Wrath of a Mad God (26 page)

“Who built it? The Dasati?” asked Magnus. Pug understood his son’s question. The constructions on this world and Kosridi were massive, beyond the abilities of people on Midkemia or Kelewan who had built some impressive structures by
human standards. But the scale of the building and engineering in this world required such things as they had observed: massive doors beyond any known means of moving; arching bridges that spanned miles and defied the imagination. Nothing they had seen of the Dasati indicated that this was a significant population with the talents and abilities to build such things, nor was there a hint of any new construction or projects. To all appearances, it was a society stagnant to the point of necrosis.

“Where does this take us?” asked Pug.

“Into the heart of madness,” replied Nakor as the tram sped along into a vast tunnel leading to the darkness.

The tunnel seemed endless. Pug lost track of time, though he was certain they had been moving for less than half an hour. Still, at the rate of speed they were traveling, they must be at least ten or more miles from where they boarded. “How much longer?”

“We’re about halfway. That’s why I said we had to hurry. And we cannot linger at our destination. Or at least I can’t. You and Magnus can decide what to do when I show you what you need to see. I have to get back before they rouse the recruits lest Bek does something…well, something that Bek might do.”

Pug noticed that since coming to the second realm, Nakor’s usually cheery spirits were all but absent. He was subdued, and Pug could understand why: not only were the Dasati a grim and bloody people by human standards, but their concept of humor was almost exclusively limited to pain and suffering. There was more. Over the last few weeks, there had been a growing sense of despair and fear, and the attitudes and habits of the population in the city had been changing. Fewer ventured out after dark, and markets that had been thronging when Pug had first arrived on Omadrabar were all but deserted. Groups of Lessers scurried in the shadows and cringed visibly as Deathknights rode past. Deathpriests and Hierophants were all but absent from public view, being locked away in the black heart of the Dark One’s temple, involved in preparations for the Dark One’s next horror.

Martuch and Hirea were even more stoic than usual, barely
speaking unless asked direct questions. Pug was left with the impression that there was usually a sense of relief after a Great Culling, a sense of survival and relative calm. But this time something was different. Rumors abounded in the city, but no one really knew what was coming next, for nothing like this had ever occurred before. The loss of two of the TeKarana’s legions was a sacrifice unprecedented in Dasati history.

The tram jerked and slowed and Nakor said, “We get off in a moment.”

They stood up, and when the tram moved alongside a long platform, they all stepped off. “This way,” said the little gambler.

They hurried down another long corridor and then Nakor stopped them. “From here I got lost, and the only reason I wasn’t killed was because Bek behaved himself back at the training barracks so no one noticed his Lesser was not there for a day. I wandered around and found this thing I must show you. But now that you’re here we can get there fast.” To Pug he said, “You need to make us invisible again.” To Magnus he said, “You need to fly us, straight up there.” He pointed up into the gloom above them. “It goes very far up. Then you’ll need to fly us straight that way”—he pointed straight ahead—“and then we’ll need to go down, very far down, into a very dark place. Are you ready?”

Pug said, “Yes,” and wove his enchantment, rendering all three of them invisible.

“Hold on,” said Magnus, and Pug gripped Nakor with one hand, and his son with the other. They rose straight up into the air, rising rapidly until there was nothing but gloom above and below.

“How far up does this go?” asked Pug.

“Seventy-five flights of stairs, but I lost count so it may be seventy-six or -seven.”

They reached the topmost floor and Nakor said, “A bit more, over the rooftops.”

Magnus took them up until they were higher than the highest roof. The sky above was still lost in darkness. “How big is this place?” asked Magnus.

“Really big,” answered Nakor. “I used a couple of tricks
and the best I can tell is that the roof is another two thousand feet above us.”

“Who could build such a thing?” asked Pug.

“And how?” said Magnus.

“Only the gods, I think,” replied Nakor. “Only the old gods of the Dasati.”

