Into a Dark Realm (27 page)

Pug turned and sat down on the window seat next to Bek, who still stared outside. “I don’t know. In one sense, I guess it means we’re back home, just on a different plane of reality.”

Pug began asking Narueen and Martuch questions about the ge
ography of the region and quickly came to understand that Kosridi was Midkemia, only on the second plane of reality. After nearly half an hour of this, Pug said, “Why would everything else be different, but the physical environment be the same?”

“A question for philosophers,” said Nakor. He grinned. “But I do like a good question as much as I like a good answer.”

“So many mysteries,” said Magnus.

“We leave tomorrow for the city of Kosridi, by wagon,” said Martuch.

Pug placed the capital of this world roughly where Stardock would be on Midkemia, and asked, “Wouldn’t it be faster to travel by ship?”

“It would,” answered Martuch, “if the winds were favorable, but this time of the year we’d be beating against them the entire way. Also, there’s a series of dangerous places along the coast—I’m not a sailor so I don’t know what they’re properly called—rocks below the water where you can’t see them.”

“Reefs,” said Pug, “in our language.”

Narueen said, “In any event, once we reach Ladsnawe, we can take a swift ship across the Diamond Sea to the river leading to Kosridi.”

Pug considered, and realized that the Bitter Sea was roughly diamond shaped on the map. “So, how long?” he asked.

“Three weeks, if we encounter no difficulty. We have already sent swift messengers ahead to carry word of our coming, so we will find safe haven along the route every night.”

“We have so many more things to discuss,” said Pug.

“We will have time. Everything we do is overseen by the Gardener. You will travel with a surrounding cocoon of people who will protect your secrets, even if they themselves do not know what those secrets are. Act your part and all shall be well. We shall have time, ample time, trust me.”

Narueen stood and pointed to Magnus. “You must come with me.”

Magnus appeared torn for a moment between curiosity and his wish to appear the obedient servant, then he rose, bowed his head,
and followed Valko’s mother. Pug looked over at Martuch who stood with a faint smile on his face. “What’s all that?” he asked.

“She will take him to her bed tonight,” said Martuch. “For a Dasati he is very handsome. Many women will wish to couple with him. I realize to your people our ways seem brazen and without—What is that word you humans use to explain your odd behavior?”

Nakor said, “Morality?”

“That is the word,” said Martuch. “We have none of that when it comes to breeding.”

“But can he…?”

“I am no expert,” said Martuch, “but I believe the essentials are basically the same, and while Narueen is indulging in some gratuitous pleasure, she’s also ensuring that your son doesn’t end up dead before we reach our goal.

“I do not overstate. He is very handsome, and many women will wish his company. And a few men, I expect. If he doesn’t understand his role, how he must obey, when he can decline, or what to expect, you might never see him again.” He pointed to Bek. “Likewise, I will have a Lesser come to his bed tonight.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I think he will have no problem convincing a Dasati woman he is a warrior.”

“I’m married,” Pug said quickly.

Martuch laughed. “Do not worry, friend Pug. By Dasati standards you are far too short and homely to attract that sort of attention.”

Nakor said, “I like girls.”

Martuch laughed even harder, shook his head, and left the room.

T
he rain pounded down.

Six miserable junior knight-lieutenants of the Army of Roldem hunkered down under the pitiful shelter of a canvas ground cloth which had been hurriedly erected as a makeshift tent. The rain had been unceasing for three days now and they were chilled to the bone, footsore, and couldn’t remember the last time they had slept.

After returning from the conflict with Bardic’s Holdfast, the six had received instructions to head downriver to Olasko Gateway with the first and third Olaskan infantry, and report to General Devrees’s staff. The boat ride had been uneventful and the boys had been full of their own sense of achievement.

The veterans in the first and third put up with the
boys’ boundless optimism. They had seen it before and knew it wouldn’t last. Especially Sergeant Walenski, the senior sergeant given command of the first and third. The two units had been depleted below half the normal complement since the overthrow of Kaspar’s rule three years before. They had been operating as a combined unit since, and Roldem seemed slow in assigning new recruits to the old Olaskan army.

The first and third had been ordered to help sweep the border with Salmater. The problem was chronic: the southernmost province in Olasko was a cluster of hundreds of islands, the home of pirates, smugglers, outlaws of every stripe, and a highway for raids into the region. Roldem had decided on a show of force and a warning to anyone else in the region who might wish to go adventuring in their two newest provinces.

“Why did they have to pick the rainy season?” asked Jommy, as he sat shivering under the tarp. All six wore the uniform of the Army of Roldem: dark blue tunics, dark grey trousers, and a belted tabard. Each had been given a conical metal helm with a nose guard. Grandy’s was the smallest they could find and it was still slightly too large.

“To make sure we appreciate every possible aspect of the experience?” suggested Godfrey.

Tad said, “Well, at least it’s not a cold rain.”

“And the rain keeps the mosquitoes from biting,” Grandy offered.

“Ever the optimist,” said Servan. He reached out and rumpled Grandy’s already wet head and said, “It’s good we have at least one of those around here.”

Zane said, “I just wish they had something for us to do.”

