Magician’s End (65 page)

To the south of E’bar, in the mines of the Grey Towers, ancient passages that had once housed the chambers of the Lord of the Eagle’s Reaches, the last of his kind, crumbled into dust and vanished into the crater. Dwarves who had heeded Pug’s warning felt the earth cry out and fled. Many survived, eventually reaching kin in Dorgin or Stone Mountain. Many did not.

The last King of the Dwarves, Dolgan, died that day, and the legendary Hammer of Tholin was lost beneath the rock and soil.

As far to the south as the Isle of the Snake Men, and as far north as the Thunderhell Steppes, unnatural magic scarred the land. A herd of elk was suddenly turned to stone, and a field of poppies bloomed on the ice floes for a few moments before withering from the cold.

A caravan crossing the Jal-Pur from Ipithi to Durbin was struck by a massive wave of sea water that overturned wagons and nearly drowned camels and men before suddenly vanishing, leaving everyone soaked and disoriented, shaken but alive.

In Timons, an elderly man sat up and sang in a language no mortal had heard, bringing tears to the eyes of those who heard him, then he lay back and died peacefully.

In the Free City of Walinor, a massive wall of granite three hundred feet high thrust up from the earth and the town sank two feet, destroying foundations, felling walls, killing dozens of citizens. When the dust had settled, travel west became impossible, and from that day forward the sun would set in mid-afternoon as it dropped behind the eastern rim of the vast crater.

Around the globe the magic raced, arching high into the air to turn clouds golden and pink for a moment, then diving into the ground to cause a spring to form or a marsh to dry up.

A ship in the Sea of Kingdoms saw a creature the size of a mountain rise up out of the water like a whale breaching, a thing of copper scales and golden fins, but instead of falling back into the water, it kept rising until it vanished into the clouds above.

On the other side of the world, the northern half of the escarpment of the continent of Wynet rose an additional two hundred feet. The Saaur warriors and their families felt the upheaval and wondered what new threat had followed them to this world.

Where a mighty range of mountains had once stood, now only hills rose up from the Far Coast and the Free Cities, and those hills surrounded what would ever after be known as the Sunken Lands, a crater of immense size and depth that prevented travel between the two coasts.

At the heart of the rubble, as water sought out new levels, dust settled and strange and alien life fashioned by wild magic began to take root.

Beneath it all came a sound not unlike a sigh. And then there was silence.

•
CHAPTER THIRTY
•

Aftermath

P
UG AWOKE.

At least that was how it felt as he became aware of having a body and an identity. He knew his name, and his history, and if he had held any doubt, he had a headache massive enough to remind him of the consequences of his first foray into Duke Borric’s ale shed.

But he was surrounded by utter stillness and complete and utter darkness. He took a deep breath and was rewarded by the sensation of air entering his lungs, so he did not think he was trapped in the void. Besides, the void was a featureless grey, not this utter black.

Then he saw a pinpoint of light ahead and attempted to will himself toward it. Nothing happened. He tried a different approach and attempted to use the light as a reference and move towards it. Again, nothing happened. He held up his right hand before his face, blocking out the light for an instant, then tried to create light of his own.

Nothing happened.

Then he noticed the light seemed to be growing brighter. After a few minutes he could see it was also growing larger, and he decided to wait. Not that he had any other option, he conceded ruefully.

He had questions, countless questions, but first and foremost, even more than where he now found himself, was: how had he survived? He had pulled half the world of Midkemia down on himself, or at least that was how it had felt. The image that stayed with him was the Valheru and the Dread locked in time, struggling in an instant that would never change, as a mountain fell on him, crushing him …

Pug felt remarkably fit for someone who had just been crushed under a mountain.

As the light grew larger, he realized it was approaching and soon he heard the sound of footfall: a hollow sound, leather slapping on a stone floor. Soon he saw that in addition to coming closer, the light was swaying slightly, and then he could see the shape of a man, or a manlike being.

A man in a robe holding a staff shaped roughly like a shepherd’s crook, from which hung a lantern, walked toward Pug at a steady pace, apparently in no hurry. As he neared, his features began to resolve themselves, but Pug failed to recognize him. He was stocky, rotund even, with an almost cherubic face. His hair was cut in a tonsure fringe and he wore a brown robe with a triple-wrapped brown leather belt. His feet were clad in cross-gartered sandals and his face bore a faint smile.

