Into a Dark Realm (3 page)

“Nakor is always ready to travel; it’s a legacy of his gambling days. Meet me upstairs in a few minutes. I want a word with Caleb and the lads.”

Magnus departed and Pug turned to the boys. “That was bloody work,” he said.

Jommy glanced at Tad and Zane. “It was, but he deserved it.”

Pug put his hand on Jommy’s shoulder. While not properly an adopted grandson like Tad and Zane, Pug had grown fond of the brash redhead and treated him as he did the others. “No man deserves such treatment, Jommy.” He glanced at Zane then Tad then returned his gaze to Jommy. “Some men deserve death for what they’ve done, but causing suffering, that harms you rather than the man you make suffer.” He looked from face to face. “What makes us better than those we oppose is that we know when we are doing evil. And it should sicken us. Even if we justify it by saying we serve a larger good, or that it’s necessary.” Glancing at the door where the torturer was getting Ketlami’s body ready for disposal, he added, “It’s the price we pay, and while it’s necessary, it does diminish us.” He looked at each boy in turn. “Your only solace is knowing that if you were not part of this, those you love would be at that much more risk.”

He turned to Caleb. “I’m thinking you and Marie have not had much time alone since you’ve been wed.”

Caleb smiled ruefully. “A fact she has reminded me of from time to time, although she hardly complains, Father.”

“Things are under control for a while. I’ve got Kaspar down in Novindus with Rosenvar and Jacob, and Nakor and Magnus are going to the Kingdom to deal with the Nighthawks. Right now, we don’t need you.”

Caleb fixed his father with a questioning expression and said, “And…?”

“Why don’t you return home and have your mother give you the
orb we use when we travel to our own little retreat? It’s not much—an island in the Sunsets—but there’s a small hut, well provisioned, and you can be alone for a few days.”

“Sounds lovely. What about these three?”

Pug smiled. “Send them along to Talwin. They can guest at the River House, earn their keep for a week or two, and improve their swordsmanship.”

Zane grinned. “The River House!”

Jommy patted his friend hard on the stomach. “I thought you were going to lose that?” The River House was the finest restaurant and inn in Opardum, and arguably the finest dining establishment in the world. Zane had developed an appetite for fine food since his mother had married Caleb and he had had the opportunity to sample better fare than he had known as a child.

“I’ll work extra hard, trust me,” answered the stocky young man.

“Well, I’m sure Talwin and his wife will find ample work for you.”

“What of you, Father?” asked Caleb.

“I have a journey I must make, a short one, but one long overdue. Tell your mother I’ll be home in another day or so, but not to wait for me; she should go to Kelewan and see what the Assembly is doing with the Talnoy.”

They embraced, and Pug waved goodbye to the four of them, and vanished.

Jommy shook his head and sucked in his breath. “Crikey, I’ll never get used to seeing people just vanish like that!”

Caleb laughed. “You’ll get used to a lot of things before you’re done, my lad.” He pulled an orb out of his tunic and said, “We’re off home: then you three are going to Olasko!”

Glancing at the door into the torture room, Tad said, “I’m glad we’re done with this part of it, that’s for certain.”

Without another word, each put a hand on the next man’s shoulder, while Caleb activated the orb, and they vanished, as well.

A vast presence was veiled in darkness, its form barely recognizable in the faint light emanating from a single lantern set within a sconce on the opposite wall.

A voice spoke without sound:
Welcome, Pug of Crydee.

Pug smiled as he said aloud, “I haven’t been called that in years, m’lady.” He knew the presence required no honorific, and that the one he chose was barely appropriate, yet he felt the need to convey respect.

“As you wish, magician,” said the deep voice. “Do you wish more light?”

“That would be agreeable,” Pug replied.

Suddenly the room was ablaze in light, as if the sun shone through glass walls. Pug glanced around, for he had not visited this chamber in years. It was a cavern, deep beneath the city of Sethanon, where Tomas had bested a conjuration of the Dragon Lord Drakin-Korin, and Pug and others had battled to seal a rift that threatened to destroy all of the Kingdom, if not the world of Midkemia.

