Wrath of a Mad God (25 page)

Caleb took a second then said, “Katala.”

“I know your father loves me, and in many ways I am his perfect match, as he is mine, but to be as powerful as your father is, and to stand helplessly by and watch the woman you love die of a wasting disease…” She sighed. “More than once I have tried to imagine what that must have felt like, and I can’t. And he misses his children.”

Caleb nodded. William and Gamina had both died in the battle for Krondor, at the end of the Serpentwar, years before Caleb’s birth. “It is easy to forget that I had a brother and sister who died before I was born.”

“But your father loved them desperately. And he never forgave himself for his estrangement from William at the time of William’s death. It’s one of the reasons he has never tried to tell you which path in life you should take.”

Caleb shrugged. “I thought Father let me go wandering around, hunting, fishing, and trapping, because I was useless at magic.”

Miranda smiled gently. “If Magnus had wanted to wander around, hunting, fishing, and trapping, your father would have let him. That was the lesson he learned from William.”

“So Father doesn’t talk much about the past.”

“No, mostly because he doesn’t need to dredge up the painful memories; he has enough pain right now to deal with.”

“So you’re saying Father never talked about the Dread.”

“Only a little, and I suspect he’d say much the same that Tomas has and will say.” She stood up. “We must go. I really didn’t mean to talk so much about your father, but the question you asked put me in mind of something that has long since been a struggle for me, the part of my husband I cannot touch: his memories and feelings for his first family.”

They fell silent, and at last Caleb said, “I worry about him, too, Mother.”

Miranda’s eyes welled up and she blinked. “You’d think after all we’ve been through I’d get used to—” She cut herself off and stood up. “We need to go and speak to our guests.”

Caleb followed his mother through the long halls of the villa until they reached a clearing to the west of the largest building on the island, save for the empty castle on the distant bluffs over
looking the sea. A series of benches had been erected, forming a semicircle. Miranda had called together forty of the most powerful magicians not in the Conclave, an equal number of clerics of the various orders—most of whom had already reached an agreement with the Conclave, or who were more or less favorably disposed to them, and four of the most senior members of the island community. Many of these gathered folk greeted Miranda and Caleb, others were intent upon their own conversations. She ignored the preening representative of the faction known as the Hands of Korsh at the Academy. Keshian traditionalists only slightly less hidebound and reactionary than the other faction, the Wand of Watoomb, they were too caught up in their own self-importance to be of any political use. The good thing was that they had isolated themselves from social conflict and national politics so effectively that neither the Kingdom nor the Empire viewed them as a threat. Had either monarchy possessed a hint of just how much magical ability existed on the Island of Stardock, she was certain their reactions would be quite different. She also liked the fact that Stardock drew attention away from Sorcerer’s Isle. To the rest of the world a mad magic-user, “the Black Sorcerer,” lived here alone. Over the years that guise had included her father, her husband, Nakor, and any number of students adept enough to scare off pirates or more innocent vessels that had wandered off course. A little blue light sparking in a tower window of the old castle, some horrible noises, and if necessary a hideous illusion or two on the beach below, and they gave this place a wide berth.

Now Sorcerer’s Isle resembled a spring garden party at the royal palace at Roldem, save that there were few beautiful ladies and no dashing young courtiers present.

Miranda said, “Thank you all for coming,” and all conversation stopped. “Tomas of Elvandar should be here in a while. But before he arrives, I wish to say something.

“Each of you is known to the others, if not by sight, then by reputation. Each of you is here because you are acknowledged as both a master of your arts and an influential member of your particular orders or societies. I can do no more than beg you
to believe that what you are about to hear from Lord Tomas, as fantastic as it may sound, is the truth.” She heard the dragon approach before she turned and saw it. Those sitting in the semicircle in front of her looked up in astonishment.

Caleb walked over to stand next to his mother and whispered, “Gold is better.”

The dragon Tomas rode now dwarfed the red one he had ridden earlier. This majestic creature had a head the size of a freight wagon, and its wingspan could have covered the entire width of the main building on the island, with the tips touching the ground. The massive dragon touched down as lightly as a leaf fluttering from a tree and Tomas leaped down from its shoulders, more of a drop than jumping from a rooftop. He thanked the dragon and it sprang into the air, spiraling away in a steep climb into the evening air.

Without preamble, Tomas said, “That you are here means that Miranda and Pug have confidence in you, and confidence will be required. I bring you a warning, and it is most dire.

