Into a Dark Realm (25 page)

“This food is not exactly what you will eat on Kosridi, but it is close. Enough so that if you’re served a common dish you will not react to it in an unexpected fashion.

“Those serving you are acting in the fashion of Lessers, so watch them. You will almost certainly never find yourself at a table such as this, for this is how the warriors dine. The only time men and women dine at the same table is if they are alone, perhaps after coupling.”

Pug nodded. Martuch had been an exemplary teacher, his mind
a repository of a million details of Dasati life. Pug could not imagine anyone better suited to prepare them for this expedition.

For weeks they had been practicing the language, and a convincing story—that they were three Attenders, serving Martuch; and the young warrior Bek was the son of a distant noble in a minor society who was making a pilgrimage to the TeKarana’s city of Omadrabar, which was not unheard of, especially if the young warrior was inclined toward becoming a Deathpriest. For in Omadrabar was the great temple of the Dark One, where Martuch claimed the living god resided, and from where all power emanated.

Pug worried about Bek, though Nakor said the young warrior would be kept under control. He seemed a different being here on Delecordia, and Pug wondered what change arriving on the second level of reality would bring about. He was becoming Dasati in many ways. He had to only be told once what was expected of him, and he complied, flawlessly.

Nakor had indicated from the first that he suspected that something alien, dangerous, maybe even something linked to the Nameless One, resided in Bek. But perhaps that darkness came from the Dark God of the Dasati. Pug hated that there were so many unknowns, yet he trusted that at least he must survive, or how would he otherwise have sent back the messages?

His big concern was for Magnus and Nakor, for he knew in his heart that Lims-Kragma’s bargain with him, when he lay near death in her hall, was not an idle threat. He would watch everyone he loved die before him, including his children. But every day he prayed that this day would not be the day on which that pain began. Now, he wondered, was he fated to lose his son and Nakor on this mad mission?

Pug put aside his misgivings, knowing the worry over something he could not control was a waste of energy, both mental and emotional. Every member of the Conclave knowingly agreed to go in harm’s way, risking their lives for a greater good. Even so, being aware of that didn’t lessen Pug’s concern.

Martuch would play the young Bek’s mentor, a warrior pledged in alliance to Bek’s mythical father. Dasati alliances were so complex, so multilevel in nature, that no one other than a Facilitator who worked at the Hall of Ancestors could possibly recognize every named lord, family, clan, or battle society.

On that subject, Pug said, “Martuch, you said you will be a Rider of the Sadharin. Is this a true position for you or a pose?”

The old warrior nodded. “I am of that society. You will find that among Dasati warriors, it is well respected and has a long and glorious history. It also numbers among its members many who are sympathetic to our cause.” He reached for a pomba fruit, tore it open with his thumbs, and bit deep into the pungent flesh. “The agents of the Dark One would like nothing better than to know this, Pug. To reveal that any of the Sadharin are sympathetic to the White would guarantee its utter destruction.

“The TeKarana, in distant Omadrabar, might order the destruction of an entire region on Kosridi just to ensure that the ‘infection’ was completely obliterated. Thousands would die.”

“The White?” asked Pug. “Who or what is the White?”

Martuch said, “It is a long story, or rather a series of long stories. But this you should know: in lost antiquity, there were two forces that ruled our universe, the Dark and the White.”

“Ah,” said Nakor. “Evil and good.”

“So you call them.” Martuch shrugged. “I still wrestle with the concepts, though I have accepted them as true. All our lives we hear of ‘the White’ as if it is a thing to be feared, a disease within the body of Dasati society, and more than once my mother scolded me as a child in the Hiding with warnings that if I was disobedient I would go to the White.”

He laughed as he remembered. “What would she think now?” He put down his knife and said, “The White is an organization, but it is also a belief, a fervent hope, that there is more to existence than mindless slaughter and the Purgings. We have little of what you would think of as civilized ways—music, art, literature—things the
Ipiliac take for granted, and I suspect you humans do as well. When I first encountered a book that wasn’t religious doctrine or a cautionary fable of the Dark One’s power, I could scarcely believe my eyes. What madness would possess someone to sit and put meaningless words on paper for the entertainment of others? And music that is not battle songs or temple hymns. The Lessers have their work chants, but music that is there to be listened to for pleasure alone? Strange.

“I was sent here to learn these things, Pug, and as the Dasati best able to communicate with you, I was given the task of being your escort.”

Again, Pug had a tantalizing suspicion that there was more to it than Vordam’s merely finding a guide for them. “Who sent you?”

Pug had asked that question before, and again got the same answer. “Many things will be made known to you, but not that, not now.” Martuch’s tone left no doubt the subject was not going to be discussed.

