Rage of a Demon King (13 page)

Pug said, “I really don’t know. A feeling, nothing more. I’m certain Macros is alive.” He then described how when they had last sought the Black Sorcerer, Gathis—then Macros’s and now Pug’s majordomo at Sorcerer’s Island—had indicated that there was a bond between them, and should Macros be dead, Gathis would somehow know it. Pug finished by saying, “Several times over the last few years I’ve had this sense that Macros was not only still alive but . . .”

Miranda now looked thoroughly irritated. “What?”

Pug shrugged. “That he was somehow close by.”

Under her breath she let out a sound of aggravation. “That wouldn’t surprise me.”

Martin smiled with wry amusement and asked, “Why?”

Miranda glanced out over the lights of Elvandar and said, “Because my experience is that most of these ‘legendary’ individuals turn out to be no more than a well-constructed sham, designed to convince us all of their importance, rather than any real indication of their true significance.”

Aglaranna sipped her wine and sat next to Tomas on a long bench by the railing. “You sound more than irritated in a general way, Miranda.”

Miranda dropped her gaze a moment; when she raised it again to the Elf Queen, she was composed. “Forgive my petulance, lady. We of Kesh often struggle with issues of appearance, rank, and court standing that have nothing to do with worth or value in any real sense. Many rise high by dint of birth while others far more worthy never achieve any significance, their lives spent in trivial work. Yet those ‘great’ nobles have no sense they achieved high rank by a simple accident of birth.” She made a sour expression.

“They think the fact their mothers were who they were ample proof of the gods’ favor. Given my . . . history, I have had to deal with more than my share of such men. I have . . . little patience, I fear, for such as they.”

“Well,” said Tomas, “Macros did construct his own legend to protect his privacy, I’ll grant, but as one who stood beside him more than once I can attest his legend is nothing but a shadow of his real power. He faced a dozen Tsurani Great Ones in this very forest, and while the magic of our Spellweavers aided our struggle, against the alien magicians he alone strove, and he destroyed their works and sent
them fleeing to their own world. He is alone among men I would dread opposing. His power is nothing short of astonishing.”

Pug nodded. “Which is why we need to find him.”

“Where do we start?” asked Miranda calmly. “The Hall?”

Pug said, “I don’t think so. There are too many people willing to sell information who live in the Hall of Worlds.” Dryly he added, “And not all of it is accurate.” He sat across from the Elf Queen and said, “I thought we might journey to the City Forever and question the Dreadmaster we imprisoned there.”

Tomas shrugged. “I doubt he would know much more than we already discovered. He was but a tool.”

Acaila said, “Have you considered this sorcerer might be here on Midkemia?”

Martin said, “Why?”

The eldar said, “Pug’s ‘feeling.’ It is something I would not dismiss or set aside lightly. Often such feelings are our own minds informing us of something we haven’t apprehended consciously.”

“True,” said Redtree, taking a bite from a large red apple. “In the wilds one’s instincts must serve, else a hunter doesn’t return with food for his family, or a warrior is left behind on the field of battle.” Looking at Pug, he said, “Where did you feel this Macros’s presence the most?”

“Oddly enough,” said Pug, “at Stardock.”

“You didn’t say anything,” offered Miranda, her voice almost accusing.

Pug smiled. “I was often distracted.”

Miranda had the grace to blush. “You could have said something at one time or another.”

Pug shrugged. “I dismissed it as stemming from the fact that most of his powerful tomes and scrolls are housed in my tower. I often feel as if he’s looking over my shoulder when I read them.”

Tathar said, “There is also this matter of that artifact retrieved from the southern continent.”

Aglaranna spoke. “The Spellweavers feel there is something alien about it.”

“Absolutely,” said Tomas. “And it is more than the Pantathian presence. There is something about this that is alien even to the Valheru.”

Martin said, “There is something I don’t understand.”

“What, old friend?” asked Calin.

“In all of this, since the first Tsurani ship was wrecked on Crydee shores to the fall of Sethanon, no one has asked one important question.”

“Which is?” asked Acaila.

“Why have all these plots, all these plans, involved such chaos and destruction?”

Tomas said, “It is the nature of the Valheru.”