Remembering the Necropolis of the Gods in Novindus, Pug said, “Perhaps. Certainly I can’t imagine any mortal being building this.”

“Neither can I,” said Nakor. “And I can imagine a lot of things.”

They flew above the huge set of rooms below them, and at last came to a vast cavern. “How big, do you think?” asked Pug.

“Miles,” said Nakor. “They have a lifting device I found a distance from here, and it took a long time for me to get where we are going. But no matter where I was, or what sort of tricks I used, I couldn’t see the far side. It was like standing on the edge of a great bay where you can see coasts curving to your right and left, but vanishing into the mist, and you can’t see beyond the horizon.”

“Where are we?” asked Magnus.

“Ah,” said Nakor. “I thought you’d have deduced it; we’re in the Temple of the Dark One himself.” Softly, he added, “He’s down there.”

Downward they sped, through a murk unmatched by anything Pug had ever encountered, for not only was it devoid of light, it was as if life itself had been leached out of the very fabric of reality. Soon they saw a light below them, an angry red-orange glow with a tiny fringe of green at the edges. “The god is down there,” said Nakor, softly, as if fearful of being heard.

“But won’t we be seen?” asked Magnus.

“It seems occupied with its own concerns,” said Nakor. “At least the last time I was here, it didn’t pay attention to me.”

They continued down, until a shape emerged in the middle of the red-orange glow. At this distance it was a large featureless
black mass, but as they approached they could see it was undulating around the edges. “What is that?” whispered Magnus.

Nakor said, “That is the Dark God.”

Pug looked astonished. He had interacted with the gods on Midkemia but they had always presented themselves in roughly human form. This being, however, looked nothing remotely like a human or even a Dasati.

It was enormous, easily hundreds of yards across, and its shape was difficult to apprehend, because the edges kept moving, flowing and undulating, as if a supple bag of some material had been filled with oil or water, yet it moved with a slower motion than liquid. Pug was reminded of silk flowing slowly in a breeze. There was no color on the surface of the being, yet it could not properly be called black. The sensation was that of a void of color and light, without the accompanying energies visible to the Dasati eye. Evil, was how Pug thought of it, yet even that was attributing too much vibrancy and dimension to it. It was devoid of anything he could recall…save for one time! He pushed aside a stab of fear bordering on panic.

The head of the creature was massive, but dwarfed by the enormity of the rest of its body, rising up at least four feet above the torso, on some semblance of a neck.

“Somewhere out there,” said Pug, “there are arms and legs.” There was a tone in his voice Magnus and Nakor had never heard before.

“What is it, Father?”

Pug looked more closely at the creature’s head, at the two searing red slashes of glowing orange light in the black mask. Around the head, like a crown, floated flickering tiny red flames.

“I know it,” he said.

“What?” asked Nakor. “What do you mean, you know it?”

“It is no god, Nakor, or at least not as we understand such things.”

Magnus said, “What is it then?”

“The Dark God of the Dasati is not of this realm, or of any other we comprehend. The Dark God of the Dasati is a creature of the Void. We are looking at a Dreadlord.”

“What?” asked Magnus, steering them away from the Dreadlord toward the edge of the vast pit. Little was known of the Dread, but he had heard enough to understand why his father’s voice was forced to calm; his father was frightened, and Magnus had never experienced that before. “What is it doing here?” he asked, his own calm barely maintained.

“Ah,” said Nakor. “That explains much.” He sounded surprisingly unfazed by the revelation. Magnus glanced at Nakor and saw the little gambler had his eyes fixed on the Dreadlord, studying it as they moved across the pit.

They could feel a strange heat rising, a heat that was both unnatural and troubling. The red-orange light from below seemed to liquefy, as if the Dreadlord were squatting in a huge lake. Pug had a worrying idea. “See that green flame dancing across the surface of the liquid?”

“Yes,” answered Nakor. “Life trying to escape.”

Magnus said, “We can see life?”

“I’ve seen it once before, when your mother and I helped Calis destroy the Lifestone and set free all the trapped souls within.”

