Into a Dark Realm (29 page)

“You see, my new friends and I have come to an understanding. I’m going to help them seize Kelewan, and in exchange, they’re going to help me conquer Midkemia. Isn’t that a wonderful arrangement?”

Without a word, the two Dasati Deathpriests jerked Miranda around and began to drag her downhill toward the black energy dome. As she fell into unconsciousness, the last thing she heard was Varen humming an odd little tune.

“Oh, damn,” said Tad as he peered over the rise.

“Yes,” whispered Servan. “Damn, indeed.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Zane, from a few feet behind.

Jommy squatted. The four of them were hunkered down below a rise and at the bottom waited the twenty soldiers—now all grudgingly obedient—Grandy, and Godfrey.

“How fast can you get back to the General?” asked Jommy.

Tad thought. “I can run to the boat. That should take no more than a half hour. If I go across the river, then run up the shore—that’s got to be faster than rowing against the current—four, maybe three and a half hours if I can do it without stopping.”

Tad was unquestionably the best runner among the six boys, perhaps the best in the entire Roldemish army. “That will get you to him before nightfall. If he sends sixty men by boat at night, they can be here easily before sunrise. So all we have to do is keep them from moving before tomorrow.”

He glanced over the ridge one more time to look at the enemy and ducked back down. The Salmater offensive wasn’t coming across the river where the General expected; it was coming across the river here. Once that force was moving into Olasko proper, finding them among the hundreds of islands would be as big a problem as dislodging them once they were found. But if they could be kept on this
beach, even for a few hours tomorrow, they could attempt a retreat back across the river. With sixty fresh soldiers holding this ridge, and the promise of more arriving soon after…

“How do we keep them from going around us?” Jommy asked Servan.

He motioned for the other boys to shimmy down the side of the ridge and at the bottom he said, “If they think we’re only holding this ridge, they’ll flank us to the south. So, we have to make them think we’ve got soldiers everywhere.” He glanced upward. “Wait a minute.” He crawled up on his elbows to the ridge, looked at the deploying Salmater soldiers, then headed back down again.

“They are still unloading,” said Servan. Looking at the afternoon sun, he said, “I don’t know if they’re going to try to march across this island and set up on that next one over there”—he pointed to a distant island separated from the one they were on by a broad, shallow rill from the river—“or camp here for the night. If they think they’re undiscovered, they may not be in a hurry.”

Jommy looked at Tad. “You’d better be off, no matter what. Tell the General to come down fast with every man he can spare.” As Tad started to move, Jommy reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hey, tell the boat crew to head downstream. If they scout around the north side of the island, I don’t think it would be a good thing for the boat to be seen. Have them hide somewhere.”

Tad said, “I’ve got it.”

“And keep from getting killed,” said Zane.

Tan grinned and ran off without another word.

Jommy turned to Servan and said, “So, how are we going to make them think there’s an army over here if they decide to move?”

Servan said, “I have no idea.”

M
iranda awoke in pain.

The two figures above her were speaking, but she could not understand what they said. Not only was the tongue foreign to her, but her senses were dulled: it sounded as if they were talking underwater. She was tied to a table of some sort, unable to move anything but her head, and that only slightly.

She tried to breathe, but the effort taxed her: her lungs hurt as if she were suffering from too little air. She tried to focus her mind, to gather enough energy to free herself, but something was making concentration difficult.

“She awakes.” She didn’t need to know who spoke. The voice was that of Leso Varen, now in the body of the Tsurani magician Wyntakata.

The figure closest to her bent over her and spoke in the Tsurani language, but with a strange accent. “Do not move,” he instructed her calmly and without menace. “You will feel pain for a while. It will pass.” He stood back up and motioned around him. “This place is suitable for both our races, but you will need time to adapt.”

“What do you want here?” she asked, finding it difficult to speak.

“If I may?” Varen’s voice came from just outside her field of vision. Then his face was hovering over hers. He spoke in the King’s Tongue, which made Miranda certain he didn’t want the Dasati Deathpriests understanding what he said. “It’s simple, really. The Dasati are a race of children, in a way; if you can imagine a few million two-year-olds running around with very sharp blades, powerful death-magic, and an urge to break everything in sight.

“But like toddlers everywhere, if they see something pretty and shining, they want it. And to them, the worlds of the first realm of reality are very pretty, indeed; much brighter, much shinier than their worlds. So, in a short while there will be thousands of very tall children in armor running amok through this lovely empire shouting, ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’ as they kill, pillage, and burn. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“You’re insane,” Miranda choked out.

“Almost certainly,” said Varen. He looked over to the two Deathpriests, and said, “But compared to them, I am the soul of reason. You will long for these moments we’ve spent together when their priests are working on you.” He looked at the two Deathpriests and said, “I’ve finished now.”

Miranda saw one of the two tall Dasati prelates put out his hand, placing something over her nose and mouth that was pungent and bitter, and suddenly she was swallowed up by darkness.

Some while later, Servan said, “I have an idea.”

“Good,” whispered Jommy, “because I certainly do not have one.”

