Rage of a Demon King (53 page)

“Yes?” prompted Pug.

“That’s where I run into a problem. I don’t know what it is. I call it ‘stuff.’ ” He sighed. “It’s some sort of basic thing, something that everything is made up of.”

“You might have called it spirit,” suggested Dominic.

“You might have called it laundry,” said Miranda dryly.

Nakor laughed. “Whatever it is, we’re all part of it, and it’s part of us.”

Pug was silent for a moment. “This is maddening. I feel as if I’m almost at the edge of understanding something, but it’s just outside my grasp.

“And what does this have to do with putting things right?”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know,” said Nakor agreeably. “It’s just something I was thinking of.”

Tomas said, “Much of what you say echoes things I knew once, when I was one with Ashen-Shugar.”

Nakor said, “I think so. The universe is alive, a being of impossible complexity and vastness. It is, for want of a better term, a god. Maybe The God. I don’t know.”

“Macros called it the Ultimate,” said Tomas.

“That’s good!” said Nakor. “The Ultimate God, the One above All, as the Ishapians call Ishap.”

“But you’re not talking of Ishap,” said Dominic.

“No, he’s an important god, but he’s not the Ultimate. I don’t think this Ultimate even has a name. He just Is.” Nakor sighed. “Can you imagine a
being with stars in its head, billions of them? We have blood and bile, it has worlds and comets and intelligent races . . . everything!”

Nakor was obviously excited by the image, and Pug glanced at Miranda, seeing her smile reflecting his own amusement at the strange little man’s pleasure.

“The Ultimate, if you will, knows everything, is everything, but He’s a baby. How do babies learn?”

Pug, who had raised his children, said, “They watch, they are corrected by their parents, they mimic—”

“But,” interrupted Nakor, “if you’re God, and there’s no Mama God or Papa God, how do you learn?”

Miranda was caught up in the discourse and began to laugh. “I have no idea.”

“You experiment,” said Dominic.

“Yes,” said Nakor, and his grin became even wider. “You try things. You create things, like people, and you turn them loose to see what happens.”

Miranda said, “So we’re some sort of cosmic puppet theater?”

“No,” said Nakor. “God isn’t watching us on a celestial stage, because God is also the puppets.”

“I’m completely lost,” admitted Pug.

“We’re back to why we think,” explained Nakor. “If God is everything, mind, spirit, thought, action, dirt, wind”—he glanced at Miranda—“laundry, everything that is and can be, then each thing He is must be accounted for as having a purpose.

“What is life for?” he asked rhetorically. “It’s a way to evolve thought. And what is thought for? It’s a way to be aware, a stage between the physical and
the spiritual. And time? It’s a good way to keep things separated. And lastly, why humans, and elves, and dragons, and other thinking creatures?”

Dominic said, “So that spirit can be self-conscious?”

Nakor said, “Right!” He looked to be on the verge of doing a dance. “Each time one of us goes to Lims-Kragma’s hall, we’re sharing our life experience with God. Then we go back and do it again, over and over.”

Miranda didn’t looked convinced. “So you’re saying we live in a universe where evil is just as much this God’s fault as good?”

“Yes,” said Nakor. “Because God doesn’t see it as good or evil; God’s learning about good and evil. To Him, it’s just the odd way certain creatures behave.”

“Seems He’s slow,” said Pug dryly.

“No, He’s vast!” insisted Nakor. “He’s doing this over and over a billion billion times a day, on a billion worlds!”

Tomas said, “At one time Pug and I asked Macros what the point was if we live in a universe this vast, this complex, should one little planet succumb to the Valheru. He told us the nature of the universe changed after the Chaos Wars and that a reemergence of the Valheru into Midkemia would change the order of things.”

“I think not,” said Nakor. “Oh, I mean it would be a very unhappy situation for everyone on Midkemia, but eventually the universe would right itself. God is learning. Of course, billions of people could die before something happened to set things right again.”

Miranda said, “You make it all sound so pointless!”

“If you look at it that way, yes,” said Nakor. “But I like to think the point is we’re teaching God to do the correct thing—we’re correcting a baby—and that good is worth struggling for, that kindness is better than hatred, that creation is better than destruction, and many other things as well.”

“Anyway,” said Pug, “it’s far more of an academic question to the people living in the Kingdom.”

