Rage of a Demon King (22 page)

This one was something outside his experience, however, and he wasn’t sure he welcomed any repeat of the experience. Knowing he’d been drugged, he had practiced some of the mental techniques taught him by his grandmother, and when the girl had started her questioning, he had started telling lies.

By now Jimmy was certain that when she and her father compared notes, the plan conceived by Jimmy’s grandfather would swing into motion. He tried not to laugh, for every part of him hurt too much to move. As he let sleep overtake him, he wondered how Dash was doing.

“Ah, you’re a lying sack of dung, and a Kingdom dog to boot, and that’s a fact.” The sailor looked at Dash with a challenge.

Dash stood up, dramatically swaying far more than was due to anything he had drunk. He had years before mastered the art of appearing to drink more than he had, and he could pass himself off as a drunk
as well as any actor. The trick was to get a tiny bit of pepper or ale on your finger, rub your eyes, and get them red. His grandfather had taught him that trick. “No one calls me a liar!” He glared at the Quegan sailor. “I told you I saw it! With me own eyes!” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And I can tell you when and where, too.”

“When and where what?” asked another of the card players.

Dash had returned to the dockside tavern he had visited on their last voyage to Queg—where he had established his identity as a Kingdom sailor with a night off—and had entered a friendly game of Pashawa. After winning a little and losing a little, he had started to win, just enough to keep people paying attention to him.

Finally a couple of local cad sharks had shown up and asked to join the game. As he expected, Dash was offered round after round of drink, in the hope his card sense would be dulled.

He accommodated them, and lost enough money to keep them around, then won back enough to keep them interested. While he played, he talked.

“Like I told you: my father sailed with Prince Nicholas and Amos Trask himself! He was the first to reach the land across the Endless Sea.”

“There is no such place,” scoffed a Quegan sailor.

“How would you know?” retorted Dash. “You’re a bunch of coast huggers. Not a deep-water sailor in this entire nation.”

That got him the undivided attention of every man in the inn. Several were ready to teach him manners should he start insulting their homeland. Dash started talking to his captive audience. “It’s true! For
almost twenty years the Prince of Krondor has had men down there tradin’ with the natives! They’re a simple people, who worship the sun, and even their children wear gold trinkets and play with toys fashioned from gold. The Prince has them mining gold for glass beads. I’ve seen the gold. With me own eyes! It’s the largest cargo in the world, enough gold to fill this room. More! As tall as two men, one upon the other’s shoulders, it was. And at the base, it filled a room twice the size of this inn.”

“There isn’t that much gold in the world,” said the man who had named himself Gracus. He was a skilled gambler, and Dash suspected a confidence man, a thief, and a potential murderer. But for Dash’s purpose he possessed the signal ingredient of nature: he was greedy to a fare-thee-well.

“Look, I tell you this: when Mr. Avery’s ship leaves here, and after we take him back to Krondor, we’re going out with every ship of the fleet, beyond the Straits of Darkness. Why?”

The men muttered as several asked why.

“Because the biggest fleet of treasure ships in the history of the world is headin’ this way, even as we sit here gabbin’, and it’s going to come through the Straits of Banapis.”

“Midsummer’s Day?” asked Gracus.

“Think on it!” said Dash. “Where will your galleys be? Where will all those Keshian pirates from Durbin be?”

One of the sailors said, “He’s got a point, Gracus. Our ships will be in port so the crews can celebrate. Even the galley slaves get a drink of wine that day.”

“And it’s true in Durbin,” said another. “I’ve sailed into that port on Midsummer’s Day, and if
there’s a crewman sober by sundown, he’s not trying.”

Gracus said, “That may be all well and good, but it’s still a little difficult to believe.”

Dash glanced around the room, as if looking to see he wasn’t being watched, which was difficult to do with a straight face when every man in the room was watching him closely. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small purse. He opened it up and let the contents fall on the table.

A tiny whistle and a small top fell with a clatter, and Gracus picked up the whistle. “Gold,” he whispered.

“I traded a copper piece to a little boy for that whistle,” said Dash. “And he was glad to have it. He’d never seen copper before, but gold was everywhere.”