Jommy said, “Be careful what you wish for…” He hiked his thumb and everyone looked to see where he pointed. Sergeant Walenski was climbing the short trail from where the General’s tent sat to where these most junior of officers huddled.

He came to stand before them and saluted in just a slow enough fashion to communicate clearly what he thought of these six “chil
dren” who had been deposited in his care. “If you young gentlemen would be so kind, the General would like a word with you.”

Jommy and the others came out from under the shelter, and as the others followed, he said, “I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck in finding us a proper tent, now, have you, Sergeant?”

“Sorry to say, no, sir,” he responded. The sergeant was a short, lantern-jawed man, who effected a large moustache that flowed out and curled up at the ends. He was still mostly dark-haired, but had just enough grey shot through to show his age. He had been a soldier—corporal, then sergeant—in the Army of Olasko for twenty-five years and had little patience with junior officers, especially boys plucked from university who, from his point of view, were sent to play soldier while real men fought and died. He had been as close to insubordinate and insulting as he could get without actually breaking military protocols, but the boys had no doubt that he had rather these six lieutenants were anywhere in the army but here. “Sorry to say, the provisioner has not received any more supplies from Opardum…
sir.
”

Jommy threw him a sidelong look. “Well, thank you for the effort, Sergeant. I’m sure it was heroic.”

“We try our best, young sir. Now, if you don’t mind, the General is waiting.”

The boys trudged down the muddy hill to the command tent. As they passed a series of wagons, Jommy halted. “Sergeant, what is that piled up on the second wagon there?”

The sergeant made a show of squinting at the wagon. At last he said, “Why, I do believe that’s a stack of tents, sir. I guess some came in that I missed.”

Glaring at the sergeant as he walked past him to enter the General’s tent, Jommy said, “I hope you don’t miss the enemy when they turn up.”

The General’s command tent was a large pavilion which housed a table with a set of maps on it, a pair of canvas-and-wood chairs, and a simple sleeping mat. Everything was damp or soaked depending on
where in the leaky pavilion it rested. “Miserable weather, isn’t it?” said the General.

“Sir,” agreed Jommy.

“We’ve got a report of some smuggling down near a place called Isle Falkane on this map.” He pointed to it, and the six young officers gathered around. “I’m in a bit of a predicament. We’ve also received a report that Salmater has mounted an expedition that’s coming across the border somewhere in this vicinity. So, I’ve got to keep most of the first and third intact, but I want you six lads to take a company of twenty men down to this island and see if there’s any truth to the rumor. I don’t want you to go looking for a fight; the sight of more than two dozen soldiers should be enough to send them scurrying off.

“I just don’t want any problems on my south flank if Salmater does mount an offensive here.” He glanced at the six boys and said to the Prince, “No disrespect to your family, Highness, but what are you doing here?”

Grandy shrugged. “My brothers are both in the navy, sir. I guess my father decided it was time for me to start my military education.”

“Damned funny choice,” muttered the General. “Still, it’ll do you no good getting youself killed. My aide got punctured by a smuggler’s arrow, and when you get back, I’m detailing you to my command. The rest of you will be spread out among the first and third. I’ll have a platoon designated for each of the four of you, and the fifth will be working here at headquarters with the Prince.

“Now, meet your squad down at the dock and start rowing.”

Jommy took one last look at the map, as did Servan, both fixing the location in their minds. Then they saluted and left. Outside the tent they found the sergeant waiting for them. “Sirs?”

“I expect you know the orders already, Sergeant,” said Servan. “Is the squad assembled?”

“Yes, sir, it is,” he said, still managing to make “sir” sound like an insult.

They followed him down to the dock where a riverboat was tied up. Another half-dozen bobbed up and down as the rain-swollen river rushed southeast. Twenty soldiers waited there, sitting on sodden bales of grain.

Jommy looked at Servan and said, “Oh, the gods wept.”

Servan sighed. “Every malingerer, malcontent, and thief in the army.”

“And, it’s a good bunch of boys we have for you young officers,” said Sergeant Walenski. “They’ve just had a bit of trouble, and I’m sure you six fine young officers will sort them out.”

Jommy looked at the twenty drenched men, as they sat staring at the six knight-lieutenants. Those that weren’t scowling at them were appraising them and the rest were doing their best to look indifferent. All were dressed in the standard uniform of the Roldem army—blue gambeson jacket, grey trousers, boots, a yeoman’s helm—and carried a sword and shield.

“Get to your feet!” shouted Walenski. “Officers!”

The men made a show of getting to their feet as slowly as possible, a couple whispering and laughing.

Jommy said, “Right, then.” He took off his helmet, unbuckled his sword, said, “Sergeant, if you don’t mind,” and handed them to him.

“Sir?” The Sergeant was taken aback.

Jommy turned to Servan and the others. “Give me a bit of room, if you would.” He then took one step forward and unloaded a punishing blow to the point of the jaw of the biggest soldier in the group, knocking the man completely off his feet, sending him flying backward into the two men behind him, who also fell down. Jommy then turned to Sergeant Walenski and said, “Sword, please, Sergeant.”