“Like so many things we can’t see as humans, we can see with Dasati eyes,” answered Nakor. “This monstrous entity is living in a sea of captured life. It is bloated to a massive…thing, huge beyond its original capacity. It has become engorged, like a glutton at a feast that never ends, swollen like a monstrous tick endlessly sucking blood from a dog. Look!”

As they approached the edge of the vast pit, they could see that there was a ceremony under way. A dozen Deathpriests stood arrayed in two rows, behind which stood armed Deathknights wearing orange armor. Pug assumed they were temple guards. A long line of shuffling Lessers came inching toward the edge of the pit, and when each reached the edge, a priest would give a quick benediction and they would be pushed over the edge. The Lessers fell into the roiling surface of the liquid, which Pug now understood was mostly blood, and sank from view.

Those who hesitated were picked up and thrown in by
Deathknights. Most wept or had a shocked look of resignation on their faces, but a few revealed wide-eyed panic and some tried to bolt. Those who did were cut down by the Deathknights standing behind the priests, and their bodies were rolled into the mass.

“Over there!” said Nakor, and Pug looked to where he pointed. A small raised dais, perhaps used by some high-ranking official, perhaps even the TeKarana himself, had been erected here from which to observe the endless sacrifice.

Nakor said, “Magnus, can you remember this place well enough to bring us back here in a hurry if you need to?”

“I think getting us
out
of here in a hurry would be a better idea.”

“That, too,” whispered Nakor. He added, “Sometimes the creature seems to sleep but I wouldn’t want to try to sneak in that way again. Last time I was with a bunch of those poor souls who are being fed to that monster so I was unnoticed when I walked in.”

“How did you get out?” asked Pug.

“I used some tricks,” Nakor said. “Come, we need to start back: I don’t want to leave Bek unattended.”

“Nakor, is Bek the Godkiller?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” answered the little gambler as Magnus lifted himself and his two companions into the air. “But he has a role to play. When I’m sure it’s safe to leave him, there are some places I must visit.”

“Where?” asked Pug.

“There are rooms all over this temple, many containing scrolls and things that no one looks at anymore. These were once a great people, Pug. Magnificent even, and I think it
was
the Dasati who built these amazing places. That meant they were like the Ipiliac. Much of their creative greatness was drained away by the need to survive between the realms. Here, the Dasati turned all their energies to build, to create, to investigate. They must have had great scholars, poets, artists, musicians, healers, and engineers living here. They must have been almost gods themselves when this horror came to them.”

“There is so much we may never know,” said Pug. “How
a creature of the Void came to live at the heart of this world…”

“Better go faster, Magnus,” said Nakor. “Time is fleeting.”

Magnus used more speed in leaving than he had in approaching, so they rapidly reached the top of the enormous pit. As they descended down to the tunnel leading to the tram, Nakor said, “Whatever Bek’s role may be, I believe he needs to try to kill it.”

“But you said you didn’t know if he was the Godkiller,” said Magnus.

“Yes, he may not be, but he needs to try.”

“How do you know, Nakor?” asked Pug.

The little gambler emerged from his invisibility. “I don’t know how I know, Pug. I know a lot of things and I don’t know how I know them. I just do. Now, we had better move along.”

Pug and Magnus became visible, too, and Nakor turned to hurry down the tunnel toward the tram. The father and son exchanged a silent question. Both knew that Pug had not removed the invisibility from Nakor. Nakor had done it himself.

Pug hurried along after the strange little man wondering if he would ever learn the truth about him.

M
iranda shouted in aggravation.

Unable to contain her frustration, she threw the message across the floor. She swore, then said, “The King won’t see me.”

Caleb said, “It’s understandable, Mother. Father hasn’t been on good terms with the Crown of the Isles for many years. In fact, he hasn’t been on good terms with any nobles save those working with the Conclave.”

“I’m your mother! I don’t expect you to be reasonable. I expect you to agree with me.”