‘There you are,’ he said. ‘Didn’t quite end up where you should.’

Pug was still unable to move and now he found he was unable to speak. He was immobilized and none of his magic worked. All he could do was to watch and listen.

The monk motioned with his hand. ‘Come along,’ he said, then turned his back and started walking whence he came.

Pug floated along after him, though floating didn’t really convey how he felt. It was more simply a case that he just was where he was, how he was; and apart from the monk, whom he could barely make out over the toes of his feet as he looked down the length of his body, there was nothing else to see.

Then, abruptly, the darkness vanished and Pug found himself floating above a white tiled floor. The monk waved and Pug felt himself released from whatever paralysis had gripped him, and he started to fall. Reflexively, he tried to use a bit of magic to slow his fall; he couldn’t, and landed on his backside.

‘Sorry about that,’ said the monk.

Pug examined his surroundings as he stood. The whole large room was white and it contained a white table and two chairs of white wood bearing white satin cushions, a white sideboard, and a white canopied bed.

‘You catch me in a white mood,’ said the monk, sitting in one of the two chairs. He indicated that Pug should sit. ‘This happens once in a while. I grow weary of colours and choices.’ He waved his hand and suddenly the floor was cerise and the walls a deep burgundy. The wood of the furniture was black lacquered and the canopy over the bed was rusty brown and there were suddenly golden fixtures on the walls, burning with light. ‘You see?’ said the monk. ‘It’s nice, but one grows bored quickly, and then there’s the endless permutations and matches.’ He waved his hand and the black wood was now blonde with a high gloss, the canopy and covers black, while the floor and walls were of a nicely contrasting honey-coloured wood. At last he gave a wave of the hand and again everything turned white.

‘Who are you?’ asked Pug. ‘And where are we?’

‘Where is something of a matter of conjecture. I have wrestled with that concept for many years and so far I have not achieved a reasonable answer. Just more conjecture and speculation.’ He sighed. ‘I think of this as my waiting room.’

‘Waiting room?’ said Pug, as if the very concept of a room in which you wait was odd.

‘Antechamber?’

‘Ah,’ said Pug. ‘I have waited in antechambers before. I think I see.’ He studied the monk. ‘I assume you know who I am, as you came and got me.’

‘Yes,’ said the monk. ‘Pug, the magician. Known as Milamber on Kelewan before you blew up the planet.’ He shook his finger at Pug. ‘Forgive my presumption, but I thought that was a rather ham-fisted way to deal with the Dread incursion from the third realm.’

Pug said evenly, ‘Best I could manage at short notice.’

‘I suppose so,’ said the monk.

‘Where was I a moment ago? When you came to fetch me?’

‘I don’t rightly know what to call it. It’s not the void, certainly, as that has distinct properties even if they are deuced hard to apprehend. I call where you were the Nether, as I think it’s even below the void. Or it might be the Neither, as its neither here nor there!’ He seemed amused by that. ‘Forgive me. I have waited a very long time to use that jest.’

‘If we’re waiting,’ said Pug, ‘what is it we are waiting for?’

‘Ah, me, where are my manners?’ said the monk. ‘I am waiting to be reborn, or rather I am in the process of being reborn, though it is very slow as such things go. I am Ishap.’

Pug was speechless. Finally he said, ‘The Balancer?’

‘The very one,’ said the Monk, standing and taking a bow.

‘I thought you … Controllers weren’t personified.’

‘Well, that’s usually the case, and sometimes when I finish returning, I’ll have too much on my hands to bother interacting with mortals, or even the Lesser Gods on the majority of occasions, for that matter. But at the moment, I’m waiting.’

‘And what am I doing here?’

‘That is a very good question,’ said Ishap. ‘And at the moment, I have no really clear notion what you’re doing in my waiting room.’

‘Midkemia is a strange world, in many ways,’ said Ishap.

‘So I have discovered,’ agreed Pug.