Calis said, “Nakor’s right.”

All eyes returned to Calis. “He has just made it possible for me to understand what it is that is being done and why I’m here.”

Miranda asked, “Why?”

Calis smiled. “I need to unlock the Lifestone.”

Erik drank deeply. The wine was a chilled white, a variety common to this part of the duchy. “Thank you,” he said as he put down the flagon.

Prince Patrick, Owen Greylock, and Manfred von Darkmoor sat at a table with Erik. Around the room stood a half-dozen other nobles, some dressed like court dandies and others as dirty and blood-soaked as Erik.

Patrick said, “You’ve done well considering the rapidity with which Krondor fell.”

“Thank you, Highness,” said Erik.

Greylock said, “I just wish we had more time to prepare.”

Patrick said, “There is never enough time. We must trust that we have done enough so that we can hold them here, at Darkmoor.”

A messenger hurried in, saluted, and handed a message to Greylock. He opened it and said, “Ill news. The southern reserves are overrun.”

“Overrun,” said Patrick, slamming the table in frustration. “They were supposed to be cleverly hidden away, ready to strike at the enemy and bleed them from behind. What happened?”

Owen handed the scroll to the Prince, but he said for the benefit of the others in the room, “Kesh. She’s moved her army just south of Dorgin. The enemy’s southern wing was being pinched too tightly, and when they ran into the Keshians on one flank, and the dwarves ahead, they turned north and overran our fortification.”

“Kesh has taken a hand?” asked a tired-looking old noble whom Erik didn’t recognize.

“It was to be expected,” said Patrick. “If we survive this war, we’ll worry about Kesh after.”

“What of Lord Sutherland?” asked the noble.

“The Duke of the Southern Marches is dead. Gregory as well as the Earl of Landreth died in the fighting. My lords, if this report is accurate, for all intents and purposes the southern reserves no longer exist,” said Greylock.

One of the fancily dressed nobles said, “Perhaps we should consider falling back to Malac’s Cross, Highness?”

The Prince threw the man a withering look, but refused to dignify the suggestion with a comment. Looking at Erik, he said, “Those of you just in, please follow the squires outside to your quarters. You’ll find fresh clothing and a bath waiting. I’ll be pleased to dine with you in an hour’s time.” He rose, and the others followed suit. “We’ll continue this discussion at dawn tomorrow. We will have more intelligence by then.” He turned and left the room.

After the Prince had departed, Manfred motioned to Erik and Owen to move away from the door. “Well, we have an awkward situation, it seems, gentlemen.”

Erik nodded. “I understood what I was in for the moment I crossed the drawbridge.”

Owen said, “We are the Prince’s men, may I remind your lordship.”

Manfred waved away the comment. “Tell that to my mother.” Then he gave a rueful smile. “Better yet, don’t.”

Erik said, “We can’t conduct the business of this war while attempting to avoid your mother, Manfred.”

“Erik has that right,” said Owen.

Manfred sighed. “Very well. Owen, I’ve instructed our current Swordmaster to turn your old quarters back over to you; I thought you might be more comfortable there, and truth to tell, it’s getting a little bit crowded around here.”

Owen smiled. “I bet Percy is not happy.”

“Your former assistant was never a happy man; he was born with a long face.” Turning to Erik, Manfred said, “You’ll stay in a room near mine. The closer you are to me, the less likely Mother is to send someone after you.”

Erik looked dubious. “Duke James tried to reason with her.”

“No one ‘reasons’ with Mother. I suspect you’ll find that out before this night is through. Now, let me show you to your quarters.” Turning to Greylock, he said, “Owen, I’ll see you at supper.”

“My lord,” said Owen. The three left the conference hall, and while Owen went one way, Manfred took Erik another.

“This castle is quite large,” said Manfred. “It’s easy to get lost. If you do, ask any servant where to go.”

“I don’t know how long I’ll stay,” said Erik. “Owen and the Prince haven’t told me what my next position is to be. I replaced Calis in the fallback, but now that phase is over.”

“I suspect something similar,” said Erik’s half brother. “It appears you’ve done quite well.” He glanced around the ancient halls of Darkmoor Castle. “I hope I acquit myself as well when the time comes.”

“You will,” said Erik.

