Magician’s End (12 page)

‘You’re a prince of Kesh or the Kingdom?’ he asked Martin.

Fighting back the need to explain, Martin simply said, ‘Kingdom. Yes.’

If the elf had reservations, he kept them to himself. Instead he just said, ‘Come,’ and turned to walk away.

Martin nodded to the others to accompany him and they all followed the elf, who glanced back at them. ‘I am named Tanderae. I am by rank Loremaster of the Clans of the Seven Stars. There is something you must see.’

They followed him into the woods, along a dark path through the boles. There was just enough light from the fires behind and the red glow ahead that they could make their way.

Abruptly the path widened and deepened and they found themselves in a broad down-sloping ramp, hastily cut into the soil to allow quick escape to what Martin decided could only be called a rear-echelon rest area, a place where the wounded could be tended to and exhausted soldiers could eat and sleep as much as circumstances permitted. This route was not hollowed out by tools wielded by hand, driven by muscle and sweat. It was perfectly cut as if by some giant gardener’s trowel, then smoothed by a sculptor. In the alien light it was without seam or flaw, almost as if the rock had been made liquid and fashioned like soft clay, then made hard again.

A soft glow came from a series of stones set upright along the pathway every ten feet or so, a pale-blue light that made travelling up and down the slope easy at night. The distant red light was becoming brighter as they walked down the ramp to a flat terrace, bordering on what had been a ridge line before the magical excavation behind them had moved tons of soil, trees, and boulders.

Suddenly they were out in the open, and they all stopped and gaped.

Miles in the distance, down in the deepest part of the valley stood the city of E’bar, the ancient elven word for ‘home’.

Martin could barely credit his eyes. Even at this distance the city was massive. Rumours had begun to circulate during the war with Kesh that the elven city had been constructed by arts beyond human understanding. Seeing it, Martin counted the rumours as true.

Graceful towers dominated the heart of E’bar, but from what could be seen at this distance, the entire city was a work of art. Looking down at the magically transformed stone beneath their feet, Martin imagined the walls of the city would be smooth and seamless. But it was hard to tell: tantalizing hints of what was awaiting a visitor were masked by a scintillating bubble of energy which surrounded the entire city, starting a few yards beyond the great circular city walls and rising up above the loftiest pinnacle. Intermittently, random glimmers of brilliant white-yellow diamonds seemed to flow across the surface, erupting into lances of blinding light that shot out for dozens of yards before vanishing, leaving the eye blind for a moment from the brilliance. Except for those bursts, the dome was a transparent red shell, pulsing with energy and giving off the ruby light that had illuminated the night sky.

A ring of elves, thousands from what Martin could judge, encircled the massive city. Shafts of light erupted from dozens of points in the line every second and magicians or priests cast magic at that barrier. Where the magic struck, tiny lightning-like bursts rebounded from the surface, then faded.

Tanderae said to Martin, ‘Behold the last home of my people.’

Martin was silent for a moment, then glanced at his companions who looked equally perplexed by the scene before them. At last Martin said, ‘You were driven from your city and now you attack a magic defence?’

Tanderae smiled slightly. ‘We fled from our city, but that energy shell is not that city’s defence. It’s ours. Many of my people are giving their lives to prevent what’s inside from escaping.’

Thinking about the number of exhausted and wounded elves he had seen, Martin began to form a question. But then he saw a tiny breach in the shell surrounding the city. Instantly a score of dark forms exploded from the gap before it closed. Those creatures of inky blackness moved straight for the line of magic-users and silver-and-white-clad soldiers threw themselves before the magicians, slashing frantically.

They were too far from the fight to see details, but eventually the black figures were gone and the elves reformed, a few limping back to their line.

‘What were those?’

‘We call them the Forbidden. They are an ancient species, so hateful they make their demon servants appear benign. They have found a way into our city and if they escape that barrier, life as we know it on this world will rapidly cease.’

Martin was aghast. ‘How long can you hold?’

‘Until the last of us,’ said the loremaster. ‘We brought this horror to our home world and we will die here protecting Midkemia.’

‘Why haven’t you sent for help?’ asked Martin.