“I am named Tomas, Consort to the most radiant queen, Aglaranna, ruler of Elvandar. I am by her appointment and the consent of her subjects Warleader of Elvandar. I wear the mantle of Ashen-Shugar, Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches, and carry his alien memories, though I am as mortal as any here. I have been allotted a longer life span than other humans, but I know that eventually death awaits me.

“I have traveled beyond the stars and into the Halls of Death herself, and have spoken with gods and demons. I tell you this so that you may know something of what I am, and what I have seen, for now I must speak of the Dread.

“Some of you may know the name from your ancient lore, others may have never heard it, but in the end, it is all the same, for you know nothing of them. I am the only mortal being on this world who knows of the Dread, save one, and he has traveled a long distance hence. So, put aside any preconceptions you may have and listen.”

Caleb whispered, “He just told us all to forget about the bear, didn’t he?”

His mother nodded.

Tomas began his tale.

When he had finished, the word that best described the assembled magicians and priests was “shaken.” Without embellishment or dramatics, Tomas had told them the tale of the Valheru’s first and only encounter with the Dread, in a realm called “the Boundary” by the Dragon Lords. It was a place between the realms and the Void and, like the Hall of Worlds, the City Forever, and the Garden, a place that defied rational description.

Tomas said, “There is a place, the Peaks of the Quor, in that part of Great Kesh closest to the Island Kingdom of Roldem. It is there we discovered a leak in the barriers of reality, a place where this world and the Boundary coexisted. Somehow children of the Dread—beings almost benign by the standards of the Void—found their way into the Boundary and then from there into this world. They were playing: yet that play was deadly. Miranda and I excised their existence from this world and I hope that ended the risk, but I asked for you all to be here today to warn you that there is a possibility the risk is not over. For if the Dread ever find their way into our realm, we shall have almost no time to respond.”

“How can we respond in any rational fashion to a threat such as the one you describe?” asked the High Priest of the Order of Dala in Krondor. The elderly cleric wore his simple white robes today rather than the richly embroidered raiment of his office.

“That is why I asked Miranda to call this meeting now,” said Tomas. “It may be that the need will never arise, but it’s far better for us to be prepared for something that never comes than to be unprepared when there is need.”

“What can you tell us of these beings?” asked a magician named Komis from Stardock. Unlike most who affected the dark robes originally worn by Pug when he founded the Academy, Komis had chosen richly ornamented robes of dark plum, edged with white cord at the collar, cuffs, and hem. His youthful features belied his position in the Academy where he was a senior instructor in what was being called shadow magic, the study of
energies linked to the other realms. His studies lay at the heart of most of the questions Tomas raised.

“Little, save that their very touch can draw out life energy and wither flesh in moments if you have no means to protect yourself. The more powerful they are, the more intelligent. Those we destroyed yesterday were little more than mindless youngsters, unable to speak—or at least unable to speak in any fashion we can apprehend—but eager to experience the hunt and taste flesh in our realm.

“The more powerful among them can be understood: I have spoken to one and know where one is imprisoned.”

“We must examine it!” exclaimed the High Priest of the Order of Ishap in Rillanon. The Ishapians were the oldest order extant, the only public order to serve one of the greater gods, and while each temple was autonomous, the Ishapians wielded great influence: more than one intertemple war had been prevented by both sides appealing to the servants of Ishap for guidance.

Tomas shook his head. “The journey is arduous and the destination is almost impossible to access.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Let me consider such an expedition, for by combining arts…” He looked at Miranda who made a noncommittal gesture. She knew what he was speaking of. A Dreadmaster had been trapped by Pug and Tomas in the deepest bowels of a black citadel in the heart of the City Forever, a place only bordering on reality.

One of the magicians said, “If we know its nature, we might fashion a spell of binding!”

“And banishment!” added a priest. “If it is not of this realm, it can be sent away with the proper exorcisms.”

That triggered an animated discussion among those in attendance. Tomas motioned to Miranda to step aside, and when they were out of earshot of the others, he said, “We’re off to a good start.”

“I hope so,” she answered. “You did a masterful job of underplaying the menace at just the right time, so as to make them look even more dire.” Her features darkened. “Though I really don’t know how much more dire things can be.”

“The Dread cannot be truly killed. The Dreadmaster Pug and I captured in the City Forever is almost certainly still alive, if someone hasn’t freed him.” Tomas glanced over at the discussions. “There will be many questions for me to answer tonight. May I stay here?”

“Of course. You never have to ask. You are family.”

