Rage of a Demon King (55 page)

“What?” asked Pug.

Nakor opened his ever-present carryall and reached deep inside. It was not the first time Pug had seen the little man stick his arm inside up to the shoulder, when from the outside the bag appeared to be only two feet deep. Pug knew there was something inside, like a tiny rift, that allowed Nakor to reach through the bag to a location where he had stored an astonishing assortment of items. “Ah!” he said, pulling out one. “I found this.”

Dominic’s eyes widened, while the others stared in curiosity. Nakor held a cylinder, perhaps eighteen inches long, four inches in diameter. It was a cold, greyish white color. At each end of the cylinder was a knurled knob.

“What is it?” asked Miranda.

“A very useful thing,” said Nakor. “You would be astonished at the information this object has.” He twisted one end, and the device opened with a click; a half inch section of the cylinder detached from the side, allowing Nakor to pull out a long piece of what appeared to be a pale, translucent white parchment or paper. “If you pull long enough, you can fill up this room.” He pulled and pulled, and the device continued to emit the long paper. “This stuff is amazing. You can’t cut it or tear it or write on it. Dirt doesn’t stick.” The paper was covered in fine writing. “But whatever you want to know about, I bet it’s in here.”

“Amazing,” said Pug. He looked at the writing and said, “What language is that?”

“I don’t know,” said Nakor, “but over the years, I’ve gained the ability to read some of it.” He turned the knurled end and the page slid back into the cylinder, and again it was without apparent line or flaw, a single piece of unbroken metal. “I just wish I could
figure out how to make it work the way it was supposed to.”

“You would have to study years, most of the surviving lost lore of the God of Knowledge. It’s the Codex,” said Dominic in a reverent tone.

“And that’s . . . ?” asked Miranda.

“The Codex of Wodar-Hospur. It was assumed to be lost.”

“Well, I found it,” said Nakor. ‘The problem is, when I open it, it tells me about things, but never the same thing twice. Some of the material is impossible to understand. Some of it is pretty boring. I think there is a way to get it to give you information that you want, but I haven’t figured it out yet.” He grinned. “But you would be astonished at what you learn if you just sleep with this under your head.”

Dominic said, “It is also known as the Thief of Dreams. Those who sleep too close to it are robbed of their dreams and, after enough time, driven mad.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be the first person to call me a little crazy,” said Nakor. “Besides, I stopped sleeping with it in my room over a hundred years ago. It took me a while, but I deduced it was keeping me from dreaming.” He shook his head. “Strange things happen when you don’t dream at night. I was beginning to hallucinate and, frankly, I was getting a little irritable.”

“What is it?” asked Miranda. “These names mean nothing to me.”

“It is the most holy artifact from the temple of the God of Knowledge,” said Dominic. “It is a text with all the knowledge of the temple of the Lost God of Knowledge contained within it. Wodar-Hospur was a lesser god, but one deemed critical to understanding
all the issues we are discussing now,” said Dominic. “What this vagabond has been carrying around for who knows how many years is an item that would have provided an amazing amount of insight and knowledge to our order if we had possessed it.”

Nakor said, “Perhaps, but then again, you might have sat around for a couple of centuries staring at the thing without ever really understanding what it does.” Nakor looked around the room. “Knowledge is power. You all have power. I have knowledge. Together we have the means of defeating the Nameless One.”

As Nakor said that phrase, it was as if the room darkened a little and turned slightly colder. “The Nameless One?” asked Miranda, and suddenly she touched her temple. “There’s something I know, but . . . don’t know.”

Nakor nodded. “I won’t name him.” He looked pointedly at Dominic. “There are advantages to being a little mad and to having tremendous knowledge.” He looked around the room and said, “Here is the rest of the story.

“The Nameless One is nameless, because even to imagine his name is to call his attention to you. If you do, you’re lost, for no mortal creature has the power to resist his call”—Nakor grinned—“except me.”

Dominic said, “How is this possible?”

“As I said, it helps to be a little mad. And there are tricks that can let you think of one thing without knowing you’re really thinking of it, so when the Nameless One hears his name and comes looking for you, you’re there for him to find. Even a Greater God can’t find you where you’re not.”

Miranda said, “I am totally confused.”

