Master of furies, p.1
Master of Furies, page 1
MASTER OF FURIES
THE FIREMANE SAGA: VOLUME THREE
Raymond E. Feist
Copyright
HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperCollinsPublishers
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First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2022
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 2022
Maps © Jessica Feist 2018, 2022
Jacket © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2022
Jacket Illustration © Larry Rostant
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007541379
Ebook Edition © June 2022 ISBN: 9780007541393
Version: 2022-04-08
Dedication
To all the First Responders,
everywhere, who put themselves in harm’s way, to protect us all. To people whose names I’ll never know, and especially to those who made the ultimate sacrifice, this work is dedicated to you.
And once more for my daughter, Jessica, who is not only a lovely person, but a terrific first reader.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
• Prologue •: Reactions and Outrage
• Chapter One •: Refit, Re-education, and the Unexpected
• Chapter Two •: An Unexpected Arrival, Request, and Escapes
• Chapter Three •: Flight, Decisions, and Partings
• Chapter Four •: Strange Reunions, Discoveries, and Treachery
• Chapter Five •: Encounters, Education, and Hope
• Chapter Six •: Realignments, Disclosures, and Discovery
• Chapter Seven •: Encounters and Surprising Realizations
• Chapter Eight •: The Unexpected, Shock, and Adjustments
• Chapter Nine •: Unexpected Allies and Opportunities
• Chapter Ten •: Preparations for Desperate Measures
• Chapter Eleven •: An Escape and a Meeting of Minds
• Chapter Twelve •: Conflicts, Evasions, and a New Awareness
• Chapter Thirteen •: Reunions, Speculations, and Adjustments
• Chapter Fourteen •: Decisions and Risks
• Chapter Fifteen •: Return, Divulgence, and Uncertainties
• Chapter Sixteen •: More Discoveries and Redemption
• Chapter Seventeen •: Return and Recovery
• Chapter Eighteen •: An Expanded Perspective and an Expedition
• Chapter Nineteen •: Sharing Knowledge, Preparations, and Choices
• Chapter Twenty •: Information Exchanged, Planning, and Decisions
• Chapter Twenty-One •: Upheavals, Obvious and Subtle, and Hidden Changes
• Chapter Twenty-Two •: Planning and Choice
• Chapter Twenty-Three •: The Beginning of Retribution, and Horrors Unimagined
• Chapter Twenty-Four •: Assaults, Punishment, and Revelations
• Chapter Twenty-Five •: Resolution, Discoveries, and Transformations
• Chapter Twenty-Six •: Retribution, Triumph, and Terror
• Epilogue •: A New Beginning
Acknowledgements
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
Map
• PROLOGUE •
Reactions and Outrage
Toachipe, the Hour Marker of Akena, struck the marble floor twice, and the door guards opened the massive ornately carved portal to the Camera, allowing entrance to the Lord of the Golden Pride. The Hour Marker stepped aside as Tarquen entered ahead of the four leaders of the other most powerful Prides in Nytanny. As was customary, the leaders of the lesser Prides stood to either side of the entrance, each resigned to their lower station or secretly plotting how they might one day be part of the procession. As was his habit, Toachipe surveyed the group quickly, compiling a mental tally of who was in the capital. His duties comprised more than marking the passage of time; he was also a chronicler of every detail of governance, for one never knew which small element might prove critical in the future. Accountability and blame were vital to surviving in his office.
The Pride Lords entered in specific order, a tacit agreement as to their influence and power. Much of the governance of Nytanny came down to unspoken tradition, conventions created from centuries of living under constant threat from the Dark Masters. Centuries of living just moments away from inconceivable retribution for any transgression had created a ritual observance of social norms to become hardened into inflexible institutions. All were designed to reduce conflict among the families and Prides, despite the myriad of murderous feuds and rivalries that had endured between them for generations.
Toachipe’s office was one of many that had evolved over this time to ensure that this brittle peace stayed in place. Toachipe’s primary virtue was patience, as it had been for his predecessors: the only name for his duties was ‘tedium’. Yet with that tedium came privilege, and few outside the Prides could claim such advantage. The nations were allowed only as much or little bounty as the Prides above them were allowed, and only office holders like Toachipe were free from such control.
Occasionally he wondered who the first Hour Marker had been and how he had contrived that station. Toachipe was ignorant of this fact because, while there were records of every order of business going back to the farthest memory of any ancestor, the study of such history was forbidden to him, despite his office.
Urias, the Lord of the Tiger Pride, followed Tarquen, and behind him came Mioscomi, the Lord of the Onyx Pride, Jakanda of the Eagle Pride, and Shono of the Jaguar Pride, each in turn peeling off to right and left, until the five most powerful men in the nation had taken their appointed seats.