“Understood,” said Pug. Nothing about the Dasati was half-measured, he had concluded. They were the most dangerous mortal beings he had ever encountered. Not only were they faster than humans, more vicious than hunting trolls, and as courageous as the bravest Tsurani warrior; they possessed a mind set that could only be called murderous. Death was their answer to most social problems, and Pug wondered how such a society could come into being, or survive.

He remembered Nakor had often remarked that evil was by definition mad, and if that was true, the Dasati were the maddest beings in two universes. From what he had been told by the oracle, and what he had been able to glean from Martuch’s talks, this society had not always been this way. The rise of the Dark God of the Dasati was shrouded in antiquity, confused by myth and legend, but it had occurred relatively late in this race’s history. Until then, they had been much like the Ipiliac: complex, mostly peaceful, and productive.

Pug said to Martuch, “In our history we have a time known as
the Chaos Wars, when mortal beings and lesser gods rose against the greater gods. It is a time lost to us in history, but we know a little of it. Was the rise of the Dark One after such a conflict?”

“It was,” said Martuch. “Winners write history, it is said, and the Deathpriests make no differentiation between canon and history. His Darkness’s scriptures are history as far as we are concerned.

“The only reason I know of these differences is the Ipiliac records, which go back to before their flight from Omadrabar.”

“I would like to see those records, if time permits.”

“It does, and it would be a wise use of your remaining time.”

“How is it you came to Delecordia?”

“That is a story for another time, to be told to you by another. But this much I am willing to share: until twenty-five years ago by your reckoning of time, I was much like any other young Dasati warrior. I had survived the Hiding, found my way to my father’s castle, and killed in the Testing Hall to earn my place in his service. I was welcomed into the Sadharin and did all that a proper Dasati warrior could do. I hunted down children during the Purging, killed females who tried to protect them, mated with females for political advantage, and was always ready to answer the Karana’s call to arms.

“Twice I helped crush rebellions, or so they were called by those who sought their enemies destroyed; and three times I served in campaigns against rival battle societies. Six great wounds I bear on my body and more light ones than I can number, but I had no doubt at my supremacy. Sons came and survived, and I found a female who pleased me enough that when our son arrived, I called her to join our household. We had what you would call ‘a family.’ That concept does not exist in the Dasati mind, but that is what I was: a happy family man in my world.

“Then something happened and life as I knew it changed. I would never again be able to judge myself by the standards of my race, and since that time I have worked to change my people.” He looked off into the distance, as if remembering. “My female—wife if you will—misses me as she often reminds me. My sons do a reasonable job of
ruling our small estate, and we live in a time of relative peace.” He put down the peel of the fruit he had eaten and wiped his hands on a cloth. “Things are as they should be in the Dasati Empire,” he said with a wry, bitter tone. “The only people to die are the innocent.”

Pug said nothing.

Martuch chuckled. “Do you know that in the Dasati language there is no word for ‘innocent?’ The closest we have is ‘unblooded,’ meaning someone who has yet to take a life.” He shook his head as he reached for a wine cup. “To have innocence, you must explain the concept of ‘guilt.’ That’s another word we do not possess. We speak of ‘responsibility.’ I think it’s because the guilty are already dead…inside.” He stood up. “Excuse me. I’ve had too much to drink.” To Pug he said, “The archives are down the street outside, to our left. It is much like the other buildings, but there is a blue banner showing a circle of white hanging above the entrance. Go there and whatever you wish to see will be shown to you. I will return in the late afternoon tomorrow. I bid you good night.” And with that, he left.

Magnus turned to his father. “Strange.”

“Yes, very,” said Pug. “From the Dasati point of view…”

“You are weak and deserve death,” said Bek, matter-of-factly.

“My father is hardly weak,” said Magnus. “None of us are.”

“I don’t mean you or your father,” said the young fighter. “I mean humans. You are weak and deserve death.”

Pug took note that Bek spoke of humans as “you” and not “we.” He glanced at Nakor who shook his head slightly.

Magnus said, “Father, I think I will retire. I wish to meditate for a while before sleeping.”

Pug gave his assent and the younger magician left the room. The servants stood waiting, and Pug realized they would not leave until the table was vacant. He signaled to Nakor who said, “Bek, let us go for a walk.”

Ralan Bek stood up smartly. “Good. I like walking in this city. There are so many interesting things to see, Nakor.”

Pug and Nakor got up and followed Bek out of the door into the early evening air. Pug took a deep breath and said, “I guess we are completely adapted, for now this smells much as the air would in Krondor or Kesh.”