‘Because every man, woman, and child not killed in the explosion that brought those horrors here has been fighting them, holding them in.’ Tanderae looked at Martin. ‘So now you are here we don’t have to send a messenger.’ He nodded to Martin. ‘Prince of the Kingdom, we seek help.’

Bethany said quietly, ‘Now we know why someone wanted every army in the west as far from here as they could manoeuvre them.’

Martin could only nod.

The elves provided them with food, though not a great deal of it, and filled their water-skins. Tanderae walked with them to the original clearing in which they had been held and was silent until he reached the large lean-to where they had been left after first being captured. He was impassive, though Martin saw what he thought were hints of fatigue and perhaps even hopelessness in the way he spoke.

The Loremaster of the Clans of the Seven Stars said, ‘Rest here until sunrise, human. The few hours will make no difference and while there is little chance of you encountering any danger, falling down the mountain and breaking your neck would serve neither of our causes. If you move downslope from here for an hour, you’ll find the game trail upon which you were taken.’ He looked at Martin. ‘I know little of you humans. Others among us have visited your cities and understand your politics and might be better able to convince you, but at this time I have nothing more to show than what you’ve already seen, and I can only tell you this:

‘For centuries we of the Clans of the Seven Stars have battled the demon legions across worlds, and only at the end have we come to understand those demons were no more than the servants of a far darker evil. Once we numbered in the millions, more than all your nations of man on Midkemia, but now we are as you see us.

‘It is bitter to say, but we were betrayed by our own leaders. I was a member of the Circle of Light. We were scholars and delvers into mystery, creators of art and magic. Those of us who sought enlightenment and knowledge were at first opposed by those who took power; then we were named traitors to the cause of our people, hunted and killed. When we were offered amnesty we took it, and some like myself even entered the Regent’s Meet. Now I find it was our own leaders who betrayed us to our most bitter enemies. If the death of my race comes, it comes from within.’

‘But why?’ asked Martin.

‘I do not know,’ answered the Loremaster. ‘Madness, offers of survival, faith in a power that corrupted. I can only speculate.’ He sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter. This is what we face. Inside that dome is the true enemy, those behind the demon legions, seeking their way into this world to destroy all they touch. I have already sent word to the north, to the Queen of the Eledhel and her consort, Lord Tomas. But even their magic will not be enough. So, we need human allies.

‘When you return, seek me out, or if I am gone, find Egun, leader of the remaining Sentinels, and if he is gone, whoever may be left.’ He reached out and gripped Martin’s shoulders. ‘Help us.’ Then he turned and headed back to the embattled city.

Will, Tom, Jack, and Edgar said little as they travelled back towards Ylith. They knew without being told they had seen something both majestic and terrible. Even Martin and Bethany had little life experience to put what they had witnessed into any context. The encounters with those supernatural demonic creatures who had appeared during the assault on Ylith, and the response of the magic-users who were in the city, were relatively normal in comparison to what they had seen in the Grey Towers Mountains.

As they approached the Keshian lines, Martin said to the four hunters, ‘Men, I would take it as a personal favour if you said nothing to anyone about what we’ve seen.’

‘Who’d believe us, Highness?’ asked Tom.

The others nodded and Will chuckled, but Martin pressed on. ‘Still, rumours spread like fire on dry straw, and Ylith is barely approaching what we might think of as normal times. There are still plenty of scared, battle-weary folks who don’t need to be told more horror is on the way. All right?’

The four agreed and Bethany said, ‘What are we going to do when we reach the city?’

Martin said, ‘There are some things I need to talk over with George Bolton before I head south.’

She sighed and patted his arm. The idea of him leaving so soon after arriving didn’t please her. ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

‘I’ve got to get to Krondor as fast as I can, and hope a magician named Ruffio is still there, or someone knows how to reach him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because riding horses until they drop to reach Prince Edward isn’t going to solve anything; because Edward’s not about to leave the Fields of Albalyn with a civil war threatening; and besides, from what we saw, bows and arrows are only so useful. No, we need magicians, and if I can find Ruffio, he can get word to where it needs to go, to the temples, to Stardock …’ He glanced over at the four hunters, and lowered his voice. ‘And to others I’ll tell you about when we’re alone.’

