Wrath of a Mad God (17 page)

“You are unbidden here,” said the leader, a striking young Dasati woman who was tall by her race’s standards. She had a bearing that set her apart from the others, so Pug assumed she must be the leader here.

Valko spoke before anyone else. “I am Valko, Lord of the Camareen, son of Narueen.”

That name provoked a response, but before the women could respond, Macros said, “And I am the Gardener. We have much to discuss.”

The leader nodded. “Indeed. You must all come with us.” She stared hard for a moment at Valko, then turned and walked away. The other three stepped to either side, clearly indicating that Pug and his companions were to follow the tall young Bloodwitch.

As they reached the edge of an apparently empty clearing, Pug felt the energy pulse of magic and suddenly a walled fortification appeared. He realized that they had stepped past the boundary of a massive illusion, one designed to fool any onlooker until they actually made contact with the boundary. He also suspected that there were nasty surprises for anyone who did if they were not expected by those inside.

The enclave was ancient, Pug instantly knew. It had that look of stones which had been set in place for hundreds, even thousands, of years, worn smooth and seamless by the ceaseless caress of the wind and rain. Corners once sharp were now rounded, and a rut in the stone showed where countless feet had trodden from the gate to the entrance of the main building.

This was the first Dasati construction Pug had seen that was not part of some massive urban center. It was simply a keep. It looked similar in many respects to one that he might find in the mountains of the Kingdom of the Isles, a square stone building with a circular tower rising in the middle, commanding a view of the mountain passes below that would warn any lookout of an enemy approach hours in advance.

Inside Pug could feel the vibrancy, which suggested far more than just the bustle of women busily taking care of the day’s needs, and in the distance he could hear the unmistakable sound of children. And they were laughing! The tall woman turned and said, “You must wait here for a moment.” To Valko she said, “And you must remove your sword and give it to her.” She pointed to another young Bloodwitch.

“Why?” asked the young Deathknight defiantly. His sword
was hard-won and represented much of who he was and what he had endured.

“Because there are those here who wish you to be unarmed,” answered Macros. “Please.”

“Please” was a word rarely used in Dasati culture, and one that usually meant a pleading for life. In this context, it was a simple request, yet a powerful one. Valko removed his belt and scabbard and handed them to the young woman.

The leader of the four Dasati women departed, leaving them alone with the three remaining escorts. The hall in which they found themselves was just what Pug would expect from a simple keep: it was a short hallway, intersecting another with two doors, one at either end, presenting a blank wall to the main entrance. In ancient days, should the main entrance be forced, invaders would have had a short route to awaiting death. Glancing upward, Pug saw the murder gallery above, down from which would rain arrows, bolts, rocks, and boiling pitch or oil. At either end of the hallway, massive doors waited, no doubt equipped with huge bars and reinforced to withstand all but the sturdiest rams. Pug could only speculate, but he imagined this fortification had never been taken.

Unlike the other Dasati buildings in which he had been, this one had decorations hanging on the walls. Ancient banners from the look of them; possibly insignia from antiquity, emblems of houses or societies long vanished. Pug could not tell. One of them, however, looked vaguely familiar, and his eyes kept returning to it. It was simple, a red field with a white glyph in the middle. The shape of it was almost recognizable, a single vertical line, bending to the right at the top and looping down to almost close against the vertical. Below that point, a short single line crossed and below that another, longer one. Why did he think he recognized it?

Three women returned in the wake of the young woman who had greeted Pug and his companions. The three younger women who had waited with Pug’s group departed.

Pug studied the three newly arrived Bloodwitches. They were all older and gave off a strong sense of power. The eldest of them said, “Who is the Gardener?”

Macros stepped forward. “I am.”

The older Bloodwitch looked at him for a moment, then said, “No, you are not. But I know who you are.”

Macros said, “Then who am I?”

“You are something very different, and it may take a while to explain, but you have been expected.” She glanced at his three companions. “We did not expect them, however.” She pointed to Valko. “Especially not him.”

Pug said, “Lady, we have come a very long way.”

She was peering intently at him, and Pug knew that he was being regarded by more than simple eyesight, even the more powerful Dasati vision. There was magic at play. He watched her eyes widen. “Ah, yes. Now I see. Come, we will offer you comfort and refreshment, and we shall speak of many things.”