“You are not alone,” said Pug.

Calis smiled. “I think I’m following.”

Nakor grinned at him. “That’s because you’re young.” He looked at the others. “When the Chaos Wars raged, one of the Controller Gods, this Nameless One, whose nature is what you would call evil, attempted to upset the balance of things.

“It was he who warped Draken-Korin and who set the Valheru on their self-destructive path. What they did not realize was that the gods were no threat to them. I imagine this would have been nearly an impossible concept to them, but the gods would have been just as satisfied with Valheru worshippers as with humans, elves, goblins and the other intelligent races who live here now.”

Tomas smiled “I think it safe to say you’re right. ‘Impossible concept’ sums it up.”

“Anyway continued Nakor when the Valheru rose to challenge the gods, the Chaos Wars ensued.” He looked at Tomas. “How long did they last?”

Tomas said, “Why . . . I don’t know.” He closed his eyes as if attempting to remember, but at last opened them and said, “I have no idea.”

“They dragged on for centuries,” said Nakor. “The gods as we think of them are localized, specific to Midkemia, yet they reflect larger realities, ones which affect millions of worlds.”

“I’m lost again,” said Miranda. “Local, yet they stretch across a vast number of worlds?”

Nakor said, “It’s the same as if we’re all sitting around a mountain. Each of us sees it from a different perspective, but it’s the same mountain.

“The goddess you and I call Sung the Pure represents certain aspects of reality, a sense of something profoundly
basic, unsullied, without flaw, absolutely perfect, and that aspect of reality exists in a lot more places than just around the corner from here.” He looked at Miranda. “Which is to say, if you tried to destroy Sung the White, you’d not only create havoc on Midkemia but create problems for a very large portion of reality.”

“Everything’s connected,” said Calis, intertwining his fingers. “You can’t disrupt one part of reality without doing harm to another.”

“So, this Nameless One,” said Nakor, “attempts to disrupt things, to steal an advantage, to create a disharmony in the order of things. He influenced Draken-Korin and the Valheru to do two things: they created the Lifestone and they rose to fight the gods.

“As a result, a lot of the Lesser Gods were destroyed, or at least as destroyed as a god gets, which means they won’t be around for a long time; and others were . . . changed. Killian has sovereignty over the Oceans, where Eortis once ruled. It sort of makes sense, as she’s a goddess of nature, but it’s really not her job.” Nakor shook his head. “You know, this Nameless One, he did some serious damage, all things considered, and we’re still dealing with it.” He pointed in the general direction of Darkmoor, to the west, and said, “A big demon is coming this way, with an army, and he wants that thing.” Nakor pointed at the Lifestone. “He probably doesn’t even know why he wants to come here, or even that this Lifestone is here. And once he gets here, he won’t know what he’s going to do with it. But he’ll do anything to get it. And once he has it . . .”

Calis said, “He’ll end life on this world as we know it.” All eyes turned toward Calis. “It’s the nature of the Lifestone that everything in this world is connected. If you disrupt it, everything dies.”

“That’s the trap,” said Nakor. “That’s what Draken-Korin didn’t understand when he thought he’d created the perfect weapon. He thought that if he unleashed the power of the Lifestone, the energy would blast away the gods, or something like that.” He glanced at Tomas.

Tomas nodded.

“But it doesn’t work like that,” said Nakor. “What would have happened is the world would have died, save for the gods. The Lesser Gods would have been weakened, because there would have been no one around to worship them. But the Controller Gods, they would have been just as they always were.”

Miranda said, “I’m getting a headache. If nothing changed for the Controller Gods, what good does all this do this Nameless One?”

“Nothing,” said Nakor. “That’s the irony. I think he imagined—if I may presume to think like a god—that the general disruption would somehow benefit his cause, would put the other Controller Gods at a disadvantage.”

“Wouldn’t it?” asked Pug.

“No,” said Dominic. “Each god is cast in a fixed role, and within that role they can act, but not outside their nature.”

Miranda stood up, obviously exasperated. “Then what is going on? Why is this god acting outside his nature?”

“Because he’s mad,” said Calis.

“The Days of the Mad God’s Rage,” said Tomas. “That’s the other name for the Chaos Wars.”

“What drives a god to madness?” asked Sho Pi.