“Better,” said Nakor. “Not as much smoke and rubbish.”

Walking down the street, Pug said, “The Ipiliac are more fastidious than humans, from everything I can see.”

“Yes,” said Bek. “This is a very nice city. It might be fun to see it burn.”

“It might not,” said Nakor quickly. “One fire is pretty much like another.”

“But think how much bigger the fire would be, Nakor.”

Pug said quietly, “Maybe it’s a bit of Prandur inside,” making a reference to the fire god, known as “the Burner of Cities.”

Nakor chuckled. “Bek, would you like to see something new? Something marvelous?”

“Yes, Nakor, I would. This is a very interesting place, more than most I’ve been, but lately I’ve started to get bored with all the sitting around and talking.”

Pug glanced at Nakor who motioned for him to wait. “You can go visit the archives tomorrow. This is something you should see, too.” They walked through the city, nodding politely to citizens who passed by, getting only the occasional odd glance; Martuch and Kastor had both mentioned that visitors from other worlds were a rarity on this world. They reached the eastern gate of the city and Nakor pointed. “Up that hill.”

Pug said, “What are you taking us to see?”

“Wait,” said the little gambler, with a delighted glint in his eye.

They climbed the hill and then Pug and Bek saw what Nakor had led them to see. Far in the distance a shimmering line rose up out of the east, rising into the night sky to vanish into the distance.

“What is it?” asked Bek.

“The Star Bridge,” Nakor answered. “Martuch told me we might see it on a clear night. That city is Desoctia, and the Ipiliac use that
bridge to travel to a world called Jasmadine. It’s the same magic we will use to travel between the Dasati worlds, I have been told.”

“How far is that city?” asked Pug.

“About two hundred miles if you flew there.”

“Then that bridge must be very big,” said Bek.

“Or very bright,” said Pug.

They stood silently for a time, merely watching the distant shimmer of a bridge of light that would take them into another realm of reality.

M
artuch raised his hand.

All eyes turned to him. The four humans and the Dasati warrior stood in the middle of a large vaulted chamber, in a place Pug could only think of as being like his Academy on Stardock, a place of study and learning. He had visited it, along with the archives in the last few days, learning as much as he could about the Dasati—which proved to be little, as most Ipiliac history seemed to deal with their history since reaching Delecordia.

The bits he had read were not heartening, as the Ipiliac perspective on the Dasati as a whole was what one would expect from a vanquished people speaking of their oppressors. Even so, Pug felt they were as ready as they would ever be to make this incredible journey.

The room was a hall used for meetings and social gatherings and big enough, he had been told by the Ipiliac wizard who was accommodating this move to the second realm, that they could do this in private and without distraction. Pug, Magnus, and Nakor had listened eagerly to the wizard as he described what he would do to aid their journey, but even Pug felt he barely understood the arcane arts employed.

Martuch spoke. “In a moment, the transition will begin. It will be unlike anything you have experienced, if you’re lucky. I have made this transition a dozen times and each time I swear it will be my last. Are you ready?”

Pug stood with his arms linked to Nakor’s, who in turn had linked his to Bek’s. Magnus stood on his father’s other side, one arm through his father’s and the other through Martuch’s. Martuch had warned they would be transitioning through a realm he thought of only as “the grey,” and that every sense would be confounded. The passage lasted brief moments, but felt as if time had stopped.

The Ipiliac wizard who had been summoned to oversee this transition had also taken great pains in informing Pug, Nakor, and Magnus about what to expect. Bek was unconcerned and ignored the warnings. He seemed excited to be finally going to “the next place.”

Pug took a deep breath, then said, “Ready.”

Martuch nodded once to the wizard and he raised his staff above his head, in the final incantation of a spell he had begun almost an hour earlier.

Suddenly the room around them vanished. Pug tried to take in a breath, knowing that there was no air here, for he recognized this place! He was again in the place between! It was where Macros the Black had taken him when he had closed the first rift from Tsurani, at the end of the Riftwar. He knew exactly why Martuch had warned him. Pug reached out with his thoughts and quickly sheltered his companions as Macros had sheltered him.

Father,
came Magnus’s thoughts.
Where are we?

We are in the space between moments, my son. We are in the very
stuff of the universe, between those strands that Nakor calls “stuff,” in the void itself.

“You can speak,” said Nakor. “Though I can see nothing.”

Pug and the others suddenly appeared, and Martuch said, “How…?”

“I have been here before,” Pug said. He turned to Magnus. “I was taken here by your grandfather. This is the realm of the void, where the gods fought in the Chaos Wars.”

