The King’s Buccaneer. Raymond E. Feist

two Squires quickly gathered up their belongings, and by the time they were ready to move, Martin and Marcus had already left the clearing, Calis at their side. Garret said, ‘I’ll make sure you get back safely, but Lord Martin couldn’t wait.’

      Nicholas understood; there had been a grim focus of purpose in Martin’s reaction to the light in the sky. For a fire to be that large, to illuminate the heavens enough to be seen a half day’s march away, would mean terrible destruction, either to the woodlands near the town, or to the town itself.

      Ghuda and Nakor waited for the boys, then the five remaining members of the hunting party headed off. Garret said, ‘Keep in a single line behind me, all of you. I’ll stay on the trail, but there are still many places to hurt yourself in the dark if you’re not careful. If I go too fast for any of you to keep up, call out.’

      ‘Want a light?’ asked Nakor.

      ‘No,’ answered Garret. ‘A torch or lantern won’t light far enough to help and would make it harder to see ahead into the woods.’

      ‘No, I mean a good light!’ said the little man. He opened his bag and pulled out a ball that he tossed into the air. Rather than come down, the ball spun and began to glow, first faintly, then with increasing brilliance. As it grew brighter, it rose until it hung fifteen feet above their heads, illuminating the woodland trail for a hundred yards ahead and behind.

      Garret glanced at the blue-white object, shook his head, and said, ‘Let’s go.’

      He set off at a fast trot, not quite a run, and the others kept pace. They hurried through the woodlands, illuminated to stark contrast and absolute black shadows by the alien glow. Nicholas expected they would overtake Martin and the others quickly, but they never did.

      The journey became a series of seemingly unconnected images of a brilliantly lit pathway leading into the blackness, with occasional obstacles, a deadfall to climb over, a small stream to be leaped, or a rock outcropping to be skirted. Still tired from the previous day’s march and interrupted sleep, Nicholas fought back the urge to ask for a halt. His nerves jangled with fatigue and tension; Martin’s and Marcus’s faces had been grim masks, expressions he had never seen before, and he felt his stomach knotting in dread anticipation.

      The minutes ground away to hours, and at some point Nicholas became aware that Nakor’s light was gone, and the entire woodland was illuminated by the grey dawn. This close to the coast, the light from the east was diffused by ocean-born mists carried inland through the valleys and dells surrounding Crydee. Nicholas knew that the haze would burn off around midmorning if the day did not remain overcast.

      Later, Garret called a halt and Nicholas leaned against a tree. He was drenched in perspiration, and his left foot throbbed from exertion and changes in the weather. Absently, he said, ‘There’s a storm coming.’