The being before him was the body of the great dragon Ryath, but the mind housed in it was that of an ancient being: the Oracle of Aal. In that epic struggle, the dragon had given everything in defeating a Lord of the Dread, and it had taken magic of unmatched power and skill to keep a spark of life in the body after the mind and spirit had fled, so that the Oracle could find a living host. The dragon’s natural scales had been obliterated and a makeshift solution had turned the creature into a being of unsurpassed magnificence. The great Dragon Lords’ treasure secreted below the city ages before had provided gems used to repair the damaged scales, forming a creature unmatched in majesty and power in this world, a great jeweled dragon. Light danced off the facets of thousands of stones and the creature seemed to glitter as if moving, even when she rested motionlessly.

“The cycle of renewal has ended well?” asked Pug.

“Yes,” answered the Oracle. “The cycle of years has passed
and again I possess all my knowledge.” She sent out a mental call, and a dozen white-robed men entered the room. “These are my companions.”

Pug nodded. These men had come to understand the nature of the great dragon of Sethanon, and had volunteered to give up their freedom in exchange for a lifespan many times normal, and the honor of serving a greater good.

For the Oracle was more than a simple seer. She possessed the ability to see many possible outcomes that might result from a given choice, as well as alert those she trusted to the approach of grave danger. And she trusted no one in this world as much as she did Pug. Without his intervention, the last of the race of Aal—perhaps the eldest race in the universe—would have perished a century before. Pug inclined his head in greeting to the Oracle’s companions and they returned the honor.

“Do you know why I’m here?” asked Pug.

“A grave threat approaches, faster than you think, but…”

“What?” asked Pug.

“It is not what you think it to be.”

“The Dasati?”

“They are involved, and are the primary cause at this point, but there is a much larger danger behind them.”

“The Nameless?”

“More.”

Pug was stunned. From his perspective, there could be nothing “more” in the universe than the Greater Gods. He gathered his wits. “How can there be a greater threat than the Nameless?”

“I can only tell you this, Pug of Crydee: across the expanse of time and space the battle between good and evil transcends all else.

“What you perceive is but the smallest part of this struggle. It is ageless, begun before the first of the Aal rose from the mud of our homeworld, and it will endure until the last star is extinguished. It is part of the very fabric of reality, and all creatures struggle within that conflict, even if they are unaware of it.

“Some beings live their entire lives in peace and security, while others struggle without letup. Some worlds are virtual paradises while others are ceaseless wretchedness. Each in its own fashion is part of a much larger balance, and as such, each a vital battleground in this struggle. Many worlds are in balance.” The Oracle paused for a moment, then said, “Some worlds are teetering on the brink.”

“Midkemia?”

The great dragon head nodded. “Your lifetime is long compared to other mortals, but in this struggle, what will come to this world occurs within the blink of a god’s eye.

“Midkemia has been too long without the influence of the Goddess of Good. What you and your Conclave have begun has blunted the Nameless One’s efforts for a century and more.

“But he lies sleeping, and his minions are but dreams and memories, powerful by your measure, but nothing compared to what would be faced should he awaken.”

“Is he waking?”

“No, but his dreams are more fevered, and his cause is embraced by another, a being even more powerful and deadly.”

Pug was stunned. He could not imagine any being more powerful and deadly than the God of Evil. “What sort of being could possibly…” He could not finish the question.

“The Dark God of the Dasati,” said the Oracle.

Pug materialized in his study. He took one quick glance around the room to see if he was alone, for his wife often curled up in the corner to read in peace when he was absent. He was shaken by what the Oracle had told him. He had thought himself a man of experience, one who had faced calamitous events and survived, one who had seen countless horrors and endured, one who had confronted Death in her very hall and returned to the realm of life. But this was beyond any ability he had to comprehend, and he felt overwhelmed. More than anything, at this moment he wished to go somewhere quiet and sleep for a week. Yet he knew such feelings were only the result of the
shock he had experienced, and would soon pass once he began grappling with the problems at hand. Ah, but there was the rub, as the old expression ran: where to begin? With a problem as immense as the one now confronting the Conclave, he felt like a baby asked to move a vast mountain with his tiny hands.

