Exile’s Return
The whole of the magnificent Riftwar Cycle by bestselling author Raymond E. Feist, master of magic and adventure, now available in ebookKaspar, former Duke of Olasko and once absolute ruler of his nation, has been cast into exile. Abandoned in the wilds of a continent on the other side of the world and left with nothing but his wits and determination, he must fight merely to survive.Armed with guile, cunning and an iron will, he starts his odyssey with a single goal: to return to his home and revenge himself upon the man who cast him down, Talwin Hawkins.But fate has other plans for Kaspar, and as he struggles against adversity, he encounters dangers greater than any he had imagined. More is at stake than he realised and Kaspar is but a single player in a far greater game than he imagined, for pitted against the Conclave of Shadows are the agents of the Dark Empire, a looming menace that threatens not only Kaspar's homeland, but the entire world of Midkemia.Exile’s Return is the third and concluding book in the Conclave of Shadows trilogy.
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RAYMOND E. FEIST
Exileâs Return
Book Three of Conclave of Shadows
HarperVoyager
An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 77â85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
First published by HarperVoyager 2004
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 2004
Cover illustration © Nik Keevil
Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780002246835
EBook Edition © AUGUST 2012 ISBN: 9780007373796
Version: 2014â09â08
This oneâs for James, with all the love a father can give.
May see thee now, though late, redeem thy name, And glorify what else is damned to fame.
Richard Savage
Character of Foster
Table of Contents
Chapter Thirteen: The Pillars of Heaven
Chapter Eighteen: Confrontation
Chapter Nineteen: Consultation
THE RIDERS CAME AT HIM.
Kaspar, who had until the day before held the title of Duke of Olasko, waited, holding his chains ready. Moments before he had been deposited on this dusty plain by a tall white-haired magician who, with only a few words of farewell, had vanished, leaving the exiled nobleman to face an approaching band of nomads.
Kaspar had never felt this alive and vitalized. He grinned, took a deep breath and flexed his knees. The riders were fanning out, and Kaspar knew they judged him a risk even though he stood alone, barefoot and without any weapon save for heavy chains with manacles and leggings attached to each end.
The riders slowed. Kaspar counted six of them. They wore alien garments, loose-fitting outer robes of indigo over white blouses belted at the waist with whipcord; ballooning trousers were tucked into black leather boots. Their heads were covered by wrapped turbans, with a length of cloth left hanging on the right. Kaspar judged that this could be quickly raised to cover mouth and nose against a sudden dust storm or to hide identity. The clothing looked less like a uniform than tribal garb, he decided. And they carried a variety of lethal-looking weapons.
The leader spoke in a language Kaspar didnât understand, though there was something oddly familiar about it. Kaspar replied, âI donât suppose thereâs the remotest chance you speak Olaskon?â
The man Kaspar had identified as the leader said something to his companions, made a gesture, then sat back to watch. Two men dismounted and approached Kaspar, drawing weapons. A third behind them unwound a leather cord, with which he obviously intended to bind their new captive.
Kaspar let his chains drop slightly, and slumped his shoulders, as if acknowledging the inevitability of his circumstances. From the manner in which they approached, Kaspar knew two things: these were experienced fighting men â tough, sunburned plainsmen who probably lived in tents â and they were not trained soldiers. One glance gave Kaspar the one fact he needed to make his decision on how to act. None of the three men still on horseback had drawn a bow.
Kaspar allowed the man with the leather bindings to approach, and then at the last instant he kicked out, taking the man in the chest. That man was the least dangerous of the three at hand. Kaspar then swung his chains, releasing an end at the same instant, and the swordsman on his right who had judged himself out of Kasparâs reach was slammed across the face with the makeshift weapon. Kaspar heard bone crack. The man went down silently.
The other swordsman was quick to react, raising his sword and shouting something â an insult, battle cry, or prayer to a god, Kaspar didnât know which. All the former duke knew was that he had perhaps three or four seconds to live. Instead of moving away from the attacker, Kaspar threw himself at the man, coming up hard against him as the sword fell through empty air.