“More than ever, I wish Pug were here. His knowledge of what we face might be better than my own.”

She said, “I know one thing: you can’t wish him back any more ardently than I do.”

“Of course.”

She said, “In all of this, I can’t escape the feeling that somehow everything is interconnected. The arrival of those creatures near the Quor, and the Dasati. Can it be possible that before he fled Varen was also trying to fetch creatures from the Void to this world?”

“Anything is possible. Varen is by any measure insane. But he is a servant of the Nameless, and while the Nameless is often content to inflame his servants and send them out to cause mayhem, he would never be so foolish as to think the Dread in this realm could serve him. The gods above all others are foe to the Dread, for the gods represent the essence of our reality and the Dread are as far removed from our reality as anything in the universe.”

“When you go to study that Dread you have locked away,” said Miranda, “I want to come with you. I need to know if there’s a way I can kill one, or at least get rid of it.”

Tomas agreed. “Now,” he added, “I should talk to some of these men of power and influence.”

“When do you seek the Quor?” she asked.

“Soon, in a matter of days. Why?”

“Because I would like to go with you.”

“We’ll see,” he answered as he turned away. “There are things it is sometimes better not to know.”

She could only nod in agreement. How well she knew that.

P
ug vanished.

Martuch had been expecting it but still he went wide-eyed when Pug cast his spells. The decision to seek out Nakor and Bek had already been made when more reports of what had occurred on Kelewan reached them. Agents of the White passed along snatches of information throughout the afternoon, and into the evening. Alone, each of these snippets provided a glimpse of the situation, but when put together, the result was horrific.

Three columns of attackers had been inserted into Kelewan by Dasati Deathpriests creating a riftlike “portal” that allowed dozens of Deathknights to pass through each minute. Three locations in the Holy City had been targeted: the council chamber in the palace, the wing set
aside for the First Advisor and all other ministers and their aides, and the heart of the merchants’ district.

Pug knew instantly that the Dasati had derived their intelligence from Leso Varen. The Dasati would have seen the wisdom in destroying the leadership and surrounding bureaucracy but the assault on the merchants would have been beyond their imagination. There was nothing remotely resembling a merchant class in this realm, and the concept of disrupting the financial underpinnings of the Empire would be so alien to them that it could only have come from Varen.

Pug’s mind was spinning. If he could discover who was in touch with Varen here, then perhaps when he returned, if he returned, he might be able to find the malignant butcher.

Martuch said, “This is madness.”

Pug laughed. He found himself suddenly unable to stop laughing. Hirea and the two Lessers who served the White stood in obvious shock at the sound coming from the seemingly empty air. The effect was doubly troubling, for not only was the source of the sound not apparent but, to the Dasati mind, laughter was closely linked to pain and death.

“Father, what is it?” asked Magnus, and Pug’s laughter stopped.

“I’m sorry,” said Pug. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I was suddenly struck by the enormity of what we have to do and then to have Martuch call it madness…everything we have encountered since the advent of Leso Varen has been wholesale madness. So I was overcome by a sense of how mad must it be for what we’re doing now to be singled out as madness in the midst of all this other insanity. I don’t know why it struck me as funny, but it did.”

Magnus said, “You’re just tired, Father.”

“We all are.”

Hirea said, “I see no humor here.” He stood up from where he had been sitting quietly. “If you must do this thing to reach your friends, it is best we do it soon. There is a very small amount of time left before our presence anywhere near the palace guards’ enclave will be noticed.” Without another word he
climbed the ladder to the trapdoor. He lifted the door and peered about, making sure no one was in that part of the Grove before continuing up.

Pug and Magnus followed, Magnus telling Martuch when he was clear of the ladder. The warrior and the two Lessers followed, and when all were aboveground, the trapdoor was replaced.

It was evening, but enough was going on in the city that two warriors riding as if on urgent business would hardly be noticed. Martuch had been adamant about the need to be into the palace and out again before dawn. He had given Pug explicit instructions on how to reach the most likely location to find Nakor and Bek: the recruits’ barracks.

Pug and Magnus mounted behind the two warriors and held tightly as the war-trained varnin were unsettled by the additional weight on their backs. Martuch and Hirea moved off at a brisk pace, for two riders in the middle of a supposedly empty orchard at this time of day might arouse interest.

They rapidly made their way to the first tunnel into the city proper, and if anyone took note of their passing, it was not apparent. Quickly they moved down busy boulevards, though they were less crowded than would be usual. The recent Great Culling had taken its toll. While death was a constant in Dasati life, there was a hint of anticipation and anxiety in the air, that somehow the Culling was but a foreshadowing of more troubles approaching.

