that appear evil so that eventually good can triumph.’’
Talon said, “I am not a learned man. I have read a certain amount, enough to know I know very little. But I have read enough to have some sense that all men think of themselves as heroes, at least heroes of their own lives, and that no man who did evil thought he was doing such.’’
“In one sense, you are right.” Caleb stopped for a moment, as if to savor the brisk autumn breeze. “In another sense you must know you are wrong. There are men who knowingly serve evil, who embrace it and who seek to gain by its triumph. Some seek power. Others seek riches. Others still seek darker ends. But it’s all the same. They bring suffering and agony to innocents.”
“What are you trying to tell me?’’
“Only that you are about to begin the next phase of your education, and you must be ready to accept many things that seem terrible and unwelcome. It is necessary.”
Talon nodded. “When does this next phase begin?’’
“Tomorrow, for we leave for Krondor. But for now, let’s hunt.” Caleb picked up his bow and ran down a game trail, not looking back to see if the boy was following.
Talon paused, then started after Caleb, knowing that, like all wounds, the one he felt deep inside would heal. But he also suspected that like some wounds, this one would leave a scar that would last throughout his lifetime.
The ship raced westward, driven by a near gale-force wind, slamming through the waves like a living creature. Talon stood as far forward as he could, behind the bowsprit, still amazed and exhilarated by the voyage even after a week at sea. Some time this afternoon or during the night they should be reaching their destination, Krondor, capital city of the Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles.
For reasons not clear to him, his masters had decided he would take ship to Krondor, and caravan to Salador, and from there to wherever else they wished him to go. He had expected Magnus to use his magic to take him to his next destination, but instead he was traveling by conventional means with Caleb.
Caleb was a calming presence and Talon was thankful for the choice. He could talk when Talon wished to discuss something, yet he was not bothered by silence. They shared a hunter’s sense of things, and of all those he had met since the destruction of his village, Talon felt more kinship with Caleb than anyone else.
The sea was as alien to Talon as the coastline had been, yet he was drawn to it as he was to the mountains of his homeland. It was unending, ever-changing, enduring, and mysterious. The air was as fresh, though of a different character, and even in the constant foul weather, somehow glorious to him.
The ship was named Western Lady and flew the banner of the Empire of Great Kesh. He had heard enough chatter among the crew to know it was a convenient registry, for the ship belonged to Pug. More than once Talon had wondered about Pug. He seemed to be a young man, or rather a man of early middle years, but he was still vigorous and in his prime. Miranda appeared to be roughly the same age, yet they were Magnus’s parents, and Magnus looked to be around the same age as they.
Pug was a quiet man who spoke to the students on rare occasions, but when he did so he was affable and forthcoming. Yet there was something about him which made Talon uneasy. He had a power within him, that much was apparent even to a mountain boy from the east. Robert, Nakor, Magnus, and Miranda all had magical abilities, Talon knew; but in Pug he sensed something greater. It was something his grandfather would have called being “touched by the gods.’’
Talon mused about what sort of childhood a man like Pug might have had. Who were his parents and what sort of education did a magician of great power undertake? Perhaps one day Talon might ask, but for the time being he was content to enjoy the voyage and let the questions lie waiting.
His bout of heartsickness had passed, and he could look back on his days with Alysandra and feel only a bittersweet irony. On that last day he was thinking of marriage, or spending his life with her, and now he felt she was nothing more than an object of pity or contempt. Or both. A thing without a heart; but despite this, Talon knew that in some sense he must learn to be like her, for everything he had been told since that day led him to believe she was far more dangerous than he could yet imagine.