The Sergeant handed it back, and Jommy rebuckled it while the two men who could got up; the one Jommy hit was still unconscious. Jommy retrieved his helmet, put it on, and turned to the soldiers. “Right, then. Any question about who’s in charge here?” When there was no answer, he raised his voice.
“Get on the boat!”

“You heard the lieutenant! Get on the boat!” shouted Sergeant Walenski. “You two, pick up that man and drag him!”

The twenty soldiers hurried to do as ordered, and as the six officers followed, the Sergeant said, “A moment, sir,” to Jommy.

Jommy halted and the Sergeant said, “If you don’t mind the opinion, with a little work you have the makings of a fine sergeant someday. It’s a pity to see you wasting all that talent as an officer.”

Jommy said, “I’ll keep that in mind. And, Sergeant?”

“Sir?”

“When we get back, our tents will be ready, won’t they?”

“You have my guarantee, sir.”

“Good,” said Jommy, joining the others on the deck of the riverboat.

Servan said, “Jommy, one thing.”

“What?”

“That first day at the university?”

“Yes.”

“When you hit me? Thank you for going easy.”

Jommy laughed. “No worries, mate.”

Pug watched in wonder as the boatmen poled upriver. Throughout the entire journey he had felt a terrible mix of the familiar and the alien. Although once they had realized that this planet was identical to Midkemia, knowing where they were became relatively easy.

Pug’s library held the most complete collection of maps in the world, and while some were out-of-date, and most incomplete, the collection had afforded him as good a view of the geography of the world as any one man could have. Nakor and Magnus had also reviewed most of the maps while on Sorcerer’s Isle.

They had taken a trail over what would have been the Grey Tower Mountains, along the river called Boundary in Crydee. The ride through the forests and over the north pass evoked strong memories in Pug, from the time he and his boyhood friend, Tomas, had
ridden with Lord Borric to warn the Prince of Krondor of the coming Tsurani invasion.

But now the trees were alien, almost like pines and balsams, but not quite. The birds were all predators, even the Dasati equivalent of sparrows, and only the size of the riders deterred the birds from attacking.

Nakor had observed that eons of learning who was food and who was hungry had created a murderous but balanced world. As long as you were vigilant, you survived.

Once over the mountains, they came to a port that didn’t exist on Midkemia: a large town called Larind here, but Pug knew the place, as it was close to the Free City of Bordon in his world. The town was a smaller version of the Ipiliac city: a series of interlinked buildings, as if the need for community against all the hostile forces of this world had created a group approach among a society that was murderously individualistic. Nakor expressed more than once along the way that he would love to stay and study these people. Magnus had observed that the Dasati would probably love to study him.

From there they sailed across the Diamond Sea—the Bitter Sea on Midkemia—and to the city of Deksa, where Port Vykor resided back home. Pug regretted that their course had taken them just out of sight of Sorcerer’s Isle—or whatever it was called on this world—for he would have liked to have seen this otherworld version of his home.

Now they were on a large boat—what would have been called a keel boat back home, though it was longer than the Midkemian version, but with the same mode of propulsion: a team of men, six on each side of the boat, who planted poles in the bottom of the river and “walked” toward the stern of the boat. In fact, they were standing still and the boat was moving under their feet, but the illusion was the same. When they reached the stern, they pulled up their pole, effortlessly shouldered it, and walked toward the bow where they planted their poles and started again. It was a slow, but effective, mode of transportation and certainly meant they were more likely to arrive at their destination rested than if they had been in a bumpy wagon. Pug
had not asked why magic hadn’t been employed to get them to their destination. He assumed there must be a good reason.

On Midkemia the Sea of Dreams, which was really a very large saltwater lake rather than a true sea, was bordered on the north by the Kingdom city of Landreth, and on the south by the Keshian city of Shamata. Here the entire eastern half of the sea, on both shores, was occupied by the great city of Kosridi, the capital of this world.

They were still miles from their destination, but they could see signs of civilization on the north shore as the boat left the river and entered the lake. The polemen pushed out as deeply as they could, then put their poles in cradles along the roof of the center cabin and raised the single sail. The boat was not really designed for sailing, but a bit of a breeze would get them wallowing along as best it could for a few hours, and eventually they would reach the nearest dock in the city.

The sound of bowstrings humming alerted Pug to the fact that another of this world’s water-dwelling predators had come too close to the boat. He glanced over to see something large, black, and serpent-like slip back below the chop. Within seconds the water began roiling as other predators swarmed to the scent of blood in the water.

“Mustn’t go swimming,” Nakor said with a chuckle. The short gambler tended to find everything amusing, and Pug was relieved, for he was feeling quite enough worry for the entire group.

Given the Dasati habit of having all farms cultivated by a work-force that lived within the walls of the nearest city, Pug could only conclude that the city of Kosridi must be huge, larger than the city of Kesh or perhaps even the enormous Holy City of the Tsurani, Kentosani. Over a million people lived in that city, but judging from the signs of civilization rising up on all sides, Pug assumed that the capital city of this planet was at least three times as large.

Martuch said, “We’ll dock soon. We must ride the rest of the way.”