“Take a peek and tell me what they’re doing now.”

Jommy crawled up to the ridge and looked over. The Salmater forces were dressed as mercenaries, a ploy they had utilized on pre
vious raids into the region, according to the General. But just one look at the way the camp was organized told Jommy all he needed to know.

He scrambled back down the slope and said, “They’re pitching camp. They’re here for the night.”

“Good,” said Servan. “Follow me.”

He made his way to the base of the slope and motioned for the men to follow. When he was certain they were far enough away from the new Salmater camp, he said, “There are about two hundred regulars from Salmater over there. And there are twenty-five of us.”

“So let’s get out of here,” said one of the soldiers.

“That’s exactly what I want you to do,” said Servan. “But I just want you to wade across that shallow there and lie low out of sight until morning.”

“What then…sir?” asked another soldier.

“When you hear shouting, I want you to rush to that beach over there, making as much noise as you can, but don’t come across. Stir up as much dust as possible and run up and down the beach.”

“Huh?” said Jommy.

“The sun will be coming up right behind them,” said Servan, pointing east. “If the Salmater sentries top that rise, they’ll be blinded by the morning sunlight, or they’ll only see shadows, and dust and men moving. They won’t have any idea how many of us are here.”

“And what will we be doing while all this is going on?” asked Godfrey.

“Running around and making them think there are three different armies bearing down on them.”

Jommy said, “And how are we going to do that?”

Servan knelt. He drew with his finger in the soil. “Here’s the ridge. We’re on the other side of it.” He pointed. “I’ll take Zane. We’ll head down south of them.” He touched a spot south of the line and west of it. “You and Godfrey go up here to the north.” He glanced around. “Stay back in the trees. Run around and shout orders. Make it sound like squads are coming at them from all sides.”

“That isn’t going to keep them fooled for long,” said Jommy.

“It doesn’t have to. We just need to make them think about not moving a while, until the General gets here with the first and third. If we can get them to just dig in a little, kill an hour or so, that should do it.

“When a company of real soldiers comes charging out of those north woods, and if we’ve done enough noisemaking, those lads on the other side of the ridge should beat a fast enough retreat home.”

Jommy said, “Well, as long as the General doesn’t linger over his breakfast, we have a chance.” He let out a long breath. “I hope this works, because I’m here to tell you I can face two men, maybe, but eight to one?”

Grandy said, “What about me?”

“You,” said Servan, “are to go across with these lads and make sure they do as they are told.” He looked at his cousin a moment, nodding once, and said, “Go along.” To the soldiers he was sending to the next island, he said with careful emphasis, “Make sure the
Prince
stays safe.”

As if the point were made, the soldier nearest him said, “Yes, sir.” He saluted once, smartly, and hurried off, Grandy at his side.

“Was that wise?” asked Zane when they had gone.

“Those lads are troublemakers, but not deserters,” said Servan. “If they had been, they’d have been long gone by now. They’ll take care of Grandy. It’s one thing to be a foul-up in the army, quite another to get a royal killed.”

Jommy said, “I hope you’re right.

“Well, let’s find a bit more cover for the night.” He motioned to Godfrey and said to Zane and Servan, “See you tomorrow,” and started north, keeping low behind the ridge.

Servan said, “Tomorrow,” and turned south.

It was still dark when the call came. A breathless Lesser working for the innkeeper shook Pug, Nakor, and Magnus awake. “Your master calls.”

They dressed quickly, ignoring the still-sleeping Dasati on the floor. The travelers had been given rolled mats of rushes to sleep upon, using whatever they had with them for blankets and pillows. It had been a cool night, but not too uncomfortable.

Once in the courtyard, they found Martuch and Bek waiting, Bek looking skyward over the roof of the building Pug and his companions had exited. Pug looked over his shoulder to see what had the youth transfixed, and he almost stumbled at the sight.

Magnus whispered, “Amazing.”

Nakor said, “Now that is something to see.”

Rising up into the heavens was a pillar of light. It was far enough from where they stood to look slender, but Pug had no doubt it was massive. It rose apparently straight up into the night sky, pulsing with energy. The colors slipped subtly from blue-green to blue-purple and back, a slow shift through that spectrum. What appeared to be tiny bits of white energy flowed up and down its length.

“The Star Bridge,” said Martuch. “It is now sending people to the homeworld.”

Pug knew that meant Omadrabar, the original Dasati homeworld.

“We must go. It will only be operating for the next two hours. I have secured our travel.” He leaned forward. “So far, you have managed not to do anything foolish, but from this point forward, be even more alert.

“Nothing you have seen will prepare you for the TeKarana’s world.”

He turned and motioned for them to follow, Bek one step behind him, the others trailing in a line, eyes down, hurrying to keep up with the two warriors.

They walked, Pug assumed, because the distance was not far from where they stood, and because varnin would not be taken on the Star Bridge. But Pug found himself rethinking this assumption as they walked briskly for nearly a quarter of an hour. They had traversed street after street, passing through massive plazas, all starting to show
signs of life for the day to come. Lines of carts were moving along the streets, most empty from having unloaded the night before, and now heading out of the city to the distant farms and herds to pick up the next load of produce and meats needed to feed a city of millions.