They had been sitting for a while at the table, silently, each caught up in their own thoughts. Pug considered it very strange that he felt no significant emotions about what he had endured before arriving here. He had felt his son die, and seen his best friend die before that, had witnessed horrors and pain beyond imagining, yet he felt calm and without concern as he waited. Even his sense that this was strangely inappropriate as a response was distant and muted. He was content to sit in silence staring at the white walls, or to respond to Ishap’s occasional remark, but he wasn’t even sure if he would use the word ‘content’ in this circumstance. Simply put, he was aware and unconcerned. Along with his other emotions, curiosity was blunted as well. Yet there was a certain desire for a logical conclusion

‘Would you care for something to eat?’ asked Ishap. ‘We don’t need to eat, but occasionally it serves to blunt the boredom.’

‘You get bored?’

The monk shrugged. ‘In a manner of speaking. I exist as you see me now because I am scarcely alive in terms of how gods are supposed to live. I’m little more than a mortal at this stage. On the other hand, I won’t be needed until Arch-Indar is reborn. I can’t balance until all the forces are in existence. There is only so much time that even a god can dedicate to reconstituting his being and gathering together his essence to become alive again. Occasionally, a break in the routine is welcome. I think some grapes.’

A platter of grapes appeared and he plucked one, popped it into his mouth and motioned that Pug should help himself. ‘Another advantage, the food is always perfect. These are delicious.’

Pug declined. ‘I find it odd that I have little interest in any of this, which is hardly my nature. And perhaps even more unusual is that I merely find it odd and not profoundly disturbing.’

‘I suspect it’s because you are now dead. The dead have little ambition.’

‘I’m dead?’ Pug looked at the back of his right hand, then put it up to his face and touched his own cheek. ‘I don’t feel dead.’

‘How would you know? Have you been dead before?’

‘I believe so,’ said Pug. ‘I—’

Ishap waved his hand dismissively. ‘That business with the demon and your curse. Yes, I know about that, but you weren’t dead. You merely hovered at the brink.’

‘If I’m now dead, then why am I not before Lims-Kragma?’

‘I do not know,’ said Ishap. ‘Perhaps we should ask her.’

He waved his hand and they were no longer in the little waiting room, but standing in a familiar setting, the Pavilion of the Gods. Pug looked around and said, ‘I don’t understand.’

Ishap actually grinned. ‘I do get lost in my rebirth at times, and your appearance is a wonderful excuse to break up the monotony; I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. I was happy to find you once I became aware you were floating out there in the Nether. I thought a bit of a visit and a little conversation would be welcome, but this is far more entertaining.’ He glanced around, then shouted, ‘Lims-Kragma, if you would be so kind!’

Lims-Kragma appeared in all her majesty: black veils, a clinging gown with silver netting sewn into the hem and sleeves. ‘You’ve been granted a moment.’

‘A moment?’ asked Pug. For the first time since his arrival, he felt a stir of feeling: irritation.

The other gods appeared and Kalkin said, ‘We felt you deserved to know you closed the rift. There was a great deal of destruction and much loss of life but the world, and the larger universe, is safe for the time being.’

‘Time being?’ muttered Pug.

Ishap smiled cheerily. ‘It’s a matter of scale. The time being is several million years, so we can all catch our breath, in a manner of speaking.’

Pug felt as if something profoundly important was missing within him. ‘I don’t think I care, really. Should I?’

‘The dead do not care,’ said the Goddess of Death.

‘Then why am I here?’ asked Pug. ‘Why are we not in your hall? Why am I not being judged and returned to the Wheel of Life or sent on to my reward?’

Kalkin, who now looked like Jimmy the Hand, smiled. ‘Well, there is this one thing, Pug. You’re not entirely dead.’

‘I’m alive?’

‘No, not that either,’ said Kalkin.

The ancient figure of Arch-Indar appeared and in a scolding tone said, ‘Tell him the truth, Trickster!’

‘She’s rapidly becoming a conscience,’ said Kalkin with a scowl. ‘When you manipulated the time stream – and by the way, that was truly impressive – you contrived to do two unexpected things. First, you drove almost all the Dread back into the void.’

‘Almost?’

‘There’s this … bit of the Dread that got trapped in the bottom of that crater you created. It’s dormant, unaware, and buried under hundreds of feet of rock. Compared to the totality of what you faced, it was just a tiny bit. By the standards of what you’ve previously faced, you have a sleeping Dreadlord at the bottom of a vast crater.’