She led Macros through the large doors on the left and Pug and Magnus followed. Magnus said, “Father, there’s something different here. Something different about these women.”

Pug nodded. “I sense it, too. They are not mad.”

The young woman who had greeted them outside moved to Valko’s side and said, “You are to come with me.”

“Where are you taking me?” he asked with a mix of suspicion and defiance.

“No harm will come to you,” she said. “Those ahead of us must speak of many things, some of which will concern you and about which you will be told when you need to know. I will talk to you of things about which they have no need to know. It is necessary. Besides, I would like to know you better.”

“Why?” he asked, his suspicion rising.

She smiled, and it was a very different smile from those seductive and manipulative expressions he expected from young women speaking with the powerful young lord of an important family. “Because I have heard of you since you were born, Valko. I am your sister, Luryn. Narueen is my mother, as well as yours.”

Valko was speechless as his sister led him into the heart of the Bloodwitch Sisterhood’s fortress.

J
im came to a halt.

It was midday and he was close to exhaustion when at last he reached Elvandar. His elf companion said, “You know the way, I trust.”

“Thank you, Trelan. I can find the way.”

Jim was doubly thankful that he could slow to a reasonable walk. Trelan’s idea of a slow pace through the woods was punishing to any but the most extraordinary human hunter or tracker, and Jim was neither a hunter nor tracker, let alone extraordinary. A few elves were crossing the great clearing from the edge of the Elven Forest to the heart of Elvandar. A few gave him a passing glance, but none spoke to him. They were an extremely polite people, by Jim’s measure, and would speak to him
only if he spoke first. And they knew any human this close to Elvandar was welcome.

Jim caught his breath as he approached the first of the giant trees that served as home for the elves of the Queen’s Court. He was as amazed now as he had been the first time he visited, several years before. His sense of wonder was hardly diminished by the fact it was now daylight and the sight was even more breathtaking at night. Still, he could make out the faint glow around the trees, a light which was dramatic after sundown. And even in the light of day, the variety of colors was still stunning. Amid the deep green foliage were trees which only grew in this forest. Most were concentrated in this grove, and they presented a feast for the eye, as leaves of crimson, gold, even white, complemented the deep emerald of the rest. One had blue leaves, and he headed for it, knowing that the ramp up the right side would take him to the Queen’s Court.

He nodded a few times to elves going about their day’s work—cleaning a deerskin, or fletching arrows, cooking over an open fire, or simply sitting in a circle meditating on some elvish matter or another. The elven children, while not great in number, were just as boisterous and combative as human young. A pair of boys almost ran him down as they fled from an equally loud group who gave chase. Still, it was a happy noise, that laughter, a sound that barely bruised the tranquillity of the place.

Elven girls played at the feet of their mothers, and for a brief instant Jim felt a rush of envy. If there was a place more peaceful than Elvandar in this world, he could not conceive of it. As fatigued as he was, he could imagine settling down here for a long time.

He climbed the long ramp up the first tree, then transited half a dozen broad paths cut across the tops of huge branches. Some boles had been hollowed out and apartments had been created within them, complete with doors and windows. Some ancient trunks had pathways cut into their sides, winding upward, apparently without any ill effects to the trees, which seemed to thrive under the elves’ magical husbandry.

As he trudged along one of the pathways Jim glanced down
and was grateful that he had no fear of heights. Scampering across slippery rooftops inured you to the fear of falling. If you were afraid, you shouldn’t climb up where you can fall off, was his thinking.

Still, it was a sobering sight looking down and seeing nothing to break your fall, save some unwelcoming branches and the hard forest floor below. He took a deep breath, more from fatigue than any discomfort at being so high up, and continued.

By the time he reached the entrance to the Queen’s Court, word of his arrival had already reached Her Majesty. Queen Aglaranna sat on her throne, her husband, Warleader Tomas, seated at her side. She was the most regal being Jim had ever encountered, and he had met his share of human rulers. Not only was she beautiful in a slightly strange and alien way, but she held herself in the easy manner of one used to being obeyed, yet without a hint of arrogance. In fact, if anything, the inherent warmth and kindness she projected added to her aura of nobility. Her reddish-blond hair was untouched by grey, though Jim knew she was centuries old, and her face was unlined, making her resemble a human woman of no more than thirty years or so, and her deep blue eyes were clear and direct. Her smile was heartbreaking.

