Raymond E Feist Vk Apr 2026

“For how long?”

“The King’s road,” the grey figure repeated, savoring each word. “There has been no King here for a thousand years. You are standing in the ruins of Ithrak’s Fall. The ravens are not birds. They are the unburied dead.”

Or might have been a name: Varek .

Varek tilted his head. “Impressive for an untrained hedge-witch. But you are not strong enough to unmake what was built before your grandfathers’ grandfathers drew breath.” raymond e feist vk

Then the image snapped back.

Here’s a piece: The road to Vak’Kesh was little more than a scar across the moor—muddy ruts where supply wagons had labored before the snows came. Tomas pulled his cloak tighter, though the wind found every gap. Frost clung to the wool.

The road ahead was gone. In its place stood a tower of black stone, smooth as polished glass, rising without seam or door. At its base knelt a figure in grey robes, face hidden. “For how long

Varek laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.

Pug didn’t answer. Instead, he began walking back toward the distant torchlight of the patrol’s camp.

Not one raven—hundreds. They descended from a sky the color of old lead, settling on the bare branches of thorn trees that had not been there a moment before. Pug stopped walking. The ravens are not birds

The magician’s eyes went distant—seeing not the moor, not the tower, but the spaces between things. Threads of fate. Leys of power. He spoke a single word in the language of the Assembly, and the ground shuddered.

Then the raven came.

“You’re blocking the King’s road,” Pug said quietly. “Move aside.”

“I put him one step out of phase with this reality,” Pug said. “He’s still there. We just can’t see him anymore.”