The others looked at the student, heretofore silent. Nakor said, “You’re not as stupid as I think,
sometimes, boy. That’s a wonderful question.” He looked around the room. “Anyone have an answer?”

No one spoke.

Nakor said, “Maybe it’s in his nature, but the Nameless One did things that defeated his own purpose. He created a situation that resulted in his being cast out, imprisoned far away.

“Seven gods once lived in balance, each according to its nature. Whatever the reason, the balance was upset. The Chaos Wars caused the destruction of two of the Controllers, for they had to act to preserve what was left of this world. The Matrix, Ishap, the most important god of the seven, is gone. The Good Goddess, Arch-Indar, is also gone, and the Nameless One had to be banished, confined by the other four. His counterpart is dead and the god who kept all in balance is dead, so the remaining four, Abrem-Sev, Ev-Dem, Graff, and Helbinor, had to act. They had no choice.

“So in the end, we’re left with a world out of control, unbalanced, lacking cohesion. This is why so many strange things occur on Midkemia. It makes it an interesting place to live, but a little dangerous.”

Pug said, “Is this speculation or do you know these things?”

Nakor pointed to the artifact. “Dominic?”

“He knows,” said the Abbot of Sarth. “That device was carried by the High Priest of Wodar-Hospur, the God of Knowledge. Reputedly, any question that a man can ask is answered in the Codex. But the price to carry it is extreme. It requires the combined effort of dozens of other clerics in the temple to combat the madness that results from the High Priest’s inability to dream.” He looked at the Isalani. “Nakor, how did you escape the madness?”

Nakor grinned. “Who said I did?”

Pug said, “I have often thought you a little odd, but never have I judged you truly mad.”

Nakor said, “Well, the thing about madness is you can only be crazy so long. After that you either kill yourself or you get better. I got better.” He grinned. “It also helped when I stopped sleeping in the same room with the damn thing.”

Sho Pi said, “How is it that you”—he pointed to Tomas—“who wear the mantle of the Valheru, and you”—he pointed to Pug—“who was the master of two worlds of magic, and you”—he pointed at Nakor—“who possess this item, and Macros, who was Sarig’s agent, are all together at this point in history?”

“We are here to help,” said Nakor. “The gods may have planned it this way, but for whatever reason, we need to repair the damage done so many centuries ago.”

“Can we?” asked Miranda.

Nakor said, “We cannot. Only one being in this world possesses the nature to attempt this.” He turned and looked at Calis. “Can you?”

“I don’t know,” answered Calis. “But I must try.” His eyes returned to the Lifestone. “Very soon.”

Nakor said, “And our job is to keep him alive long enough to try.”

Erik stood behind the lines, watching as his men repulsed another attack, waiting for another assault; Duko was good, and none of his attacks during the day had been wasted effort. It had taken every trick he knew, and calling in the reserves, for Erik to repulse him. Runners carried messages from the other areas of the line, and the news was not good.

The Kingdom was holding, but the entire line was sorely pressed. Patrick feared there was going to be a breakthrough eventually. It was the reason he was withholding the elements of the Army of the East that were camped below the eastern foothills. They stood ready to respond to any incursion. A small army had been sent to impose itself between any forces that might get through and the abandoned city of Sethanon.

It was late afternoon, and when Erik heard the enemy trumpets sound the retreat, he breathed a sigh of relief. A runner had returned from Darkmoor with his uniform, and he welcomed fresh clothing. He was covered in dirt, blood, and smoke, and while he didn’t take the time to bathe, a fresh shirt and trousers would improve his mood.

After he had changed, Jadow came into the tent and said, “We’ve got word some of the enemy have slipped across the ridge line and are holed up in a little canyon a mile north of here.”

“Get a squad and go root them out,” said Erik. “If you need help, grab whoever’s close by, but get those men dug out of there.”

Jadow left and Erik sat down in the command tent. He pawed through the pile of reports and dispatches, and found nothing that required his immediate attention. He rose and left the tent and burned to where food was being served to the men. He refused to move to the front of the line, so he was only a few feet away from getting his rations when a horseman rode up.

It was Dashel Jamison, who waved. Erik looked at the bubbling pot of stew with some regret as he left the line and said, “Hello!”