The man at her side was perhaps the most daunting figure Jim had ever seen, though he had never shown anything but the utmost courtesy and friendliness when Jim had previously visited the court. Tomas was a strange being by anyone’s measure, and while Jim had heard all the stories, he wasn’t sure where fact ended and fancy began. The story was that Tomas had been born a human lad, in the keep at Crydee Castle, down the Far Coast. Some ancient magic had transformed him during the Riftwar into a being of astonishing power, half human, half…Jim wasn’t entirely sure what. He had a somewhat elvish look to him, with pointed ears and an elf’s long locks, yet his features also looked…different. The story went that he was the inheritor of an ancient magic, belonging to a legendary race known only as the Dragon Lords. As he had the last time he had visited, Jim was determined to find out more about these legendary beings, if
only he didn’t become too busy with other matters, as he had the last time he returned to Krondor.

At their side stood two elves, who looked young, though that concept had no meaning here. One was Prince Calin, the Queen’s son by her first husband, the long-dead Elf King. The other was Prince Calis, her son by Tomas, and while there was a strong resemblance to their mother in both of them, Calis had inherited a robust look of strength and power from his father that his half brother lacked. All of them smiled at Jim Dasher as he entered the court and bowed.

“Welcome, Jim Dasher,” said the Queen. “It is good to see you again. What brings the agent of the Prince of Krondor unannounced to our court, welcome though he may be?”

“I bear grave news, and have need of your counsel, Your Majesty,” he replied.

“You look exhausted,” observed the Queen. “Perhaps you should rest and revive yourself before we speak.”

“I welcome such an offer, but before I do, allow me to tell you the cause for my arriving unannounced.”

“Please,” said the Queen, her brow furrowed with concern.

“Agents of our enemies, an unnamed band of marauders, landed…” Jim paused. He had lost track of time since he had been captured. Had it only been three days? “They landed three days ago on the shores of the Peaks of the Quor.”

At mention of the location, the Queen and all her advisors stiffened, as if they sensed something dire before he spoke of it.

“With them was a magician of some power, who conjured a being the like of which I’ve never encountered, and it was only through the intervention of others that we were not destroyed utterly by this creature.”

“What others?” asked the Queen quietly.

Jim realized she already knew the answer. “Elves, my lady. Elves unlike any I’ve seen or heard of, from a refuge they called Baranor.”

Tomas nodded. “The anoredhel. They endure.”

The Queen asked, “How fare your companions?”

“They are taken captive. After rescuing us from the brigands, the elves took us prisoner and marched us to their stronghold.”

“How were you treated?” asked Lord Tomas.

“Well enough, I suppose, though there was this one fellow who looked ready to cut our throats no questions asked, my lord. But these are desperate people, from the look of them, and I fear they may decide that Kaspar and my companions are more trouble to keep alive than to kill out of hand.” Jim looked around at the faces regarding him. There was something at play here, some elvish business that he was not privy to.

The Queen was silent for a long while, then said, “Go now and rest, Jim Dasher. Eat and sleep and we shall hold council on what you have said. When you awake tomorrow, we will talk again.”

Jim had no doubt he would sleep through the evening meal once he had laid his head down, so he was not going to argue. Still, his curiosity was now fully engaged and he wanted to know what was going on. Moreover, he worried about Kaspar and the others. They might be cutthroats and brigands but these men were all loyal servants of the Crown and the Conclave, and despite their rough exteriors, all stalwart lads to their core. If he could save them, he would.

At the Queen’s behest, a servant conducted him to an apartment within a bole where he found a platter of fruit and nuts and a pitcher of cool water waiting for him. With sudden pangs of hunger, he set to while the young elf who had guided him said, “I will return with more substantial fare in a few minutes, Jim Dasher.”

“Thank you,” he said between mouthfuls. By the time the elf returned with a platter of game bird, some aged hard cheese, and half a loaf of fresh grain bread, Jim lay fast asleep on the pallet on the floor of the apartment. The elf quietly put down the platter and left him in peace.

Jim awoke and devoured the rest of the food that had been left for him. After that he exited the little apartment and found the closest garderobe, in which he relieved himself, and then hurried
down to a deep pool where he quickly bathed. He was politely ignored by those elves also busy making their morning ablutions. As much as he admired women in their many configurations, from the willowy thin to the robustly voluptuous, he found himself admiring elven women’s forms more for their beauty in an abstract fashion than with any lust. They were as beautiful as any human woman could hope to be, but there was an alien quality which robbed him of any carnal impulse in their direction. The elven men were also beautiful, in their fashion, and he admired their lithe strength. Rarely did anyone make Jim Dasher feel unfit, but every elf he saw bathing looked like an embodiment of youthful vigor, while he still felt ill used and fatigued from his travels.

