At the Gates of Darkness

by Raymond E. Feist

  She wore the traditional Quegan toga, which clung to her well enough to promise a full healthy body. Her features were strong yet feminine, and she had deep, dark brown eyes, and a tiny touch of grey amid her auburn hair, worn loosely to her shoulders. While Pug had little interest in dalliance, he still found her attractive and interesting. She was introduced to him as a fellow academic, an archivist assigned to assist him and his companions the next day. Pug was certain that she’d prove helpful, just as he was certain she was charged with observing everything the three visiting academics did and would report back. What he didn’t know was if she was an archivist playing at being a spy or a spy playing at being an archivist.

  “Really?” said Pug in a noncommittal tone as he selected a ripe pear lightly coated in honey and sprinkled with crushed almonds. He bit into it and said, “Unusual, but very good.”

  “You get bored with…” She sighed. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing. My parents were very minor nobles, ragged cousins of some very important people. I was not likely to marry well, so they secured me a position here in the palace.”

  Unsure what to say, Pug merely nodded. Then he asked, “Do you enjoy it?”

  She seemed less than enthused, but said, “It can be interesting. Occasionally someone such as yourself arrives to disrupt the monotony.”

  Pug smiled as if flattered. He was now certain she was a spy, sent to seduce him and discover if there was anything more to him than the story provided by Baron James of the Prince’s Court in Krondor. He glanced at where his son reclined, and saw that a somewhat younger and equally attractive woman had been paired with him. Amirantha was paired with a very academic-looking gentleman, and Pug held a grin in check. Amirantha had revealed himself to be something of a lady’s man over the time Pug had known him, while Magnus…Pug occasionally worried about his last surviving son. Magnus had been terribly hurt by a young woman when he was barely more than a boy, and had retreated from becoming involved with women since then. Pug was certain he occasionally succumbed to his more fundamental needs—he was injured, not dead—but while he might have enjoyed the company of a courtesan in Kesh or a better brothel in Roldem, Magnus had avoided several advances by young female students at Sorcerer’s Isle over the years. It would have worked out better for the Quegan intelligence apparatus had they placed the academic gentleman with Magnus and the pretty woman with Amirantha.

  Pug turned his attention back to Livia and asked, “Seriously, do you like working in the archives?”

  She shrugged. He had touched on something and wondered just what preparation for this visit she had been given. If she was a Quegan agent, she would have some knowledge of the archives, but would hardly be an expert.

  She said, “To be truthful, it’s a boring calling. Once in a while I get something to read that is interesting, and I don’t mind those hours. My task is to write a one-paragraph précis of the work, assign a location within the archive, and ensure that my entry is copied into the main codex of the archive.” She fixed him with a calculating gaze. “I could return to your quarters with you, if you’d like, to discuss some of the more esoteric volumes in the archives. Some are quite…revealing.”

  Pug held a smile in check and merely inclined his head slightly, as if thinking about the offer.

  “Unless you prefer to stay for the orgy?”

  Pug’s eyebrow lifted slightly. Of all the nations in this part of the world, he had visited Queg the fewest times, and had forgotten that some of their customs were radically different from the Kingdom or even Great Kesh. Now he remembered why all the servants would be young and attractive. The after-dinner orgy was a staple of grand welcomes for foreign visitors and certain holidays. He had no moral qualms about other people’s behavior for the most part, but his own feelings demanded intimacy be limited to a committed love.

  Not having to feign his feelings, Pug softly said, “I just recently lost my wife.”

  Livia’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. Was it sudden?”

  “Very,” said Pug. “It will be a while before I’m…”

  She reached out and touched his hand lightly. Her tone remained bright, but her expression was solicitous. “If I can do anything, please.”

  Pug admired her persistence. He sighed. “Someday, I’d like to return and then, perhaps.” He slowly rose. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I shall retire before the…festivities commence.”

  “Of course.”

  “I look forward to seeing you in the morning,” he said.

  “Until then.”

  Magnus and Amirantha both had noticed him stand up and were watching. Pug made a slight inclination with his head toward his two companions, indicating they should leave as soon as possible. Jim was deep in conversation with a noble but Pug knew he missed nothing.

  Pug retired to his quarters and found wine, sweets, nuts, and cheeses waiting, and sat heavily in a divan before the window. He hadn’t eaten much at the supper, and wasn’t particularly hungry now, but he did feel like a sip of wine. He picked up the carafe and then closed his eyes. He had learned a spell years before, one that would cleanse the wine of any drug designed to incapacitate or poison. He doubted this was necessary if the object of the exercise was to aid a seduction, but caution was the byword on this journey.

  A few minutes later Amirantha appeared. Laughing slightly, he said, “You and Magnus get the pretty girls, but I get the scholar who wants to ply me with questions about Muboya!”