Following them were the five recorders – women blessed with a remarkable ability to retain details, each responsible for transcribing every word their own specific lord uttered. They operated under seal of death, not just their own but that of their entire families, should one word of what they recorded be uttered outside the Camera. Collective punishment was assumed among the people of Nytanny: it was part of the rigid code that kept the peace under the eyes of the Dark Masters.
Last to enter was the First Speaker, the one man not of the ruling class trusted to hear all that was said and whose sole role it was to act as chief arbitrator. Following tradition, he paused for a moment and turned to face the Hour Marker, indicating that it was time to shut the doors.
From the moment the sound of the closing portal stopped reverberating, only those within this room would know what was discussed; the population would learn what had been concluded by whatever edicts emerged from the Camera: all the deliberations, debates, arguments, and occasionally threats, that were spoken within were closely guarded secrets.
Each Pride Lord retained his own recorder so that no later claim could be made predicated on misinformation or faulty memory. Should two recorders differ in their recounting, it fell to the First Speaker to decide the correct version of words or events. As a result of this great power, the First Speaker occupied a position of authority unequalled by any other below the lords. His family was kept in luxury, though he would never see them again, and when he grew unable to discharge his duties, he would be painlessly put to death, and his family would continue to prosper.
The Lord of the Golden Pride looked at each of the other four Pride Lords and then to the First Speaker. The latter gave a slight bow and then said, ‘The Camera is sealed, and now I yield to the Lord of the Golden Pride.’
Tarquen was a man at the height of his power, both physically and politically. He stood up slowly. He was an imposing figure at six and a half feet tall, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, and his face, with its chiselled cheeks and square jaw, looked as if it had been carved out of flawless obsidian. His eyes were as dark as his skin. Tarquen’s stature was enhanced by the formal robes he wore: red, embellished with golden embroidery and shoulder patches. Against his dark skin the robes were dramatic, as he had intended when he first commissioned them, ten years before. He hated wearing them, for they were hot and heavy and the climate in Akena demanded light, loose garb, which all other citizens of the city wore on most occasions, but he understood that such magnificence enhanced his aura of power. The other Pride Lords knew that despite his size he was all lean muscle and sinew, the strongest and fiercest warrior among them. Truth be told, many of them had not held a w eapon in years.
Tarquen was the third of his line to be the paramount Pride Lord, a burden he embraced as his fate. His grandfather had crushed rivals to achieve supremacy in the Camera, at times risking retaliation from the Masters, and his father had withstood several attempts to dislodge the Golden Pride from their position of power. In the history of the nation, no Pride had stood so high for so long.
Despite his relative youth (he had turned thirty-six a month previously), Tarquen had been schooled since childhood in governance and understood both the public and covert methods of maintaining control. Moreover, he had mastered the art of persuasion, convincing the other Pride Lords to follow his lead, knowing when to bow to alternative solutions in order to gain socially while losing in different ways, and when to hold firm to his own position.
His rule had been far less tumultuous than that of his forebears, as the other leaders in this chamber had grown up with the Golden Pride being the paramount one for their entire lives. Should Tarquen bequeath the premiership to his eldest son, this might be the beginning of Nytanny’s first dynasty. No Pride in history had endured for four generations. It was an outcome Tarquen fervently desired.
He gave a slight bow, barely more than a nod, to Nestor, the First Speaker.
‘We have begun,’ Nestor intoned formally.
TARQUEN SAID, ‘THE REPORTS CIRCULATED’ – then paused for effect – ‘as well as those from those agents you chose not to share, have been considered.’
There was a slight shifting by some of the Pride Lords, evidence that Tarquen’s jab had struck home.
His temper had been at the fraying edge of self-control as he had read his own agent’s report, which had been personally conducted to him by trusted go-betweens, before dressing for today’s Camera. That report was the source of his quietly controlled ire.
Someone had captured Borzon’s Black Wake, the Golden Pride’s treasure ship, not only depriving him of abundance for years to come but turning a profitable undertaking into a financial disaster of monumental proportions, potentially weakening his Pride enough to render it vulnerable to its most powerful rivals, the Onyx and Tiger Prides, or even ambitious newcomers like the Jaguar Pride.
Tarquen said, ‘The Queen of Storms was taken, from a well-equipped Azhante crew.’
Most of the Pride Lords had received the same report, but a few hadn’t bothered to read it before this meeting. There was a collective intake of breath.
‘That is a certainty? Could she not have been lost at sea?’ asked Mioscomi, Lord of the Onyx Pride.
‘A certainty,’ said Tarquen. ‘We have verifications that the Queen of Storms was lying in ambush should anyone unwisely attempt a run north of Elsobas …’ He sighed. He realized they knew where the ship had anchored. ‘And there were dead bodies. Which you would know if you had read the report.’ He took a breath: his temper was threatening intemperate words. There were times to rail and times to inform, despite one’s own mood.