He donned his still-dirty clothing, having judged it imprudent to wash them and either wait until they dried or wear wet garb to the Queen’s Court. Once he was dressed, he hurried back up to the pavilion where Aglaranna and Tomas waited.

“Good morning, Jim Dasher,” said the Queen.

He bowed and said, “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Did you rest well?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I am in your debt for my welcome respite, my lady.”

“We have conferred with our advisors on the news you brought us,” said the Queen. “And to understand what needs to be done, you must be made aware of things few within our race know, and no one, not even our oldest friends like Pug, have been told.”

Jim raised an eyebrow at that. He had assumed that given the boyhood friendship between Pug and Tomas, Pug would be the most likely human to be told any elven lore. Still, he said nothing and waited.

Tomas spoke. “In ancient times there was a great war between the gods. Those called Dragon Lords by humans, whom we call Valheru in the elven language…” He paused, as if uncomfortable speaking of these things. “The Dragon Lords took a hand. In the end, they were cast out of this realm, dispersed to other universes.”

This piqued Jim’s interest. A great deal of the intelligence gathered by the Conclave over the last few years consisted of references to other planes of reality. A lot of it was incomprehensible to Jim, well, most of it, actually, but he had reviewed enough of the intelligence passing through his hands on its way to Pug or Nakor or Miranda to have some sense of it: there were other places that could only be imagined by a few beings—and he wasn’t one of them, but he took it on faith that they existed. Too much had happened already for him to doubt it.

Tomas continued, “But before the last of that great struggle, one of the Dragon Lords stood apart, the one whose armor I wear when I go into battle.”

Jim had never seen Tomas don the legendary white and gold dragon armor, but he had heard of it and imagined it to be an impressive sight. Even wearing a simple robe and sandals, Tomas was one of the most impressive beings he had ever met.

“He alone defied the Dragon Host,” Tomas continued,

“and his last act before the madness known as the Chaos Wars overwhelmed this world was to free all those who had been held in thrall to the Valheru.

“Most of those you know as ‘elves’ came to reside here, in the first court of the first king and queen, before the rise of men on this world. We call ourselves ‘eledhel’ or ‘people of the light.’ But some did not. There are those you call the Dark Brotherhood, the ‘moredhel,’ or people of darkness. There were others, some who have since come to join us, those fleeing privation in the north, beyond the Teeth of the World, or those from across the sea.

“But one…tribe, if you will, were set apart and they embraced a mission. They are called ‘anoredhel,’ or ‘people of the sun.’ They have never been subject to the Queen’s rule—or that of any other ruler here in Elvandar, but we have…an accommodation with them. They are…unique and their responsibility is vast.”

“Then they are in need of your aid, Majesty,” said Jim Dasher.

“How?” asked the Queen.

Jim recounted Kaspar’s observation about them being a dying people. When he finished, Tomas and the Queen both looked troubled. Finally, Aglaranna said, “For reasons you may never understand, we may not meddle in the affairs of the anoredhel. Yet we would not see them perish, for more reasons than I can tell you.” She looked at her husband and said, “What counsel you?”

“My wife and queen, I think there is only one answer. I must go to the Peaks of the Quor and speak to their leader.”

“Castdanur,” Jim supplied. “That’s what he’s called.”

“That is not a name, Jim Dasher,” said Tomas. “It’s a title. He protects the world against the Darkness.”

Unable to stop himself, Jim blurted, “He’s been lax on the job, then.” He instantly regretted what he said. “I’m sorry, my lady, my lord. I am…still very tired and my better judgment is apparently missing.”

Tomas didn’t smile, but his expression wasn’t scolding. “It’s quite understandable.” He stood up. “My lady, I take my leave with your permission.”

“Be swift, my husband, and return quickly.”

Jim was struck by the bond between these two, forged before he had been born yet as fresh as new lovers just discovering their passion. He indulged himself for a moment to think of Michele and wonder if it was possible for any human man and woman to discover the depth of feeling he had just glimpsed.