They walked around a corner, and Erik almost stumbled. Coming along the corridor was a stately procession, an older woman in regal raiment, followed by two guards and several lady companions. She stopped for a moment when she saw Manfred, but when she recognized Erik, her eyes grew enormous. “You!” she said with a near-hiss of contempt. “It’s the
bastard.
The murderous bastard!”

She turned to the nearest guard and said, “Kill him!”

The stunned guard looked from Mathilda, mother of the Baron, to Manfred, who motioned with his hand for the guard to step away. The guard nodded to the Baron and stepped back. Manfred said, “Mother, we’ve been all over that. Erik has a pardon from the King. Whatever has gone before is over.”

“Never!” said the old woman with a hatred that surprised Erik. He had imagined her distaste for him, from the years when his mother demanded Erik’s father acknowledge him to the murder of her son, but never had he experienced anything like this firsthand.
Of all the men he had faced in battle, none had regarded him with the pure, naked hatred Mathilda von Darkmoor revealed in her eyes.

“Mother!” said Manfred. “That’s enough. I’m ordering you to desist!”

The woman turned her gaze upon her son, and Erik saw instantly that her hatred wasn’t limited to Erik alone. She stepped forward, and for an instant Erik feared she would strike her son. In a strident whisper she said, “You order me?” She looked her son up and down. “If you were the man your brother was, you’d have killed this murdering bastard before he got away. If you were even half as much a man as your father, you’d have married and had a son by now, and this bastard’s claim would mean nothing. Do you want him to kill you? Do you want to lie in the dirt while this killer takes your title? Do—”

“Mother!” Manfred roared. “Enough!” He turned to the guards and said, “
Escort
my mother to her quarters.” He told his mother, “If you can compose yourself, dine with us tonight, but if you can’t maintain a shred of dignity before Prince Patrick, do us the courtesy of dining in your room! Now go!”

Manfred turned and began walking, and Erik followed, but he glanced over his shoulder. She never took her eyes from him, and each step of the way Erik knew the old woman wished him dead.

Erik was so intent on the woman he almost knocked Manfred down when he turned the corner. Manfred said, “Sorry about that, Erik.”

“I never imagined. I mean, I thought I understood . . .”

“Understand Mother? You’d be the first.” He waved for Erik to follow and said, “Your room is down here, at the end of the hall.”

When he opened the door and Erik entered, Manfred followed. “I picked this one for two reasons,” said Manfred. He pointed to the window. “It’s a quick exit. And this is one of the few rooms in Darkmoor that doesn’t have a secret passage leading to it.”

“Secret passage?”

“Quite a lot of them, really,” Manfred said. “This castle was enlarged several times since the original Baron built the first tower keep. There had been some quick exits should the castle fall, then some additional rooms added with back passages so the lord could visit his favorite servant in the middle of the night. Some of them serve a useful purpose, so servants can move through the castle without getting underfoot, but for the most part they’re deserted old byways, useful for those who wish to spy on their neighbors or for assassins.”

Erik sat down on a chair in the corner. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Manfred. “If I may suggest, a bath and change of clothing. I’ll have the servants fetch you some water straightaway. The clothes in the wardrobe should fit.” He grinned. “They were Father’s.”

Erik said, “Do you delight in upsetting your mother?”

Manfred’s face took on an edge of anger. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Erik sighed. “I thought about some of the things you said about Stefan, when you came to visit me in jail. I guess I never appreciated how hard it must be for you.”

Manfred laughed. “You’ll never know.”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Why does she hate you? I know why she hates me, but she looked at you the same way.”

Manfred said, “That, brother, is something I may or may not choose to disclose someday, but for the time being, let us just say that Mother has never appreciated the way I choose to live my life. As the second son, who would not inherit, it was only a source of some slight conflict. Since Stefan’s . . . demise, the tension has increased significantly.”

“Sorry to have asked.”

“That’s all right. I can appreciate why you’d be curious.” Manfred turned toward the door. “And sometime I may just tell you. Not because you have any right to know, but because it would make Mother supremely unhappy if I did.”

With what Erik considered an evil smile, Manfred left the room. Erik sat back, waiting for the servants to bring his bath water. He had dozed off when they knocked. Sleepily he rose and opened the door, and a half dozen servants entered, carrying buckets of steaming water and a large metal tub.