  “Well, that is logical,” said Pug. “Most people love to talk about their homes and the Quegans view all outside this island as potential enemies.”

  “I told him plenty,” said the Warlock, sitting down in a chair on the other side of the room. “Some of it was even true.”

  Pug smiled broadly at that one.

  Magnus entered and with a raised eyebrow said, “Orgy?”

  “It’s a local custom,” said his father.

  “Maybe we should come back?” quipped Amirantha.

  Both father and son looked at him with a narrow gaze, one of the few times a resemblance was evident. Magnus was tall and pale, while his father was short and dark, but that look was identical.

  After a half hour of idle conversation, they decided to retire. As they stood to enter their respective rooms, Amirantha said, “I wonder if Jim stayed.”

  Pug smiled. “As ranking noble, it would have been something of a political incident for him to leave.”

  Amirantha sighed. “I noticed he did keep that one very pretty serving girl at hand.” Shaking his head slightly, he said, “It’s heroic what that man does for his King.”

  Pug chuckled and Magnus laughed as they both closed their doors.

  CHAPTER 8

  FORTRESS

  Sandreena signaled.

  The two Knights-Adamant she had recruited—Brother Farson, who had been arriving in Krondor as she prepared to leave, and Brother Jaliel, who was already in Durban when she arrived—reined in their horses. Her newfound rank gave them no option but to change their current plans and follow her. She indicated they should stay while she slowly urged her horse on.

  To a parched, desolate desert fortress she had led them. Abandoned by Great Kesh’s Empire centuries ago, apparently, for almost nothing here looked like a fortification. A few large stones that were once a wall, a single foundation of a gate that was half-buried under dust, and some stairs leading down into a labyrinth of tunnels and storage rooms. So little was left aboveground you could ride past a hundred yards on either side and not notice that once the Empire had thought this pass worth defending.

  The two Knights were told only what she felt she needed them to know until they reached this point. Using the documents left her by Creegan, she had followed an ancient trade route out of Durban, south into the Jal-Pur, then southwest into the foothills. Those would eventually rise up in the west as the Trollhome Mountains, but here they were merely a landscape of tablelands and rising hills. Whatever the name of this once pr
oud fortress, it was known to the desert men as the Tomb of the Hopeless. To the south of this position was a valley with the even less appealing name Valley of Lost Men.

  Before leaving Krondor, she had gone over the maps in the Order’s keeping of this region, and none showed either the fortress or valley. She took it as a matter of trust that Creegan wouldn’t have insisted she read the report if he hadn’t wanted her to act on it, and she was equally certain that he expected her to do exactly what she was doing, run off and take matters into her own hands. Simply put, there was no one in Krondor besides herself to do so. She knew Creegan had a relationship with Pug and the others on Sorcerer’s Isle, but in rushing off to Rillanon to become the Order’s leader, he neglected to leave her any hint about how to contact them. She suspected there were some others, like whoever gave her the messages in Durban in the first place, who were Kingdom agents of the Conclave, but she had no idea how to identify and contact them, either.

  She remembered the young man who had fetched her from Ithra after she had almost died in her first encounter with the Demon Legion’s agents on Midkemia. Zane was his name. But she had no idea how to reach him. Frustrated that Creegan put this on her alone, she pushed down her concerns to deal with the matters at hand.

  Farson and Jaliel were reliable, but neither of them had been named on Creegan’s list, so there were things she could not tell them. All they knew was that this was a special undertaking at the Father-Bishop’s request and that secrecy was paramount. Though how secret could it be when three Knights-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak all rode out of the city together at sunrise into the desert? They had headed due east then turned south and circled around to the ancient caravan trail. Sandreena did not know if the Imperial Keshian Intelligence Corps was following, but she was certain they knew she and the others had left. When they failed to appear at the usual oasis in a few days, they might send someone out to track the three knights. She was hoping earnestly that by then, whatever business brought her here would be finished and they would be heading back to Krondor.

  It was near sundown when they reached the edge of the ancient fortress. While the carnage that had taken place when the report had been written had been weeks before, the scene was no less grisly. The corpses were now bones, picked clean by scavengers and the drying heat and blowing sands. But enough connective tissue remained that a few skeletons hung from the makeshift gibbets around the edge of the clearing. The piles of ash contained the contorted forms of those who had been burned alive, and everywhere bones riddled with arrows lay in the open. Hundreds had been slaughtered here for some unknown dark purpose.

  Sandreena called out, “You can come up now!”

  The two other Knights rode into the ancient fortress and Jaliel said, “Goddess! What manner of butchery is this?”

  Farson looked at Sandreena and said, “Sergeant, if you don’t mind my saying, this is a little more than you usually find in any mission, secret or otherwise. Are we to know what is going on?”