When they had first come to this realm, Pug had noticed that many Deathknights would venture into the evening without benefit of armor, preferring comfortable robes and riding on less temperamental mounts than war-varnin. And many more ladies of the Dasati thronged the streets, moving freely from one location to another, from those places designated for food and beverage, akin to the Midkemian inn or restaurant, and places reserved for Lessers of particular skill groups, the closest thing the Dasati had to shops; but tonight there were hardly any women in sight and no man was abroad who wasn’t wearing armor, save for Lessers following Deathknights.

Of Deathpriests and Hierophants he saw none. All were busy and that was another sign that something important was under way. Pug didn’t know if it meant preparation for the invasion of Kelewan—though he thought the leaders of the great houses and the societies would be given some warning to muster—or perhaps another Culling, should the Dark One need more death-magic to create more portals.

As they reached the precinct whose entrance was closest to the quarters likely to house Bek and Nakor, Martuch and Hirea reined in their varnin. Martuch spoke without looking back. “We will take backstreets and circle the precinct. We will return here at sunrise. If you are able to, be visible and we will stop as if you belong to us and have you follow behind. If not, we will pause. Speak to us if you can and let us know what you need. If we do not find you…” He let the thought go unfinished. Pug knew what he meant.

“If we don’t find you,” he said softly, “we will find our own way back to the Grove.”

Hirea said, “Good fortune.”

“And you,” answered Pug.

When the two riders had departed, Pug said, “Magnus?”

“Here, Father,” came a voice to his right. Magnus reached out and made contact.

“We need to stay close to the wall. One touch by even a Lesser and we are undone.”

They hurried into the tunnel, past a series of closed doors and curtained windows.

“Everyone seems to be keeping out of sight,” said Magnus softly.

“That’s to our benefit,” answered his father.

Down the long hallway they scurried. The corridor was wide enough for half a dozen riders to pass shoulder to shoulder, but it was deserted. Pug worried that it was so quiet someone might hear the sound of their passing, but he pressed on. There were no guards anywhere to be seen which seemed very strange, but then Pug remembered he was not dealing with human rulers here. Even the Emperors of Tsuranuanni or Great Kesh had
over the ages been confronted by ambitious nobles and threats from within as well as by enemies across their borders. But here, the TeKarana commanded almost universal obedience—the only exception being the White—such a minority as to be no more than a myth to the masses of the Dasati Empire. When the vast majority of males in the population are under arms and loyal to the point of fanaticism, security becomes an afterthought.

Martuch had given him precise instructions on how to find the new recruits’ barracks and they soon reached the first dormitory. But once through the door they realized the enormity of the task, for arrayed on each side of the aisle in which they found themselves were hundreds of bunks, in which sleeping Dasati youths rested. How to find Bek?

Lessers were scattered around the room on sleeping mats on the floor, making any attempt to walk between the sleeping cots very risky. But they could walk the perimeter of the room, and this they did, moving quickly and quietly through the first room, but seeing no one who resembled the huge young warrior or Nakor.

They passed into a second room, and a third, and there was still no sign of either Bek or Nakor. Several times sleeping young Deathknights would stir, but Pug found it remarkable that the Dasati didn’t snore, nor did they seem to move much when sleeping; to a man they all slept on their backs, and while there was some variation in position, none of them slept on their sides or stomachs. Pug wondered if it was some sort of survival trait: not moving while you’re asleep lessens the chance of a predator finding you, or perhaps it allowed the sleeper a quicker response time if attacked. He didn’t know, but he found the almost uniform sleeping pose oddly disturbing.

But when they reached the fourth chamber, their fortunes changed. In a far corner they found Bek sitting up on his bunk. Nakor sat on the floor, speaking to him in a very low voice. As they neared, Pug could hear him saying, “Soon things will change and you will have a great deal to do in a very short time.”

Bek whispered, “Yes, Nakor. I understand.”

“Good,” Nakor whispered in return. “I may not always be
with you so I must be certain you know exactly what it is you’re supposed to do if I’m not there.”

“I understand,” repeated the young warrior.

“Good. Now, go to sleep. I must speak with Pug and Magnus.”

Bek lay back in the same position as all the other Dasati warriors, and Nakor turned, looking right at Pug and Magnus. “I was wondering when you’d find me.”

