Into a Dark Realm (9 page)

“Someone’s tattled to the Emperor?” Miranda raised an eyebrow.

The old magician waved a dismissive hand. “With something as potentially dangerous as the Talnoy on this island, you didn’t think it was going to remain a secret from the Emperor for long, did you? Remember, our first mandate is still to serve the Empire.”

Miranda looked out across the garden at the still waters of the lake. “I am not surprised, really. My reason for being here is to see if you’ve made any progress.”

“I assume then that Milamber and Magnus are away on some business that prevents them from coming themselves?”

Dryly, Miranda said, “You forgot to mention Nakor.”

The old man laughed. “That fellow amuses me no end.” He took a deep breath. “I believe he may know more about the Greater Art than I do, though he insists there is no such thing as magic and we all do…tricks.”

“Nakor is a constant source of amusement, yes, but let us go back to the topic at hand: has the Emperor made any comment about the Talnoy?”

“Other than wanting it gone from our world, no.”

Miranda crossed her arms even though the breeze off the lake was warm. “Has he made that a command?”

“Had it been, the Talnoy would have been returned to you already,” said Alenca. He rubbed his hands together as if in anticipation of a task. “Many of our brethren are convinced we are at an impasse, and the rising occurrences of random rifts are a cause for concern. One of us is already dead as a result of one.”

Miranda nodded. “Pug told me: Macalathana. But I don’t know what happened.”

“Some little creature or another came through and, as I understand it, exploded! If you can believe that.”

“I can believe a lot.”

“Wyntakata, who was with him, was so distraught that he retired to his estates in Ambolena for nearly a month before returning to
us.” Lowering his voice, Alenca added, “He hasn’t seemed quite right since then, if you ask me.”

“Is the Assembly going to request we remove the Talnoy?”

“If you can’t work out a way to stop these damned rifts, yes,” said Alenca.

Miranda was silent for a moment. She had only visited Kelewan and had no particular affection for it: the men were too stiff-necked in their attitude toward women—especially those who wielded magic—the weather was always too hot, and the cities were too crowded. She gazed out across the lake to the distant shore and majestic peaks of mountains—the High Wall—beyond. On the other hand, she had to admit that the landscape was magnificent. After a long moment of contemplation, she asked, “How long was the Talnoy here before the reports of rifts began to reach you?”

“Why, several months, I believe.”

“Then we should take the Talnoy back to Sorcerer’s Isle,” said Miranda.

“Why?” asked Alenca.

“Because the rifts are either following the Talnoy to this world for some natural reason; or some intelligence is manipulating it. If there is some intelligence behind it, it may take months for it to find the Talnoy back on Midkemia.” She looked at Alenca. “I wonder if we might just drop it on some uninhabited world Pug knows of, and study it there.”

Since this seemed to be a rhetorical question, Alenca did not comment.

“You said one of your members was destroyed by a creature exploding. Pug was vague on the details; what can you tell me?”

From behind them a voice spoke. “Better I tell you, Miranda.”

Miranda turned to see a stocky man in a black robe, carrying a staff—which was unusual for a Tsurani Great One—approaching across the garden. He had obviously overheard some of the conversation as he neared. Miranda didn’t recognize him, but the man said, “It is good to see you.”

“Have we met?” she asked. She was not in the habit of using the honorific “Great One,” as was common in this society, since she was also a magic-user of great skill.

The man hesitated only for a second; then he smiled. He wore his grey-shot black hair unusually long, almost to his shoulders, and his face was cleanly shaven in the Tsurani fashion. “No, I believe we have not, but your reputation precedes you. Perhaps it would have been better if I had said, ‘It is good to meet you.’” He inclined his head, slightly, in deference. “I am Wyntakata. I was witness to Macalathana’s death.”

“I would count it a courtesy if you would tell me what happened,” said Miranda.

“We received a report of a rift sighted by a needra herder a half-day’s journey to the northeast of the city of Jamar, in the center of the great grasslands of Hokani Province. We arrived and found a rift no larger than two handspans floating perhaps half a handspan above the ground. A small creature stood motionless in front of it. I advised caution but Macalathana was impatient to examine it; I suppose he judged it posed little threat because of its size.