He went to a cabinet in the corner and opened it. Inside were several bottles, one containing a strong drink Caleb had brought to him the year before. Kennoch whisky: Pug had developed a fondness for it. He also had a set of crystal cups given to him by the Emperor of Kesh recently, and he poured a small dram of the drink.

Sipping the pungent yet flavorful and satisfying drink, he felt its warmth spread through his mouth and down his throat. He closed the cabinet and moved across to a large wooden box sitting upon a bookcase. It was simple in design, yet beautifully carved, acacia wood, put together with dovetailing and glue, without a single nail of brass or iron. He set aside his drink and lifted the top, putting it aside, and looked into the box, wherein rested a single piece of parchment.

He sighed: he had expected to find it there.

The box had appeared one morning, years before, on his desk in his study in Stardock. It had been warded, but what had surprised him wasn’t that it had been warded, but that it had been warded in a fashion he quickly recognized. It was as if he, himself, had warded the box. Expecting a trap, he had transported himself and the box a great distance away from the Island of Stardock and had erected protective spells around himself; then he had opened the box, easily. Three notes had been contained within.

The first had said, “That was a lot of work for nothing, wasn’t it?”

The second had said, “When James departs, instruct him to say this to a man he should meet: ‘there is no magic.’”

The last had said, “Above all else, never lose this box.”

The handwriting had been his own.

For years Pug had kept the secret of this box, a device that allowed him to send notes to himself from the future. Occasionally he pondered the device, studying it at leisure, for he knew eventually he
must unravel its secret. There could be no other explanation than that he was sending himself messages.

Eight times in the intervening years he had opened the box to discover a new message inside. He didn’t know how he knew, but when a message arrived he sensed it was time to open the box once more.

One message had said, “Trust Miranda.” It had arrived before he had met his wife, and when he first encountered her, he realized why he had sent the message. She was dangerous, powerful, and willful, and at the time, an unknown.

Yet even now he still didn’t completely trust her. He trusted her love for him and their sons; and her commitment to their cause as well. But she often had her own agenda, ignoring his leadership and taking matters into her own hands. For years she had agents working for her in addition to those working for the Conclave. She and Pug had endured several heated arguments over the years, and several times she had agreed to keep her efforts confined within the agreed-upon goals and stratagems of the Conclave, yet she always managed to do as she pleased.

He hesitated. Whatever was in that parchment was something he needed to know, yet something he dreaded knowing. Nakor had been the first person he had told of the messages—just in the last year—though the box was still known only to Pug. Miranda thought it merely a decorative item.

As he began to unroll the parchment Pug wondered, and not for the first time, if these messages were to ensure that a certain thing happened, or to keep something terrible from happening. Perhaps there was no distinction between the two.

He looked at the parchment. Two lines of script in his own handwriting greeted him. The first said, “Take Nakor, Magnus, and Bek, no others.” The second said, “Go to Kosridi, then Omadrabar.”

Pug closed the box and sat down behind his desk. He read the note several times, as if somehow he might discern a deeper meaning behind those two simple lines. Then he leaned back, sipping at his drink. Kosridi he recognized as the name of the world shown in
a vision to Kaspar of Olasko by the god Ban-ath; it was one of the worlds upon which resided the Dasati. Where lay Omadrabar, he had not even an inkling. But he knew one thing: somehow he had to find a way into the second realm of existence—to the plane of reality to which no one from this reality, to the best of his knowledge, had ever ventured. From there, somehow, he and his companions must make their way to the Dasati world of Kosridi, and from there to this Omadrabar. And if he was certain of nothing else, he was certain that this Omadrabar would be the most dangerous place he had ever visited.

K
aspar reined in his horse.

He fought back worry. This was a hard land and he felt a stab of apprehension as to what might be waiting for him. He had considered the little farm something close to a home for months after beginning his exile in this land, and Jojanna and her son Jorgen had been as close to family as any people he had known.