Still invisible, Pug asked, “How?”

“Later,” said Nakor, standing up. “Make me invisible, too. If they find me wandering around, I’ll be killed. There’s something I must show you.”

Soon Nakor was as invisible as Pug and Magnus. He whispered, “We must go through that door on the left over there”—it was clear which door he indicated—“and then down the corridor to the right. I’ll tell you where next when we reach an intersection.”

He moved silently out of the barracks, and when they passed through the door, Pug could see that they had left the last of the recruits’ barracks. Nakor’s whisper carried well enough that they didn’t have to strain to hear, for this corridor, like the others, was empty. “Something big is going to happen, soon, Pug. Everyone is terrified. Even the Deathknights. I don’t know why. I’ve never seen fear in a Dasati before. I mean, I’ve seen cringing Lessers, but that is as much a part of their role as true fear—any Lesser who thought he had an opportunity to kill a Deathknight or Deathpriest and win status would do so without hesitation—but even Deathknights can barely conceal their trepidation.”

“I can feel it,” answered Magnus. “Something is making them afraid.”

Pug let out a long sigh. “I have been battling disquiet, too, since we left the Grove.”

“We all have strong minds,” answered Nakor. “Think how it must be to these people, who don’t know fear.”

“Where’s it coming from?” asked Pug.

“That’s what I want to show you.” They reached the junction and Nakor said, “Now we go to the left, and it’s a long way.
I’m going to run and I suggest you do the same. When you reach the end, you’ll know where to stop.”

“Wait,” said Magnus. “I can still fly us if we stay low.”

They rose off the ground again, and sped along the corridor. Pug hoped his son’s control was as precise as it needed to be, for he had no doubt magical skills would be of little aid if they went bouncing off a stone wall.

The corridor went on for what must have been miles; unlike the others it was unlit. Pug now had to completely rely on the illumination from the stones, invisible to the human eye, but providing a low residue of shapes and textures to the Dasati eye. He would miss this ability, he thought, when he got home…and felt a sudden stab of pain, an anxiety he had not experienced.

He knew he would somehow get home. He had been promised that by no less than the Goddess of Death, for she had foretold his fate, and he was doomed to live until he had served the gods’ purpose and that fate also included watching everyone he loved die before him. He would get home, but he had no way of knowing if Magnus or Nakor would.

“You can slow down now,” said Nakor. “We’re coming to the end.”

They reached the end of the very long corridor, Pug calculating they must have flown more than two miles. “I almost got caught here, last time,” said Nakor. “I wasn’t invisible. It’s a trick you’d think I’d have learned by now. I talked my way out of getting killed.”

Pug was amused, and wished he could have heard that exchange, for he had no doubt the Dasati who had been here had been as confused as any human once Nakor got through with one of his confidence tricks. “You’ll have to tell me about it some time.”

“We can get visible now,” said Nakor.

Pug ended the spell of invisibility.

“Where are we?”

“This is a most clever and useful thing,” said Nakor. They stood on a platform and Pug could feel a vibration through his feet and heard a deep and distant thrumming noise. “Soon a thing
like a wagon is going to come by and we are going to get on it. Move quickly because it doesn’t slow down.”

“What—?” began Magnus, just as the device Nakor had described appeared.

It was like a wagon, insofar as it had a flat bed and what would have been a driver’s bench, except there were no animals drawing it. And rather than a cargo bed in the back, there were more benches. “Jump!” Nakor shouted.

They did, and all three arrived within one bench of one another.

“It takes some practice, I guess,” said Nakor.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know what they call it here, but I think of it as a really big tram.”

“Tram?” asked Magnus.

“Miners use them,” said his father. “Dolgan the dwarf king in the Grey Towers told me about them. We were traveling though an ancient mine and I saw an abandoned tram off in a side tunnel.”

Nakor said, “I’ve seen them down in Kesh, in the copper and tin mines. They have big wheels so they can be pulled by mules. They load them up with ore and haul it out of the mine. They use little ones they push by hand to fill the big ones. Sometimes they lay roadways of wood.”

“How does this thing work?”

“There’s some massive contrivance, an engine of some sort, perhaps water-driven or by some other means, that moves along on a giant tether in a big loop. If you ride it long enough, you end up back where you got on.” He paused. “Hang on, there’s a place ahead where we—” Before he could finish there was a hard jolt and suddenly the tram picked up speed. “I think there’s a device that moves it from a slow tether to a fast one. There’s another jolt when we slow down at the other end.”