Martuch said, “It has never taken so long…”

“Perhaps it is because there are five of us,” suggested Bek, apparently fascinated by the total lack of any reference beyond them. The void was a sweeping nothingness: no light, no sound, no sensation.

“I thank you for this, Pug,” said Martuch. “The passage has always been cold and painful.”

“It will not be pleasant when we arrive,” responded the magician. As if to prove the point of his words, the transition to the second plane of reality was wrenching. The sensation was akin to having every particle of mind and body ripped apart. As Pug felt himself drawn into the Dasati world, something flickered past his field of vision. He tried to follow the movement, but he was physically yanked away from the void, and suddenly he was standing on a stone floor, in a room of black stone. He was on Kosridi.

Pain ran up and down every nerve of his body, leaving Pug standing and panting as if he had run a long race. Everyone was there, linking arms as they had been on Delecordia.

Pug staggered a little when he let go of Nakor’s and Magnus’s arms. “There was…” he started.

“What?” asked Nakor, his expression one of unusual concern.

“Something…” said Pug. “I’ll speak of it later.”

He turned his attention to his surroundings and had to blink several times, as if there were something wrong with his eyes. Then he realized that even more than on Delecordia he was seeing things the human mind was not conditioned to see. Shades of color and puls
ing energies were everywhere. The room in which they had appeared was finished in the black stone he had seen on Delecordia, but here any change appeared to make it shimmer with color. The effect was almost overwhelming.

Then he realized they were not alone. In the room two figures waited, a man and a woman. “Regal” was the only word that Pug could conjure to describe the woman. Her high brow and straight nose gave her a striking look, despite her alien features. Her eyes were almost feline in shape and her lips were full.

The man was dressed in a warrior’s armor, though something about his features led Pug to think of him as young. The woman looked at Magnus and her eyebrows rose slightly. She said, “This one looks almost like a Dasati, my son. He is even handsome. Pity he’s not a warrior.”

Pug looked at his son and realized that the glamour was upon them. He could see both Magnus as he knew him and a Magnus who looked Dasati, as if two images were laid one on top of the other. He could see that Magnus’s height, slender features, and long nose would be appealing to these people’s sense of beauty.

The young man stepped forward and said, “I am Lord Valko. This is my home. You are welcome, though I will confess it is difficult not to kill you. There is something about aliens being here that offends me. I will try to control this repulsion.”

Pug glanced at Martuch who said, “Consider that as gracious a welcome as you will ever receive to a Dasati estate, my friend.” He turned to Valko. “I am Martuch, Lord of the Setwala. I ride with the Sadharin.”

“Welcome, Rider of the Sadharin!” said Valko, in what Pug took as a genuinely warm greeting. They embraced each other with ritual backslapping and a gripping of each other’s right wrist in their right hand. Then the young lord of the castle cast his eyes on Bek.

Ralan Bek stood with his head lowered, looking out from under his heavy black brows. His eyes burned like coals with the reflected firelight, and his face was set in an expression that could only be called hungry. He said, “Martuch, can I kill him?”

Bek had been dressed as a Dasati warrior, and rehearsed in his role. Martuch shook his head. “He is our host, Bek.”

As if he had spoken these words all his life, Ralan shouted, “I am Bek! I serve Martuch of the Setwala and ride with the Sadharin!” He grinned like a demented wolf as he pointed to Valko. “My master says I must not kill you, or take that woman behind you. I will honor his wishes and control my desire.”

“Is this one mad?” asked Valko.

His mother chuckled. “He lacks manners, but he plays the part of a young Dasati warrior well.” She patted Valko on the shoulder. “Most of the young men in the Hiding didn’t have me as their teacher. His behavior will serve these…persons well.”

Pug understood her choice of words. Dasati meant “people” but the word she used was obscure. Not quite Lessers, but certainly not Dasati.

“It is the middle of the night,” said Valko. “Do you need rest?”

“No,” answered Martuch, “but we are in need of information. There is far more at stake here than we imagined.”

Pug took this to mean the Talnoy. No further discussion of the creation had been forthcoming, and when he had attempted to broach the subject, he had been rebuffed.

“Let us retire to a private room where we may discuss all that needs to be addressed,” said the woman.

Valko looked uncomfortable, and Pug was amazed at how quickly he had come to read Dasati facial expressions. He knew their training on Delecordia was partly responsible; but the rest was the result of the artful spells the Ipiliac wizard had used.

The young Lord of the Camareen said, “It’s just that…they look like Lessers, yet I must treat them like guests!”

He said it in such a way that Pug suddenly understood the implied insult. But the youth’s mother replied, “Do not be deceived by appearances. Each of these…persons is a master of great power, or they would not be here. Each is more powerful than the most puissant Deathpriest. Remember that.”