It had taken no more than a glance for him to know the farm had not been inhabited for some time, at least a year from the look of things. The pasture was overgrown and the fence was knocked down in several places. Before Jojanna’s husband, Bandamin, had disappeared they had raised a few steers for the local innkeeper. The corn patch
and small wheat field were both choked with weeds and the crops had gone to seed.

Kaspar dismounted and tied off his horse to a dead sapling. The tree had been planted after he had left, but had since died from neglect. He glanced around out of habit: whenever he considered the possibility of trouble, he always made a survey of the surroundings, noting possible places of ambush and escape. He realized there probably wasn’t another living human being within a day’s walk in any direction.

Entering the hut, he was relieved to see no sign of struggle or violence. All of Jojanna’s and Jorgen’s personal belongings, scant though they may have been, were gone. The departure had been orderly. He had feared bandits or wandering nomads might have done harm to his…what? Friends?

Kaspar’s life had been one of privilege and power, and many people had sought him out, currying favors, begging protection, or seeking some advantage, but until he had been deposited in this distant land by Magnus, the former Duke of Olasko had had few he could name “friend,” even as a child.

He had terrorized Jojanna and Jorgen for two days before he could make them understand he had not come to this little farm to harm them; he was merely a stranger in need of food and shelter and he worked hard to pay for his keep. He had negotiated a more favorable trade with a local merchant on their behalf and had left them in a better situation than he had found them. When he departed to begin his long journey home, he thought of them as friends; possibly even more than friends…

Now, three years later, Kaspar was back in Novindus. He had been watching the secret cache of Talnoy, providing a sword against more mundane threats to the ten thousand apparently sleeping killing machines, if indeed a machine slept. Two magicians—an older man named Rosenvar and a youth named Jacob—were investigating some aspect or another of their nature, following instructions left by Pug and Nakor.

Nakor had briefly returned with his companion, Bek, to inform the magicians he would be absent longer from his pet undertaking, finding a safe means of controlling the army of Talnoy. Kaspar found the magical aspect of these discussions mind-numbing, but he had greeted the news of the imminent obliteration of the Nighthawks with anticipation.

When Nakor made ready to depart, Kaspar asked him to request someone to come guard the two scholars as he had some personal business he wished to take care of in Novindus before returning to Sorcerer’s Isle. Nakor had agreed, and as soon as another had been dispatched to guard the magicians, Kaspar had begun his journey southward.

Lacking the magical devices employed by other members of the Conclave, Kaspar had to endure two weeks’ travel. The closest town to the caves where the Talnoy were hidden was Malabra, and from there the road south became more well traveled. He rode his horses to near exhaustion, trading mounts twice in the towns along the way. Twice more he had outrun bandits and three times he had endured the scrutiny of local soldiers, two of the encounters ending in bribery.

Now he felt a sense of futility. He had hoped to find Jojanna and Jorgen, though he was unsure of what he wished once he found them. He had been exiled to Novindus as punishment for his part in the destruction of the Orosini people and his plots against his neighboring nations. He had somewhat redeemed himself in the eyes of his former enemies by bringing word of the Talnoy to the Conclave, and had been fully forgiven after his role in foiling the Nighthawks’ plot against the throne of the Empire of Great Kesh. But he had a lingering sense of obligation toward Jojanna and Jorgen, and to Kaspar an unpaid debt was a canker that became more inflamed as time passed. He wanted to see that the pair of them were safe, and leave them with enough wealth to ensure they’d live well for the rest of their lives.

The small purse of coins he carried made him a wealthy man in this land. He had traveled the roads of the Eastlands before, on foot and by wagon, and had seen the conditions lingering after the great
war of the Emerald Queen, a land still struggling to recover even thirty years after the war. Coins of copper were rare, silver almost never seen, and even a single gold coin was worth a man’s life. Kaspar had enough gold on him to hire a tiny army and set himself up as a local noble.