She looked confused and curious, but nodded to say she would wait.

‘Let’s go,’ said Martin. ‘If we’re quick enough we should be able to slip behind the southern patrol and loop around to the main gate of the city. No need to use the old keep tunnel if we’re already back on our side of the line.’

It was an exhausted and filthy band that reached the gates of Ylith an hour after sunrise six days after leaving the elves. By the time the gates of the city were opened, Captain Bolton, Brendan, and the mayor were waiting. Martin outlined the situation as Sergeant Oaks appeared, obviously just awakened. When Martin finished, the old sergeant said, ‘Orders, Highness?’

Martin said, ‘I’m going to need four men to travel with me to Krondor. The rest of you will stay to bolster the garrison here until I return.’

Oaks wasn’t happy, but he merely said, ‘Yes, Highness.’

‘We’ll need two horses each and we’ll ride them until they drop: there’s a need for speedy travel.’

Brendan said, ‘I’ll go see to the mounts.’

‘No,’ said Martin. ‘Send someone else. I have something I need you to do. We’ll talk later.’

Something about Martin’s demeanour made Brendan think twice about objecting. He signalled for one of the boys who were acting as messengers and aides for the soldiers and instructed him as to Martin’s needs. The boy ran off in a hurry.

Martin quickly finished detailing some things he’d like done in the city to the mayor, Bolton, and Oaks, then motioned for Bethany and Brendan to accompany him as he left for the mayor’s house for a quick bath and meal. Once the three of them were out of earshot of the others he said, ‘I’ve got some things I’d like the two of you to do. If either of you want to say no, I’ll understand. I can order Oaks to send a couple of his men, but I’d rather leave these tasks to people I trust.’

‘Whatever you ask,’ said Brendan.

‘Yes,’ agreed Bethany.

Turning to Bethany he said, ‘I need you to take the four hunters after you’ve rested and travel to Elvandar.’

‘Elvandar?’ she said. ‘Really?’

Martin nodded. ‘I know that elf Tanderae said he’d sent someone north, but I’d feel better knowing we had someone talking to the Elf Queen. Those Star Elves don’t strike me as practised hunters, and we’ve had word of the Brotherhood of the Dark Path moving down from the Northlands again. Between those dark murderers and the Keshians, we’ve no guarantees the Elf Queen will know what’s happening in the Grey Towers. That’s elf-magic and maybe she can help. But she can’t do anything if she doesn’t know.

‘From the Yabon side of the mountains to the south side of the River Boundary you shouldn’t even see a hint of a Keshian or a Dark Brother, so I think it’s a relatively safe journey. Besides, you know how to move through the woods like an elf.’

She smiled. ‘It will be good to see our mothers.’ Both Martin’s mother and Bethany’s were safe in Elvandar since fleeing Crydee.

‘Tell the boys and take what you need and leave in the morning,’ he said. ‘I’m leaving as soon as the horses are ready – I’ve got most of today to ride, but you could use a few hours’ sleep.’

‘What do I say to the Elf Queen?’

‘You saw as much as I did, Beth. Just tell her what you saw and that these Star Elves are hard pressed by whatever is trapped within their city.’ He paused. ‘If you can remember what Tanderae said about betrayal from within, that might be important.’

She nodded, hesitated, then realized Martin wished to speak with his brother alone. She kissed him lightly on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you later.’ She hurried off.

Brendan said, ‘What do you want me to do, Martin?’

‘I’m going to ask much of you, but do you think you can find a boat and get down the coast past the Quegan patrols?’

Brendan was quiet for a minute, then said, ‘I think so. There are a couple of small cutters still in the harbour. One’s a nice little double headsail that should make good time. I can sail her at night and lay in close to the coast with the mast down in the day if I see Quegan galleys. If I hug close to shore and avoid shoals, yes, I can get south of here. Are we sailing to Krondor?’

‘No,’ said Martin. ‘I’m riding, as I told the others. I must get word to Prince Edward of this invasion or attack or whatever it is in the Grey Towers. But as certain as bears sleep in the winter, whatever those elves are facing needs magic as well as arms to withstand it, and I’m remembering what Jim Dasher told us about on our last night in Rillanon.’