The top and whistle had been fashioned from some of the King’s currency, melted and reforged, and James had sent back the items twice because the goldsmith couldn’t get it through his head that the Duke wanted them to look crudely fashioned. Dash took the whistle away from Gracus. “This boy gave me a voyage’s pay in gold for a copper piece.

“I’ve seen other men come back from there with enough gold in their kit to retire for life to a gentleman’s farm in the country, that’s the truth.” He glanced around the room. “If any of you lads have visited the Anchor and Dolphin in Krondor, Dawson who runs it, why he got the gold to open that inn by trading his clothes to the natives. Came back smelling like a skunk, ’cause he didn’t have a change of clothing for three months, but he came back rich.”

Dash could see he had them, and he knew that whatever doubt might linger in the minds of some of
these men would be far outweighed by the desire to believe in others. By the time Banapis arrived, every Quegan pirate crew able to sail would be waiting at the Straits of Darkness.

Putting away his trinkets, Dash decided he’d better lose enough to have to give those trinkets away to the winner of the pot, for the story would be more convincing with physical evidence. Additionally, he thought, as he glanced around the room at a gallery of naked greed, if he was broke he stood a far better chance of getting back to his ship alive.

Pug said, “Are you ready?”

Macros and Miranda nodded, and held hands.

Nakor said good-bye to Sho Pi, gripped Macros and Pug’s hands, one in each of his own. Pug and Miranda joined hands and the circle was closed.

Pug incanted and suddenly they were standing in a courtyard, high up in the mountains somewhere. A startled monk dropped a bucket of water he was carrying and stood open-mouthed and wide-eyed. Pug looked at him and said, “We need to see the Abbot.”

The monk could not bring himself to speak, only nodding and running off. They waited while several monks poked their heads through windows to get a look at the intruders.

Macros said, “I suspect you know what you’re doing?”

“Cooperation between magicians and clerics is rare, but it has happened in the past,” said Pug.

They stood in the courtyard of the Abbey of Ishap at Sarth, in the mountains north of Krondor. Pug had visited there occasionally, after having made the
acquaintance of the present Abbot, who had been a simple priest then.

A moment later a grey-haired man about Pug’s height, and looking to be in his late seventies, moved briskly toward them. At his side a younger cleric, carrying a war hammer and bearing a shield upon his arm, approached. When the man got close enough to recognize Pug he called him by name.

“Hello, Dominic. It’s been a very long time.”

The Abbot of Sarth nodded. “Nearly thirty years, I believe.” Glancing at Pug’s three companions, he said, “I expect this isn’t a social visit.” He turned to his companion. “Put away your weapons, Brother Michael. There is no threat.”

As the warrior priest walked away, Dominic said, “You’ve really injured his pride, Pug. You went through his protective wards as if they weren’t there.”

Pug smiled. “They weren’t. Tell him to put some
below
the libraries in the mountain. We came through the floor.”

Dominic smiled. “I’ll tell him. Would you care to join me for some refreshments and tell me what this is all about?”

Macros said, “We need your knowledge, Abbot. And we may not speak safely here.”

The Abbot said, “And you are . . . ?”

Pug said, “Dominic, this is Macros the Black.”

If Dominic was impressed by the name, he did not show it. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“I am Nakor, and this is Miranda.”

Dominic bowed to the two of them. “This abbey may be the safest place on Midkemia—if we get those wards established under the library,” he said with slight smile.

Pug said, “For what we need to discuss, there is no safe place on Midkemia.”

“Do you propose to take me to another world, as you did so many yeas ago?”

“Exactly,” said Pug. “Only this time you won’t be tortured.”

“That’s a relief.” He studied Pug. “You haven’t changed, but I have. I’m an old man, and I need a persuasive reason to leave this world at my age.”

Pug considered his reply. “We need to talk about your most precious secret.”

Instantly Dominic’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re fishing for something, I will not break my oath, so tell me what you know.”

Macros said, “We know the truth of the Seven-Pointed Star, and the Cross within it. We know the fifth star is dead, as is the sixth.” Lowering his voice, he said, “And the seventh star is not dead.”