Urias, Lord of the Tiger Pride, who was sitting to Tarquen’s left, leaned forward slightly, his greying hair and deepening lines revealing his advancing age, though his gaze was still focused and hinted at an intellect not yet dimmed. ‘Who would dare such a thing?’ he asked.
Tarquen looked at his greatest rival. ‘I intend to find out. What little information our agents have discovered so far is that seafarers from beyond the Border Ports, perhaps early arrivals from the raids on the Twin Continents, were seen at Elsobas.’ He paused: he did not wish to confirm the loss of his Pride’s treasure ship. He would equivocate should anyone enquire how the strangers had arrived. ‘They were observed and were seen speaking to locals. One oddity: some local boys, street urchins, vanished after being seen with these incomers.’
‘Slavers?’ asked the Lord of the Tiger Pride.
‘Unlikely,’ Tarquen replied. ‘Perhaps someone who saw a monetary opportunity to capture some boys, but practised slavers would know better than to get that close to the Homeland.’
‘Perhaps those boys were spies?’ suggested Jakanda of the Eagle Pride.
Urias said, ‘We should leave it to the Azhante to unravel that mystery. What of our destruction of the Northern Twin?’
Relieved that the discussion had turned away from the loss of Borzon’s Black Wake, Tarquen said, ‘As we expected, those who survived fled to Marquensas; Sandura is isolated, and the inhabitants of Zindaros and Metros are staying cloistered in their cities along the shore of their homes on the Southern Twin or fleeing southwards from the unprotected towns and villages; chaos is sown, plunder is being acquired to please the raiders and all goes according to design.’
‘They expect invasion,’ said Urias in a satisfied tone.
‘Soon chaos will befall those left in Marquensas, as refugees flood their lands. Famine and disease will reduce them even more. The slave nations are basking in the glory of their victories and luxuriating in the wealth of their plunder. We should have peace on the Homeland borders for a year or more. Ample time to plan the next assault.’
‘What of Sandura?’ asked Mioscomi.
‘Prepared. The Church is now ours, and Delnocio has fled; his collaborators are dead, or soon will be. The Church is moving against Lodavico, and the people of Sandura are trained to obedience like whipped dogs. They will welcome us as liberators when we take Lodavico and hang him, or burn him, or whatever they do with their criminals. When we crush Marquensas next year we will control both coasts of North Tembria. We can leave the land in between ungoverned for decades while we relocate the excess population of the slave nations and relieve the pressure here. After that we shall see to the Southern Twin.’
‘Twenty years,’ said Urias. ‘I was a young man, not much older than you, Tarquen, when we destroyed Ithrace, and ended the last of the line of the Firemanes.’
Tarquen refrained from mentioning the rumour of a surviving Firemane child. He simply said, ‘It is our way to be patient.’
‘But never before have we seen such restlessness among the slave nations,’ said the Lord of the Eagle Pride. ‘We must cull them.’
‘Many were culled in the raids,’ replied Tarquen. ‘The men of North Tembria are not without valour and resolve. It was a victory, and when it is time to colonize the Twins we must ensure there are enough people left behind to serve, and enough sent forth to conquer. It is why we must hold for another year or two’ – he paused, then continued – ‘and when we do colonize, we will add to our abundance.’
Considering what he knew about the massive raiding of the Twin Continents, information that might not have reached the other Pride Lords, Tarquen defaulted to his customary practice of letting the others choose the matters they wished to discuss while planning his own later course of action in secret. He nodded to the First Speaker, indicating that he had finished speaking on that matter, and Nestor held up his hand, indicating that the lords were free to raise other questions.
The Lord of the Golden Pride was not surprised that it was Shono of the Jaguar Pride who started to speak as if he had been recognized by Nestor, and he was mildly amused that none of the others objected.
The business of the morning passed slowly.
At last, after the final point of discussion had been raised, Nestor stood up and declared the meeting adjourned, and the Pride Lords departed in reverse order of their arrival.
As they passed through the door, Tarquen saw the lesser Pride leaders form into small knots awaiting word from any of the five greater leaders with whom they were allied. A pair of younger men moved in his direction, but Tarquen waved them off to wait for him at a distance. He turned and caught Urias’s eye.
The leader of the Tiger Pride tilted his head slightly, as if in question, then moved towards his senior rival. When he was close, Tarquen said, ‘A word when you have the time.’
Urias was silent for a moment then said, ‘Your pleasure.’
‘I will be only a short while, then I will dine. Join me?’
‘I shall,’ said the older man. Then he turned and beckoned his small group of sycophants to follow him.
Tarquen composed himself, pushing down rising rage. It took only a moment, yet it felt like a long struggle. He had been battling what he saw as this flaw in himself for his entire life, and while the fury still seethed beneath the surface, only a few intimates knew of that continuing conflict. He took a breath, then with barely a twitch of his head, encouraged his followers to leave. His personal guards formed up around him and accompanied him back to his apartments, where he would greet the Lord of the Tiger Pride.