He left the hut and considered what to do next. He had ridden straight through the village of Heslagnam as he made his way to the farm, and it was on his way back to the Talnoy cave. He would reach it after sundown—it had taken them two days and half a morning to walk there the first time he had journeyed there from the farm—and while the inn was nothing worth noting, it was serviceable, and he had slept in far worse over the last three years.

He pushed his horse and arrived at the village of Heslagnam shortly after darkness had fallen. The ramshackle wooden inn was as he remembered it, though it looked as if it might have had a new coat of whitewash; in the dark it was difficult to tell.

When no one appeared as he rode into the stabling yard, he untacked his horse and rubbed it down. By the time he was finished, he was tired, irritated, and in sore need of what passed for a drink in this part of the world.

Kaspar walked around to the front door of the inn, and pushed it open. The inn was unoccupied save for two villagers who sat at a table opposite the fireplace and the owner of the inn, a thick-necked man by the name of Sagrin, who stood behind the bar. Kaspar walked up to the bull-necked man, who regarded him closely.

Sagrin said, “I don’t forget faces, even if I can’t recall a name, and I’ve seen you before.”

“Kaspar,” answered the former duke, removing his gloves. “I’ve got a horse out back. Where’s your lackey?”

“Don’t have one,” answered Sagrin. “No boys in town. All dragged off to serve in the war.”

“What war?”

“Who knows? There’s always a war, isn’t there?” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder, in the general direction of the stabling yard.
“You can shelter your horse for free, seeing as I’ve got no one to care for it, but you’ll have to buy your own feed at Kelpita’s store across the way in the morning.”

“I’ve oats in my pack. I’ll care for the horse before I turn in. What have you to drink?”

“Ale and some wine. If you know wine, take the ale,” said the innkeeper.

“Ale, then.”

The ale was produced and Sagrin squinted a bit as he eyed Kaspar. “You were here, what? Two years back?”

“Closer to three.”

“Can’t quite place it…”

“If you sit on the floor and look up at me, you might remember,” said Kaspar. He took a drink. The ale was as he remembered it, thin and without much to recommend it, but it was cool and wet.

“Ah,” said Sagrin. “You’re the bloke who came in with Jojanna and her kid. Dressed a fair bit better these days.”

“Right,” said Kaspar. “Are they around?”

Sagrin shrugged. “Haven’t seen Jojanna for over a year.” He leaned forward. “The boy run off and she was nearly frantic and went looking for him, I guess. Sold off her cattle and mule to Kelpita, then found a trader heading south—said he’d take her on for a fee.” Sagrin shrugged, but his tone was regretful. “She’s probably buried under some rocks a day or two south of here.”

“Jorgen ran off?” asked Kaspar. He knew Jojanna and her son well enough to know that the boy was devoted to his mother, and he couldn’t imagine any reason why Jorgen would run away from home.

“Some crew came through and word got back to the farm that the boy’s dad was serving with a company of soldiers out of Higara—seems Bandamin got himself impressed by a company of…well, they’d be slavers no matter what they called themselves, but as they were selling those who were captured into the army of Muboya, they called themselves ‘recruiters.’”

Kaspar remembered a relatively pleasant supper with a general of
a brigade who was cousin to the Raj of Muboya. If Kaspar could find him he could…what? Arrange to have him discharged?

“How goes that war?” asked Kaspar.

“Last I heard Muboya had forced Sasbataba to surrender, and was now battling some bandit lord named Okanala for control of the next bit of land he wants.

“I’ll give the boy Raj credit though: after his army leaves, the lands left behind are almost as quiet as they were before the Emerald Queen’s war. Wish he’d send some of his lads up this way to calm things down between here and the Hotlands.” Seeing Kaspar’s mug was empty, Sagrin said, “Another?”

Kaspar pushed himself away from the bar. “In a while. First let me feed my horse and make sure there’s adequate water.”

“Staying?”

Kaspar nodded. “I’ll want a room.”

“Pick any one you like,” said Sagrin. “I’ve got lamb on the spit and the bread was baked yesterday.”

“That’ll be fine,” said Kaspar. He left the common room.