Martin said, “But we haven’t faced the Dragon Lords; we’ve faced only their agents, the Pantathians, as well as those who’ve served or were duped by them.”

Pug tried to dismiss Martin’s observation. “I think we’ve seen ample proof of the nature of the Pantathians.”

Martin said, “You mistake my meaning. What I’m saying is that in all of this, much is without apparent motive. We’ve assumed things, over the years, about why and how the Pantathians were acting in the fashion they have, but we don’t
know
why they’re behaving the way they are.”

Pug said, “I must be guilty of some oversight. I still don’t see your meaning.”

Miranda said, “Because you’re not paying attention.” She stepped past Pug to stand before Martin. “You’ve got an idea.” It wasn’t a question.

The old bowman nodded. Turning to Tathar, Acaila, and Redtree, he said, “Feel free to correct anything I say that isn’t as it should be.” To Pug and Tomas he said, “You have powers I cannot begin to imagine, but I have spent most of my life here, in the West, and I know the lore of the edhel as well as most men, I wager.”

“Better than any human living,” offered Tathar.

“In the lore of the eledhel,” said Martin, “some things are said about the Ancient Ones.” He faced the Queen. “Most Gracious Lady, why is that usage preferred?”

The Queen considered the question a moment, then said, “Tradition. It was once believed that to use the name of the Valheru would be to call their attention.”

Miranda said, “A superstition?”

Martin looked to Tomas. “A superstition?” he repeated.

Tomas said, “Much of the memories given to me of the ancient times is clouded, and even those that are well remembered are the memories of another being. We share much, but much is also unknown to me. The power was once given to the eldar to call us by speaking our names aloud. That may be where this belief originated.”

Martin better than anyone, except Pug, fully understood the strange duality of Tomas. He had known this half-alien man when Tomas and Pug had
been boys at Castle Crydee, and had watched as the mystic armor of the long-dead Dragon Lord Ashen-Shugar had transformed Tomas into the strange being he was today, neither fully man nor Dragon Lord but something of both.

Tomas looked at the eldar and said, “Acaila?”

The old elf nodded. “The legends say such. We who were first among the slaves of the Valheru were able to contact them. This may have given rise to the practice of never speaking their names aloud.”

Miranda said, “What, then, is your point?”

Martin shrugged. “I’m not even sure I have one, but it seems to me that we’re making many assumptions here, and if any one of them is incorrect, we risk all by building our plans upon such mistaken beliefs.” He stared into Miranda’s eyes. “You returned from the land on the other side of the world with artifacts, apparently made by the Ancient Ones, yet Pug and Calis both say they are ‘tainted,’ not what they seem to be.”

Acaila again nodded. “They are not pure. We know enough of our former masters to recognize that another hand has touched these items.”

“Yet they sing to you?” offered Pug.

“Yes, they are much of the Valheru,” offered Aglaranna.

Martin said, “So, then, whose is that other hand?”

“The third player,” said Pug. Looking at Miranda, he said, “The demon, I assume that’s who he meant.”

Martin nodded. “I think so, as well. What if the Pantathians are not tools of the Ancient Ones but rather are tools of these demons?”

Tomas said, “That would explain a few things.”

“Such as?” asked Redtree, taking a sip of wine.

Pug said, “The Dread, for one.”

Acaila asked, “What of them?”

Tomas said, “They are an unlikely ally for my brethren.” He used the term
brethren
for the Valheru when he was caught up in thinking as one.

“And an even less likely tool,” supplied Acaila. “What lore has passed down through the generations of the eldar always shows the Dread to be rivals to the Valheru on the occasions when they crossed paths.”

“Yet,” said Pug, “we didn’t consider the oddity at the time.”

With a faint smile, Tomas said, “We were a bit preoccupied.”

Pug’s brow furrowed and his expression was a question.

“The Riftwar?” Tomas added, with a laugh.

Pug returned the laugh. “I know what you mean, but what I mean is, why didn’t you think of this before?”