Without further word, Valko turned and walked, as if expecting everyone to follow him without question. Pug glanced at Martuch, who indicated that he would follow with Bek behind him, and then the lady of the castle. Pug understood that it was imperative that they begin adopting their roles in this society.

To whatever gods could overhear him, Pug made a silent prayer that they might all survive this journey.

Nothing they had done on Delecordia prepared Pug and his companions for the experience of Kosridi. Even in the relatively sheltered castle of Lord Valko, the alien sense of this reality was nearly overwhelming. Pug ran his hand over a table and marveled at the feel beneath his fingertips; it was wood, much like any dark, close-grained wood that might be chosen by a furniture maker back in Midkemia, but it was not wood in any sense of what was real to Pug. It was the flesh of a thing that served the same purpose as a tree in this realm, just as the stones were something akin to granite and feldspar, dark flecked with colors, but here the stone had energies still trapped within, as if the making of it deep beneath the mantle of this world had never quite finished. And it hungered. Touching the table, Pug could feel it wanting to drain the energy of his body through his fingertips.

“Amazing,” he said softly as they waited in the chamber set aside for them by Lord Valko and his mother.

Martuch said, “Yes, I had much the same reaction when I first went to Delecordia. When I visited my first world through the Hall, I almost couldn’t move for the wonder of it. From our point of view, Pug, your reality is so terribly bright and warm. It’s almost too much unless you have the ability to focus. It can be like trying to listen to one conversation in a large hall full of many people speaking. It can be done, with concentration at first, then it becomes more easy.”

“Martuch,” asked Nakor. “Why would anyone from this world wish to invade the first plane?”

“Why does any person, people, or nation do something we might consider mad?” He shrugged. “They have their reasons. Is that why you are here? You fear an invasion of your world by the Dasati?”

Pug said, “Perhaps. We are partially driven by that concern. We would just as soon discover we are incorrect and that your race is not a threat to my world.”

“Perhaps it is time for a little more plain speaking,” said the Dasati warrior. He was sitting on a stool, still dressed in his armor, while the others rested on a pair of divans replete with cushions. Bek sat staring out of the window, as if he could not get enough of the vista outside. Pug understood the fascination. The changing hues of the night as they became day provided a constant play of energies that were seductive to the eye. Even the tiniest detail of this realm could captivate the imagination. Earlier, Pug had caught himself being mesmerized by the view. In its alien way, it was beautiful, but Pug had to constantly remind himself that their adjustment to the Dasati plane of existence was illusory, and that even the most common thing they encountered could be dangerous, even lethal.

Pug turned his attention to Martuch. “I would welcome that.”

Martuch said, “First, you must not mention the Talnoy on your world until you meet Gardener.”

“Gardener?” asked Magnus. “It is a name, or a title? In our world, that word is one who tends…plants, in a garden.”

“It is the same here,” said Martuch. “It is a name we have for him so that others may not know who he really is.”

“Who is he?” asked Nakor, coming to the point.

“He is our leader, for lack of a better word, but rather than me telling you about him, Narueen should; she has met him. I have not.”

“He’s your leader, but you haven’t met him?”

“It is complicated. For years there have been among the Dasati those who could not bring themselves to embrace the teachings of His Darkness as being the totality of knowledge. Among your people I imagine there are those who question authority and challenge convention.”

“Absolutely,” said Pug, glancing at his son. “It regularly occurs at the end of childhood. Ask any human parent.”

Magnus smiled slightly. He had been headstrong like his mother as a child, and when he had begun his training under his father, there had been many arguments between them before Magnus came to understand his father’s wisdom, as well as his knowledge.

“We have no childhood, as you do,” said Martuch, “so I will accept you understand my meaning. Those who question the teachings of the Dark One are put to death. So, those who have doubts learn quickly to keep quiet.

“But there have long been factions within our society, the Bloodwitch Sisterhood being the most…‘notorious’ or ‘infamous’ would be the words in your tongue. They were rivals to the Deathpriests for centuries, each having their own influence. There was a balance.

“Then the Hierophants and priests began to fear the Sisterhood and, with the blessing of the TeKarana, named them apostate and had them hunted down and destroyed. A few escaped and kept the ancient lore alive, and now they have reappeared among us, though for most people they are beings of myth and legend.

“And there have been men, such as myself, who had no reason to question the order of things, but who did.” Martuch looked out the window, past Bek. “This is a strange place to you, my friends, but to me it is my home. Here everything is as it should be, while your worlds are…odd and exotic. But even while this is my home, I sensed there was something wrong, something out of balance. It was a chance that made me who I am today.”