Caleb was motionless for a moment, then he started to laugh. “I see. I’m sorry.”

“I’m losing my sanity,” said Miranda as she began to pace in her husband’s study. “I fear I’ll never see your
father again, despite his reassurances that he will return. I fear for Magnus and even Nakor.” Softly she added, “I really don’t know what to do next, Caleb.”

Caleb had never seen his mother so distraught. She even sounded helpless as she admitted her uncertainty. His mother was many things, but never in her life had helpless been one of them. There had to be a reason for this lack of decisiveness. “What is it?”

She sat down in her husband’s chair. “I’m agonizing over what your father would do in this situation. Would he simply appear in the King’s private chambers and threaten him?”

“Hardly,” said Caleb. With a wry smile he added, “You might, perhaps, but not Father.”

She glared at him a moment, then was forced to smile. “Yes, you’re right.”

“I think he’d find those nobles of influence who are most favorably disposed toward us and speak with them.”

“That’s either old Lord James or Lord Erik.”

“James is, by some convolution, a cousin,” said Caleb.

“That might have some weight in persuading him to intercede with the King. Erik, on the other hand, is an old companion of Nakor, and he’s seen at firsthand what enemies like the Dasati can do. He stood at Nightmare Ridge.”

That one statement spoke volumes. Miranda knew that those who had suffered and fought through the Serpentwar would understand the price of not preparing, not standing staunchly against the coming insanity. If the Dasati were not stopped in Kelewan, there was nothing to prevent them from invading Midkemia next. The problem was that few who had stood at Nightmare Ridge, or who had fought in any fashion against the Emerald Queen’s army during the Serpentwar, were still alive. And even those who were still living were in their seventies or eighties. Those few nobles who hadn’t retired to their estates were outnumbered by younger men, to whom the Serpentwar was just a fight their fathers or even grandfathers talked about. Like the Riftwar, or the War of Jon the Pretender, or so many struggles with Great Kesh, it was
just another bit of history, and it couldn’t be like that now, could it?

Miranda weighed her son’s words silently. Outside, a bird called and she glanced out to see that it was a beautiful morning on the island, and the sun was burning off the predawn mist. “You’re right. We need men on our side who understand what is at risk. I’ll send a message to Lord Erik.” She thought for a moment, then said, “But I will not give up on Lord James. I think, though, I’ll need an intermediary.”

“Who?”

“Jim Dasher, his grandson. He’s apparently more in touch with what it is we’re facing, since he found those creatures of the Void. I will see him soon, and ask him to intercede with the Duke of Rillanon.”

“When are you going to see him?”

“This afternoon,” said Miranda, “which is in about an hour given how far east of here the Peaks of the Quor are.”

“I’ll be interested in what you find there.”

Miranda stood and went to her son’s side. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, “I know you chafe at being in charge here, and I’ve stolen Lettie from you for a while, so you don’t even have the assistant I promised you. But if she’s going to take over for you someday, I need her to be aware of every significant issue facing the Conclave.”

“Take over for me?”

“You don’t think I’m not aware of how difficult it is for you to be a leader, Caleb? You’ve always been a loner, in so many ways. I don’t know if not being a magician caused it, or if you would have been this way in any event. I was thrilled when you found Marie and brought her and the boys here, for I despaired that you would ever find a mate—I wouldn’t have minded some grandchildren who were really yours, because Magnus certainly hasn’t shown any signs of giving me any.”

Caleb laughed, genuinely touched by his mother’s concern. “I’m a man full grown, as they say in Yabon, Mother. I’ve made many choices beyond those set for me by you and Father.
I wouldn’t be your son if I hadn’t come to the same conclusions you had: we serve because we must.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Caleb added, “And I wouldn’t worry about Magnus. He has been in love…once.”

She nodded. Magnus’s very young foray into romance had broken his heart, and he had retreated from matters of intimacy, save with his family. She worried as mothers do, but she often reminded herself that she hadn’t married and started a family until well past two hundred years of age. “Now, I must go. I’m anxious to meet these Quor. I am amazed that there is no mention of them anywhere in your father’s library. Between what he inherited from your grandfather and what he’s added since then…” She took a slow, deep breath. “It’s strange.”