It was Tomas’s turn to look perplexed. “I don’t know. I just assumed the presence of the Dreadmaster in the City Forever and the Dreadlord at Sethanon were part of the Valheru attempt to distract us. I assumed somehow the Pantathians made contact with those creatures—”

Acaila interrupted. “You have memories and some knowledge, and great power, Tomas, but you lack experience. You are less than a century of age, yet you wear powers not gained in five times that span.” He looked around the gathering. “We are as children when we speak of beings like the Valheru and Dreadlords. We are presuming when we attempt to understand them, or apprehend their purpose.”

Pug said, “I grant that, but we must try, for there are things that cannot be allowed to simply come to us; we must discover the purpose behind those who seek to take the Life-stone and end us all.”

Miranda said, “All of which brings us back to this: we know little and we need to find Macros the Black, and you still haven’t suggested where we start to look.”

Pug looked defeated. “I don’t know.”

Acaila said, “Perhaps you should cease looking for a place and begin looking for a person.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pug.

The ancient elf said, “You spoke of a sense of Macros being close by. Perhaps it is time to turn your focus on that sense, look for the presence, and let it lead you to the man.”

Pug said, “I don’t imagine how that is possible.”

“You studied with me for a brief time, Pug. There are many things we have to teach you still. Let me instruct you and Miranda now.”

Pug looked at his companion, who nodded.

“Do I need to come along?” asked Tomas.

Acaila looked at the Warleader of Elvandar and shook his head. “You’ll know when it is time to leave, Tomas.”

To those of the Queen’s court he said, “We will need to retire to the contemplation glade. Tathar, I would appreciate your help in this matter.”

The old elven adviser bowed to his Queen and said, “By your leave, lady?”

She nodded and the four of them left the Queen and Tomas’s private quarters. Down through the bowers that formed the elven city in the trees they moved, until they came to the ground, where large cookfires were brightly burning.

They moved silently away from the heart of Elvandar until at last they came to a tranquil glade. Here Tomas and Aglaranna had pledged their vows; here only those ceremonies most important to the elves were conducted.

Pug said, “We are honored.”

“It is necessary,” said Acaila. “Here our magic is most potent, and I suspect we need to use it to ensure your survival.”

“What do you propose?”

“Tomas spoke to me of your previous travels to the Halls of the Dead, through the entrance at the Necropolis of the Gods. While we have a different vision of the universe and its order, we elves understand your human vision enough to know that only Tomas’s raw strength allowed you to survive that journey.”

“I awoke with my lungs burning and feeling as if I had been frozen to my bones,” said Pug.

Acaila said, “You do not enter the realm of death while you are alive—not unless you make extensive preparations.”

Pug said, “Are we to return to Lims-Kragma’s halls?”

“Perhaps,” said Acaila. “That is why we must do what we are to do here. Time passes differently in other realms, that much we remember from our Master’s travels across the dimensions. You may be gone but hours, yet experience years. You may be gone months, yet experience minutes. We have no means to know which will be true. However long it takes, you are to leave your bodies for a while. Tathar and I will ensure your bodies are ready to receive you when you return. We shall keep you alive.”

Miranda said, “We appreciate the effort.”

Pug turned and saw her dubious expression. “You don’t have to come,” he said.

“I must,” she said. “You’ll understand.”

“When?”

“Soon, I think,” she answered.

“What must we do?” Pug asked Acaila.

“Lie down,” he answered.

They did as he bade and he said, “First, you must remember what I said about the passage of time. This is important, for you must hurry while you are in spirit form. If you linger but for an hour, months may pass here on Midkemia, and we know how quickly the enemy approaches. Second, your bodies will follow your spirits. When you return, you may not find yourselves here. If all goes as we hope, you will arrive where you need to be, and Tathar and I will know you were successful because you will awaken here or your bodies will vanish from our sight. Last, we cannot help you return. This is something you must accomplish by your own arts. We shall know if you fail only when your bodies die despite our efforts. Our arts can do only so much.

“Now close your eyes and attempt to sleep. You will see visions. When they first come to you, they will be as dreams. But they will become more real to you as the moments pass. When I call to you, stand up.”

Pug and Miranda closed their eyes. Pug heard Acaila’s voice as the ancient eldar Spellweaver began chanting. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the words, but he could not quite recognize them. It was as if he heard the words of a song forgotten the moment he heard the words.