“As he reached a point before the creature, it erupted in a powerful blast of light and flames, incinerating a fair amount of grass around him. The rift was gone. I returned at once to the Assembly with the grave news and others returned to collect Macalathana’s body.”

Miranda asked, “Did you get any opportunity to study the creature?”

“No, I’m sorry to say. I saw it only for a few moments, just enough to see that it was tiny, stood on two legs, and did not wear garments or carry artifacts. It could perhaps have been some sort of wild creature that blundered through the rift from the other side.”

“That is our current thinking,” said Alenca. “Unless these Dasati beings tend to explore in the nude,” he added with a chuckle.

“We have very little information about them,” Miranda said, ignoring the old magician’s chuckle. “But I think that’s highly unlikely.” To Wyntakata, she said, “Alenca and I were just discussing the possibility of removing the Talnoy back to Sorcerer’s Island.”

“Oh, that is premature,” said Wyntakata.

“Really?” asked Miranda.

“We’ve had some reports of rifts, true, but I have personally undertaken to investigate as many of the reported sightings as anyone here…”

“That is true,” Alenca interjected.

“…and I can say with some certainty that most reports have been inaccurate—sightings of things no more magic than weather disturbances or a child’s kite! The one additional rift I did manage to find was only the size of my fist, and it endured only for a few minutes once I arrived.

“I am convinced these small rifts are natural by-products of the Talnoy being here and that there is neither intelligence behind them nor that they are being utilized by any agency seeking the way to Kelewan. I think we may soon be able to tell you a great deal more about this Talnoy, and to curtail our investigation now would be a great waste of the time already invested.”

“I’ll relay that to my husband,” said Miranda. Smiling at Wyntakata, she said, “I must bid you good day, and return to my home.” To Alenca she said, “Would you mind escorting me to the rift?”

The old man inclined his head, and Wyntakata hesitated a moment before bowing slightly and departing in another direction. As they left the garden, Miranda asked, “Wyntakata has, to my ear at least, a somewhat strange accent.”

“His childhood was spent in Dustari Province, across the Sea of Blood. They tend to crush certain vowels when they talk, don’t they?”

Miranda smiled. “I have another question.”

“What, my dear?”

“Have you come across any rumors of anyone practicing necromancy in any part of the Empire?”

The old magician’s step faltered. “Why, that’s forbidden! It’s the one practice that even in the old times, when our word was as law, could bring a Great One down. Any hint of it meant a death sentence.” He turned to look at Miranda as they walked. “Why?”

“Pug has reason to suspect that you may have one come recently to the Empire from our world, a necromancer of vast power. He’s a grave threat, and he may be hiding anywhere. But his nature is such that he cannot overlong avoid the practice.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” said Miranda. “Pug is concerned for many reasons, which I will leave for him to recount another time. But he trusts you, and you alone. And the one thing you need to know is that this person—Leso Varen—has the power to occupy the body of anyone. We do not understand the mechanism by which he does this, save it involves necromancy and requires a great many deaths, the more hideous the better for his dark arts to work. We think he may be trapped here. If so, we must hunt him down and finally put an end to him.”

“You think he might be here?” Alenca looked around, as if fearing that someone might be watching them.

Suddenly Mirada realized she had made an error. “Perhaps not. His choice of people to possess appears to be haphazard, but he last masqueraded as a man of great power. I only ask that you keep this concern quiet until Pug returns to speak with you at length. Will you?”

“Of course,” he answered as they entered the massive main building of the Academy. “We shall continue our work on the Talnoy—and please tell Nakor when you see him next that I’m still waiting for that idea of his about how to control this thing without the madness-inducing ring.” He patted her arm and whispered theatrically, “I’ll let you know if I hear any rumors…about the other thing.”

Miranda allowed the familiarity. She wasn’t overly fond of Tsurani Great Ones, but she made an exception for Alenca.