Dominic remained motionless for an instant, then turned to a nearby monk. “I will be going with these people. Tell Brother Gregory he is in charge as long as I’m absent. Tell him also to send the sealed chest in my study to the High Father at our temple in Rillanon.” The monk bowed his head and hurried off to carry out the Abbot’s wishes.

“Let us leave,” said Dominic, and they formed a circle. Pug said, “Macros, I have the power, but not the knowledge.”

Macros said, “I have both. Follow me.”

Suddenly they were gone, and around them a void could be sensed, rather than felt or seen.

Miranda’s thoughts came to Pug. “When I first entered the Hall of Worlds I asked Boldar Blood what happens when you step into the void.”

Pug’s thoughts returned out of the featureless grey. “This is the void between realities. Here nothing exists.”

“There is something,” came the thoughts of Macros. “There is no place in the universe without something residing within. It may not be apparent to those who pass through, but there are creatures that live within the void.”

“Fascinating,” came Nakor’s thoughts, and the word was tinged with excitement.

Suddenly they were in a star-filled night of pure black, encapsuled in a bubble of air, warmth, and gravity. Below them, swimming through the void, was a place Pug had never thought to visit again. “The City Forever,” he said.

“What alien beauty,” said Nakor. Pug glanced at the Isalani and saw his eyes wide with wonder.

“It is that,” said Pug.

The city spread out below in a twisted symmetry, one that sought to capture the eye, but somehow eluded it. Towers and minarets that looked too slender to support their own weight rose up against the vault of the City’s self-contained sky. Arches that could have soared miles above Krondor’s highest rooftop spanned the vast distance between buildings of alien design.

Downward they sped, yet they felt no sense of movement save what they saw with their eyes. “Who built this place?” asked Miranda.

“No one,” said Macros. “At least, no one within this reality.”

“What do you mean, Father?”

Macros shrugged. “This place was here when our universe came into being. Pug, Tomas, and I witnessed
the birth of what we know as our reality. This place was already here.”

“An artifact of an earlier reality?” suggested Nakor.

“Perhaps,” said Macros. “Or something that simply is because it needs to be.”

Dominic had remained silent but now asked, “Why this strange and incomprehensible place, Pug?”

Pug said, “Because it is perhaps the only place we may speak freely and not fall prey to the agency behind all the woe and destruction unleashed upon our world.”

They moved over a vast square, many times the size of the city of Krondor, where city-size tiles changed color in a hypnotic pattern. As they approached the surface of the street, they saw the pattern echoed in streets that left the enormous square.

Miranda said, “It’s a city. It has buildings, what look to be houses, and yet it is devoid of life.”

“Don’t make that assumption, daughter.” Macros pointed. “That fountain may be a decorative creation, or it may be a life form so alien to our understanding that we will never communicate with it.”

“What if the city is the life form?” asked Nakor. “Possible.”

Dominic said, “Why would the gods create such a place?”

“Depends on which gods we’re talking about,” said Macros.

The orb settled across a gulf of the void, onto a lush green lawn surrounded by trees and plants, all beautifully tended. Then the orb vanished.

“This may be the most remote corner of reality,” said Macros. “The Garden.”

Pug said, “Now we may speak, but first there is something I must do.”

“What?” said Miranda.

But Pug had already closed his eyes and was mumbling an incantation. Everyone present felt a fey energy gather around Pug, then suddenly it was gone and he opened his eyes.

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. “This is a powerful spell of blocking. Why do we need protection from eavesdropping in this remote corner of reality?”

“All will be made clear,” Pug answered. He looked at the Abbot. “It is time,” Pug said to Dominic.

“What would you know?” asked the Abbot of Sarth.

“The truth,” said Pug. “Ishap is dead.”

Dominic nodded. “Since the time of the Chaos Wars.”

Miranda said, “Ishap, the One Above All? The Greatest of All the Gods is dead?”

Pug said, “I’ll explain. Nearly forty yeas ago, an agency of some unknown origin sought to destroy an artifact of the Ishapians, a magical gem known as the Tear of the Gods.”

Dominic nodded. “This is not widely known. Only Prince Arutha, a few of his trusted advisers, and Pug knew of the theft.