“Before you go, regarding the coming war, what of Kesh and the other Kingdoms?”

“The Eastern Kingdoms are of little matter; we have some allies, but they are low on resources. Kesh feels a debt since we saved the Empire from Varen. She’ll answer the call. But what I fear most is what will happen when I ask for the next favor.”

“Refugees?”

“Yes. There are going to be millions of them. Potentially more than the entire population of Kesh and the Kingdom combined. No ruler is going to welcome that many aliens with loyalties to other rulers over their borders. No, we need another solution.”

“Wynet?”

“The plains above the great escarpment would be perfect, if your father hadn’t already settled the Saaur survivors up there. We’ve remained cordial with them all these years largely by ignoring one another. If we put a hundred thousand Tsurani warriors next to them, they might become irritable.”

“There are a lot of islands to the west.”

Miranda said, “The Sunsets and the archipelagos beyond? Fine if you care to live in a hut and fish for all your meals, but if you want to revive a displaced society…” She sighed. “What we need is an empty world.”

“Is there one?”

“Your father would know,” she said with scantly hidden bitterness.

Caleb kept silent. His parents loved each other deeply, but as with many married couples each had qualities that annoyed the other. For his father, Caleb knew it was Miranda’s insistence on having her own plans and ideas irrespective of what the consensus of the Conclave was; she even had agents of her own who were not part of his father’s larger organization. As for his mother, Caleb knew that she envied, perhaps even resented, Pug’s vast knowledge of worlds beyond Midkemia. For all her powers, Kelewan and the Hall were the only two realms beyond Midkemia that she had explored, and she would never have experienced either of them had it not been for Pug.

“I’ll be leaving for the Sun Elves’ enclave in a little while. Go and get a bite to eat and then come back.”

Caleb nodded and yawned. “Sorry. Been up since before dawn.”

She smiled. She knew well that Caleb was always up well before dawn. She watched her son depart and then sat back, looking at the communications on the desk in front of her. She found it almost impossible to concentrate.

She missed her husband more than she could ever have imagined before this mad venture into the Dasati realm had begun. They had been separated before, but they had always been confident that they would see each other again. This time she was not so certain. Her husband had a secret, something she had been aware of since meeting him during the war against the Emerald Queen’s army. There was something he refused to talk about, something he wouldn’t even hint at, but she knew him well, and from time to time she would catch him looking at his sons in a certain way or, when he didn’t realize she noticed, her. It was as if he were trying to burn their features into his memory, as if he feared each time he left he’d never see them again.

She pushed herself away from the desk. She couldn’t continue sitting there. She knew Caleb would understand when he returned and found her gone. Closing her eyes for a second, she
recalled exactly where in the Sun Elves’ compound she wished to be, then willed herself there.

Tomas turned as she appeared. “Miranda! I thought you might not be coming.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said with a brave smile. Whatever trepidation she might feel about her husband’s absence, she would never show anyone her concern. Firstly, because she hated showing weakness, and secondly because the Conclave required the confidence of its allies, and these Sun Elves were still too suspicious of humans to be counted allies yet. So she knew her continued participation here was needed to build that necessary trust.

Castdanur nodded to her in greeting, and his manner seemed genuinely warm. She did not have a strong sense of this place prior to her first visit with Tomas, but she could feel that somehow things had changed. The old leader of the Sun Elves was almost aglow with happiness. “Lady Miranda—” he began.

“Just Miranda, please.”

“Miranda,” he started over. “My people are in your debt. Lord Tomas told us of your part in destroying the Void beings’ encampment. We have been plagued by them on and off for years and they have cost us dearly.”