Hundreds of Lessers hurried along, each engaged in a task considered beneath the notice of the warriors, but vital in its own way to the continued well-being of the city. Pug wondered if there was some way to reach them, to educate them in the potential of living in a society where the ability to murder wasn’t the ultimate skill…Again, he chided himself, he kept thinking of these people as human in some way, despite all evidence to the contrary.

They continued to walk, and the Star Bridge loomed larger by the minute. It now appeared to be a huge tube or column, mostly transparent, but with a shimmering, pulsing nebula of light hugging the surface. Sparks of white energy twinkled along its entire length. As they approached the great central plaza, a deep thrumming sound accompanied by a tingling in the soles of the feet manifested itself, and Pug could sense energy on an enormous scale.

To Magnus he whispered, “If they can harness energy like this…”

Magnus nodded. His father didn’t have to finish the thought.
If they can do this, how would we ever stand against them?
For as powerful as Pug and Magnus might be, together, along with every student in Stardock and Sorcerer’s Isle, they could never build a thing on the scale of this Star Bridge. The idea that somehow it spanned the space between worlds was even more impossible for Pug to fathom than the concept of rifts tearing holes in the fabric of space.

They reached a low fence of iron or some other dark metal, and a very ornate gate through which a long line of people moved in an orderly fashion. This was the only time Pug had witnessed warriors and their ladies standing behind Lessers, for it was clear that everyone was lined up in order of arrival. Martuch put Bek and the others in line and walked to the gate where he presented a parchment to a pair of men in black robes, with a golden eye embroidered on their
chests. Hierophants: those Deathpriests who were responsible for the secrets and mysteries of the order. Pug sensed that meant they were the Lesser Paths, so to speak, of these people, for this Star Bridge was a great engine, no matter how fantastic it looked.

Nakor whispered, “This is a very impressive trick.”

Pug touched him lightly on the shoulder to remind him to be silent. Martuch returned and spoke as if only to Bek, but loud enough that the others could hear. “Everything is in order. We leave now.”

They followed the line in front of them. When they reached the gate, Pug noticed that the two Hierophants were making each person pause for a moment. As Martuch and then Bek walked to the base of the column of light, Pug was held a moment, then heard one of the two dark-robed priests say, “Step on quickly, step off quickly.” Then with a firm push they sent him along.

Pug hurried to keep the same interval with Bek he had before, and saw the young warrior step into the light. As Pug reached the boundary he hesitated for only an instant, but in that moment he reached out with his senses and caressed the Star Bridge.

He staggered a step, and only managed not to fall by an act of will he had not been forced to utilize in years. This
thing
, this Star Bridge…He could not encompass it. His mind rebelled.

Then he was inside. For an instant it were as if he was once more in the void, for his senses were taken from him, then abruptly he was speeding through another place, a dimension of alien beauty and unnameable sensations.

For a brief moment, Pug felt a part of this plane of reality, and felt there was an order to it, a system that he might understand if he could but linger and ponder it. Then, suddenly he was standing on solid ground, looking at Bek’s retreating back. He remembered the warning to step off quickly and did so, and wondered what would happen had he waited until Nakor appeared after him. Probably something unpleasant.

He heard his two companions walking behind him. He wanted to glance back, but the images that flooded his senses now made him not
just cautious, but fearful. For if Delecordia hadn’t fully prepared him for the shock of going to Kosridi, then Kosridi had done nothing to prepare him for what was now before his eyes on Omadrabar.

Miranda regained consciousness to find that her arms and legs were still bound, but not as tightly as before. She appeared to be in a bedchamber, tied by cords to four posts of a bed. A Dasati sat upon a stool near the bed, regarding her with cold, black eyes.

“Can you understand me?” he asked, and Miranda’s mind wrestled with his words, for while she didn’t understand the words, the meaning came to her. He was employing a magic unknown to her, but it was effective.

“Yes,” she said, and found she could barely speak. Her lips were parched and her throat dry. “Could I have some water?” she asked, too sick and tired to display what would have been appropriate rage. Her head pounded and her body throbbed, and try as she might, using every mind skill and incantation she knew, she could not focus her thoughts or find any sense of energy around her. The entire flow of magic was alien. It was impossible for her to come to grips with it.

The Dasati on the stool wore a black robe with a red death’s head on the chest and an ornate purple trim around the hem, sleeves, and hood. The hood was back, so Miranda could see his face.

She had no frame of reference for what Dasati were supposed to look like. She studied his features and found that they were not too unlike a human’s, with two eyes, a nose and mouth where she would have expected them to be. The chin was long, the cheekbones high, and the skull thin, but apart from the grey cast to this man’s skin, he was not that alien in appearance. Certainly he looked a great deal more like her than the Cho-ja magicians at Chaka-hal did. But she knew for a fact that the Cho-ja magicians were far more like her than this creature.