They entered the room set aside for the rift to Midkemia—Pug had adjusted the Tsurani rift machine so that it could now pick any of half a dozen Midkemian destinations, not just Stardock anymore. She chose Sorcerer’s Island and the two magicians who were detailed to operate the device quickly made the incantation.

Miranda sighed. Just a few short years ago, as she counted such things, rift magic had been largely unknown. The study her husband had conducted for the four years he lived in this very Assembly, as well as work he’d done in the decades since, had reduced her astonishment to that of hailing a public carriage in Roldem for a ride from the docks to the River House.

As she stepped into the rift, she thought it really wasn’t surprising: she had rather more sense of wonder left to her in contemplating an invading horde of warriors from the second circle of hell.

Pug walked along the upper gallery of Honest John’s, seeking out the merchant whose name he had been given. John had confessed he had no idea who might be able to breach an entrance into the second realm, as Pug had come to think of that circle of reality, but he suggested there might be someone who might know someone who in turn might know someone and so forth…

The merchant was named Vordam of the Ipiliac, a Delecordian, the trader mentioned by Tosan Beada. Pug knew Delecordia solely by reputation. The only remarkable thing about that world was its location. It was as far from Honest John’s as any civilized world, and as such had contact with even more remote worlds and races that had as yet not become commonplace in the Hall.

Pug found Vordam’s place of business, and as soon as he stepped across the threshold into the modest shop he knew something was amiss.

Pug had visited two places in the universe that were in it, but not a part of it. The first was the City Forever, a legendary place built by no one knew who, which was vast to the point of seeming limitlessness; and the Garden, which was linked to the City without being part of it. The other was the Hall, and by extension, Honest John’s.

This shop was another, for while it was located within Honest John’s, it also was somewhere else. No sooner had Pug assimilated these impressions than a being came into the shop from a curtained door at the rear. He seemed to speak, but Pug realized this also was
something illusory, for there were no words, merely the impression of words.

Magic was a rare thing in Honest John’s: there was too much potential for mischief if magic was left unchecked. There were wards throughout every part of the establishment to prevent the casual use of magic. This kept the games of chance honest, the negotiations among merchants aboveboard, and bloodshed to a minimum. The exceptions were spells contrived by John, or others on his behalf: one to let all denizens of the establishment understand one another (although there were always a few of the more alien guests whose frames of reference were so different from the mainstream of sentient beings that only fundamental or rudimentary comprehension was possible). Another spell provided a hospitable environment for everyone, despite a diversity of races that counted a wide range of conditions desirable. The last was a defensive spell that would, Pug imagined, unleash breathtaking damage on anyone attempting to harm John or any of his staff. An occasional brawl might erupt, but no serious conflict had occurred in the Hall in the memory of the oldest living customer.

But there was something magical about this shop, something beyond Pug’s experience, and his experience was far from limited. The creature repeated his interrogative, and Pug nodded. “A moment, please,” he said. The being was human in general appearance. It was taller than most and more slender, with arms and legs that were a bit longer than one would expect on a human. The face comprised a single mouth, a nose above, and two eyes; but the cheekbones were exaggerated compared to any human Pug had encountered; and the creature had excessively long fingers. There was a faint greyish-purple hue to its skin and its hair was a luxurious black with a violet sheen.

Pug sent his senses quickly outward, extending them like a mystic vine that touched the vibration of the room, sensing the difference between it and the rest of Honest John’s. For a moment it was oddly familiar. Pug struggled to recognize it, then suddenly he re
membered: it echoed the traps set for Tomas and him, decades ago, as they searched for Macros the Black.

Pug stared at the merchant. “I seek Vordam of the Ipiliac.”

The creature, dressed in a plain grey robe with a single white cord around its waist, pressed its hand to its chest, bowed slightly, and said, “I am he.”

Pug was silent for a moment as he drank in the harmonics of the vibrations he felt running through every inch of this shop. At last he understood. He fixed Vordam in his gaze and said, “You are Dasati!”