Miranda shot a glance at Tomas, whose subtle expression suggested that some things were best left unsaid, such as why the Sun Elves had not petitioned for help from the other elven people when the Dread had first appeared. Debates over independence, stubbornness, and foolhardy choices would be put off for a more relaxed, contemplative time. Right now there was a more pressing concern. “It was my pleasure,” she said. “Tomas actually rid us of them, I merely obliterated the residue of their trespass.”

“It was necessary,” said Tomas. “Had you not, it might have been easier for them to return. Now I think we need only concern ourselves with the original weakness in the fabric of our world that let them slip through in the first place.”

She bit her tongue, trying not to blurt out that the one person best able to discover that leak in the barriers between the real
universe and the Void was on another world, in another plane of reality! Instead, she nodded, and said, “With Castdanur’s permission, I’ll have some of our most gifted magicians work with your spellweavers, Tomas, on that problem.”

Tomas nodded. To Castdanur, he said, “We are ready.”

“Then follow me, please,” said the old elf. He motioned for two other elves to accompany them.

Tomas said, “I don’t think we need an escort, Castdanur.”

The old elf inclined his head in acquiescence, and waved the two away. As they left the compound, Miranda looked around and saw that the new arrivals were already hard at work rebuilding portions of the community that had been neglected. “It looks as if the newcomers are making themselves right at home.”

“They are our brothers and sisters. They return what was lost to us, and you have rid us of the plague that had weakened us. Before I depart on my journey beyond, I will see Baranor reborn.”

“That is a good thing,” Miranda said. Then she realized something was different. “Where are Kaspar and his men?”

“With the return of our brethren, and because of their good works on our behalf, we judged it safe to release them. Kaspar and the one you call Jim Dasher have proven to be elf-friends indeed.” To Tomas he said, “I returned to Jim Dasher the talisman given to him in Elvandar, and to Kaspar of Olasko, I gave another. Both are welcome here whenever they care to return.”

Miranda sighed. “Ah, I need to speak with Jim Dasher.”

“By evening tide, they will be at sea.”

Tomas said, “We can search for them when we’re finished here.”

“No need,” said Miranda as they began trudging up a long trail that circled around the stronghold and wended its way high into the mountains. “I can catch up with Dasher in Roldem.”

They walked quickly up the pathway and Miranda realized after half an hour that she was with two exceptionally good hikers, an elf and a being with the powers of a Dragon Lord. In fact, Tomas despite his heavy armor, appeared to be lingering to allow Castdanur and Miranda to keep up with him. Feeling annoyed at her fatigue, Miranda employed a little magic to make herself
light on her feet, a small spell of levitation so that it felt as if she were strolling along rather than trudging uphill.

For the better part of two hours they hiked an unremarkable trail until they came to a large meadow. Castdanur stopped and said, “Here we enter the true realm of the Quor.”

Tomas said, “I remember.” Miranda shot him a sidelong glance. and he went on, “There are times when Ashen-Shugar’s memories come to me unbidden; things that I did not know until something causes me to remember.” He stood silently for a long moment, fists on his hips, apparently taking in sensations, identifying feelings. At last he said, “I remember…”

Ashen-Shugar sped across the skies, and to those who had been held in thrall, he declared, “Do now as you will, for you are a free people!”

Those known as elves—
edhel
or “the people” in their own language—bowed their heads as one in respect to their former ruler. The others of the Dragon Host had risen against the new gods and as the Chaos Wars raged across the heavens, this one Valheru, the Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches, had taken their destiny and placed it in their own hands.

Other races were also freed, and new races were arriving through great tears in the fabric of space and time. “A great struggle is approaching,” Ashen-Shugar shouted, and by the magic of the Valheru, all those below heard his words. “Take this world and make it your own!”

The people chose various different paths. Those who followed the light of reason, those given the guardianship of lore and wisdom—the
eldar
—led their followers to a sylvan glade and began fashioning a wondrous home, becoming one with the woodlands that would one day be Elvandar. Those who followed and served were called the Elves of Light, the
eledhel
, and from their ranks rose wise rulers, the first kings and queens.