as tiny bolts of energy danced over his torso, a sizzling sound punctuated by crackling adding a sinister note to the display.
Caleb and Magnus hurried to the fallen man, while the boys and the other agents of the Conclave subdued the remaining assassins.
‘Coming out!’ shouted a familiar voice, and a moment later Chezarul came out of the cave. ‘How did we do?’ he asked.
Jommy motioned towards the fallen man as Caleb reached him, shouting, ‘Light!’
A pair of lanterns, one above them and another a short way down the beach, were uncovered, and they could see the form of a man writhing on the sand as the energy display faded from sight. Magnus said, ‘Bind him before I release the spell. He is unable to use any poison secreted upon him. Search him well.’
Caleb looked down on the man for whom he’d been searching for weeks. Jomo Ketlami lay in agony, his face contorted. His fists flailed uselessly in the air, his elbows hard against his sides. His back was bowed and his legs kicked feebly against the sand. He went through the man’s clothing quickly and found two poison pills and an amulet, the iron Nighthawk emblem they had come to know so well. He pulled a cord out of his belt pouch, turned the quivering man over as easily as he would a felled deer and trussed him up in the same manner.
‘Check his mouth,’ suggested Magnus.
‘Get me a light.’
A lantern was fetched and held above Ketlami’s face. Gripping his captive’s jaw with his right hand, Caleb forced his mouth open and motioned for the lantern to be moved closer. ‘Ah, what is this?’ he said.
He held out his left hand, and a pair of iron tongs were placed in them. Caleb deftly reached into Ketlami’s mouth with them and yanked out a tooth. The captive’s whimpering increased but otherwise he was unable to react to the extraction. ‘Hollow tooth,’ said Caleb. He stood up and told Magnus, ‘You can let him go, I think.’
Magnus released the spell and the captive fell limp for a moment, panting like an exhausted dog.
As they approached Ketlami, Chezarul said to Caleb, ‘Two of them are dead, one will not live through the night, but three are unconscious and bound.’
Caleb nodded. ‘Check them for poison, as well.’ He glanced at Jommy, ‘You’re injured.’
‘I’ve had worse,’ said the young man with a grin. ‘Last time I crossed swords with Talwin Hawkins he cut me three times, and he wasn’t even trying.’
Caleb looked at the spreading bloodstains on Jommy’s tunic. ‘Get them bound, boy, or Marie will have my ears.’
Jommy winked at Tad and Zane as they joined the others in standing over their quarry. ‘Your mum does look after me, doesn’t she?’
Tad made a wry face. ‘I think she likes you best.’
Zane nodded. ‘I swear that’s true.’
Jommy’s grin widened. ‘That’s because you’ve been causing her grief your entire lives. I’ve only been annoying her for a few months. She’ll get tired of me quick enough.’
Magnus said, ‘No doubt,’ as he cast a sidelong glance at the tall, redheaded youth. Jommy had quickly become well liked at Sorcerer’s Island and had easily fitted in with Caleb’s adopted family. In a few difficult spots, he had revealed himself to be tough, loyal and willing to risk himself for others, yet he never seemed to lose his sense of humour.
Tad moved to look at Ketlami who now lay motionless, moaning and cursing softly. ‘What now?’
Caleb said, ‘We need to take this one to Father.’ To Chezarul he said, ‘Take the three captives back to the city and get what you can out of them. These should be the last of the Nighthawks in Durbin, but against the possibility there are stragglers still at large, wring every drop of truth from them you can. Then see they plague the world no longer.’
Chezarul nodded once, then began issuing orders to his men.
Magnus pulled out an orb and said, ‘Boys, stand close.’ He stood directly over Ketlami, while Caleb reached down and gripped a handful of the man’s tunic with one hand, and the hem of Magnus’s black robe with the other. Jommy put a hand on Magnus’s shoulder, while Tad and Zane each stood close behind Caleb.
Magnus depressed a switch on the orb and suddenly they vanished, leaving Chezarul and his men on the empty beach to clean up the last vestige of the Nighthawks in Durbin, and perhaps Great Kesh, if they were lucky.
THE PRISONER GLARED DEFIANTLY.
Jomo Ketlami hung by shackles from the stone wall. His clothing had been cut away, leaving him no dignity, but Pug had judged it necessary as his dark body was tattooed with arcane symbols, black, white, red, and yellow, and some of these were wards.
He was a powerfully built man. To the three boys at the back of the room, he looked strong enough to rip the iron rings out of the wall. His head was completely shaved and glistened with perspiration. He had a wrestler’s neck and shoulders, and his bare torso rippled with muscle. His black eyes showed no hint of fear. He snarled as he confronted his captors.
Half a dozen guards had been stationed outside the door and Magnus stood watch inside against any magical incursion, either to rescue Ketlami or to silence him. Caleb and the boys stood against the opposite wall, out of the way. Two men entered the room.
It was Pug, followed by Nakor.
Magnus asked, ‘Where’s Bek?’
‘Outside, if I need him,’ said Nakor. ‘He doesn’t need to see this.’
Magnus’s glance at his brother communicated a silent question: but these boys do? Caleb nodded once. Magnus studied his brother’s face then returned a single nod. The boys had proven themselves so far, showing iron will when needed and a fearlessness that was the hallmark of youth, but which was being rapidly replaced by a more sober appreciation of the real dangers they faced, youthful bravado becoming genuine bravery before Magnus and Caleb’s eyes. But combat was one thing, and torture another.
No one spoke for a moment longer, then Ketlami shouted at Pug, ‘You may as well kill me now, magician! I’m oath bound to take the secrets of the Guild to Lims-Kragma’s Hall!’
Pug said nothing, but turned towards the door as two more men entered the small chamber. The boys moved to the left side of the rear wall, giving the newcomers room to make their way to where the prisoner waited.
One of the two men wore a black leather hood and a faded tunic covered in old stains. Tad glanced at his two companions and knew instantly they all concluded the nature of those stains. The torturer took up a position before the prisoner, while the second man came to stand beside Pug.
He was a nondescript man of middle height, with no distinguishing features and brown hair, and he wore the shirt and trousers of a trader or farmer. His