Outside the night air was cool; it was winter in this land, but he was far enough north and close enough to the Hotlands that it never got truly cold. He went to the stable and got a bucket, filled it at the well, and made sure the trough was full. He put a nosebag on his horse and took some time to inspect the animal. He had ridden it hard and he wanted to make sure the gelding was sound. He saw an old currying brush sitting on the shelf next to some worthless old tack, and he picked it up and started brushing the horse’s coat.

As he curried, Kaspar became lost in thought. Part of him had wanted to return here, to build a new personal empire; but these days the stirrings of ambition were muted in his heart. But they were never gone entirely. Whatever effect the influences of the mad sorcerer Leso Varen had been on Kaspar, the former ruler of Olasko’s basic nature was still ambitious.

The men who were bringing order out of chaos on this continent were men of vision as well as desire. Power for its own sake was the
height of greed; power for the benefit of others had a nobler quality he had only just begun to appreciate as he observed men like Pug, Magnus, and Nakor, men who could do amazing things, yet only sought to make the world a safer place for everyone.

He shook his head at the thought, realizing that he had no legal or ethical foundation for building an empire here; he would just be another self-aggrandizing bandit lord carving out his own kingdom.

He sighed as he put away the currying brush. Better to find General Alenburga and enlist in the Raj’s service. Kaspar had no doubt he would quickly win promotion and have his own army to command. But could he ever take service in another man’s army?

He stopped, and started to laugh. What was he doing now? He was serving the Conclave, despite the fact he had never taken a formal oath of service with any of them. Since bringing Pug and his companions word of the Talnoy and the threat Kalkin had shown him of the Dasati homeworld, Kaspar had been running errands and carrying out missions for the Conclave.

Still chuckling as he reached the door to the inn, Kaspar decided that he was serving this land, as well as the rest of the world, and his days as a ruling lord were over. As he pushed open the door he thought: at least life was interesting.

Ten days later, Kaspar walked his horse through the crowded streets of Higara. The town had changed in the last three years; everywhere he saw the signs of prosperity. New construction was turning this town into a small city. When he had last passed through Higara, it had been a staging area for the Raj of Muboya’s army as they readied an offensive southward. Now the only men in uniform to be seen were the town’s constables. Kaspar noted they wore colors that resembled the regular army’s, a clear indication that Higara was now firmly part of Muboya, no matter its previous allegiances.

Kaspar found the very inn where he had spoken to General Alenburga three years previously, and saw it had been restored to its former tranquillity. Instead of soldiers everywhere, a boy ran out of the stable
to take charge of Kaspar’s horse. The boy was roughly the same age as Jorgen had been when Kaspar had last seen him, reminding him of why he was making this trek. Putting aside a growing sense of futility in finding one boy and his mother in this vast land, Kaspar handed the boy a copper coin. “Wash the road dirt off and curry him,” he instructed. The boy grinned as he pocketed the coin and said he would.

Kaspar entered the inn and glanced around. It was crowded with merchants taking their midday meal and others dressed for travel. Kaspar made his way to the bar and the barkeep nodded. “Sir?”

“Ale,” said Kaspar.

When the mug sat before him, Kaspar produced another copper coin and the barman picked it up. He hefted it, quickly produced a touchstone, struck the color of the coin, then said, “This will do for two.”

“Have one for yourself,” said the former duke.

The barman smiled. “Little early for me. Maybe later. Thanks.”

Kaspar nodded. “Where’s the local garrison these days?”

“Don’t have one,” said the barman. He pointed in the general direction of the south road. “There’s a garrison down in Dondia, a good day’s ride. They pulled all the soldiers out of here when Sasbataba surrendered. We get a regular patrol up here once a week, and there’s a company of town militia to help the constables if needed, but frankly, stranger, things around here are quiet to the point of being downright peaceful.”

“Must be a welcome change,” said Kaspar.

“Can’t argue about that,” said the barman.

“Got a room?”

The barman nodded and produced a key. “Top of the stairs, last door on the left. Got a window.”