  “I’ll tell you what I know,” she said. “There is a very dangerous, evil man named Belasco, who consorts with dark powers. He has won over followers and they did this.” She decided to omit that most of the dead were fanatics who had gone willingly to their death. It was an unnecessary detail not needed for these two to do their duty.

  “Sergeant,” said Farson, “what happened here?”

  “I only have a rough idea, but it appears a cult of death worshippers have appeared.”

  The two Knights exchanged glances, and Sandreena knew exactly what they were thinking. A death cult was more the province of the worshippers of Lims-Kragma or perhaps even Sung the White, but not usually a concern with the servants of Dala.

  Sandreena said, “Father-Bishop Creegan is concerned that they may be abducting local villagers as sacrifices.”

  It was not a complete lie, for she could imagine that might be part of Creegan’s concerns, but left it at that. For whatever reason the Conclave of Shadows had made alliance with the most important man in the martial order of the worshippers of Dala, and perhaps it was simply that Pug didn’t have anyone else to call upon. Certainly she knew there were few around who had as much experience with demons as she did, for she had destroyed more than her share. Still, for not the first time since departing Krondor she wished that the Goddess—or at least Creegan—had given this promotion to someone else.

  “Are you both carrying wards?” she asked.

  “Against what, Sergeant?” asked Jaliel.

  “Necromancy, demons, and anything else you can think of?”

  Both Knights patted their hip bags, in which they carried their wards.

  “Good,” she said. “We have no idea what we’re going to find down there.”

  “Down where?” asked Farson.

  She pointed south. “Down there in the Valley of Lost Men.”

  Farson’s expression communicated how much he liked hearing that, but he remained silent.

  “We’ll rest up for the night, then head down at dawn.”

  Without further comment the men tied their mounts and then began untacking them. Sandreena unloaded a small bag of grain off the back of her mount then took off the saddle. Each Knight carried a brush and began currying their mounts once they had been secured and untacked. Sandreena took it upon herself to fill and fix nosebags for all three horses; the two Knights thanked her. All three knew that they needed to start back within two days, else the horses would begin to starve. There was no grazing or fodder anywhere between their present location and Durban, just arid tablelands, hills covered in thorns, and the odd dry desert plants that would bloom briefly after a rare rain, but otherwise were dried and dormant. It was hard to believe that any of this area needed defending.

  One mystery that presented itself—and Sandreena was surprised no one else had brought it up, either Creegan or the author of the report he had her read—was why in ancient times had Kesh built a fortress here in the first place? The Trollhome was, as the name implied, the residence of creatures best avoided. Mountain trolls were smarter than their lowland cousins, who were little more than animals, but the desert was an effective barrier against them troubling anyone. If she knew where the caravan route had originally ended, perhaps then it would make sense, but as far as she could judge from all the old maps she studied before leaving Krondor, the route ended in the valley below.

  As she brushed she mused over what might be down there. An ancient gold mine or source of some other wealth would dictate the route ran east, eventually terminating in the city of Nar Ayab, then on to the capital city of Kesh. She deduced whatever had been moving along the route, it had been going from Durban to this location. Maybe, she speculated, this was the terminus and the reason for the route was a quick supply from the nearest Keshian city. Which would mean the only reason for this fortress would be to keep whatever was down in that valley in that valley.

  She finished and broke out her own rations, saying, “Cold camp,” to her companions. They were both veteran Knights and a night without a fire was nothing new to them. They understood there was a possibility someone or something out there was watching.

  The three ate in silence, then when they were done eating, Sandreena said, “Jaliel, first watch; Farson, last.” They both nodded, but each silently thanked her, for as leader she was taking the least desirable watch. She lay down using her saddle as a pillow and with years of habit ingrained in her, fell asleep within minutes.

  Dawn came hot and dry, which was no surprise, but with an early wind. The wind was a blessing and a curse, a blessing in that it would kick up enough dust that it could prevent them from being seen should hidden sentries be posted along the trail down into the Valley of Lost Men, and a curse because if it was blinding enough, Sandreena and her companions could lose the trail and find themselves taking a very quick route down to some unyielding rocks below.

  Sandreena spoke loudly, to be heard over the rising wind. “How many demons have you
faced?”

  Farson said, “Two, Sergeant.”

  Jaliel said, “Seven, Sergeant.”

  She said, “Jaliel, you’ll bring up the rear in case we get jumped from behind.” To Farson she said, “Do not do anything unless I tell you. Demons can be very tricky sometimes and let one of us lead.” He nodded. Both Knights knew that she was right; she hadn’t asked how many demons they had defeated, because if they hadn’t defeated all they had faced, they wouldn’t be here alive.

  Sandreena realized Jaliel had faced down two more than she, but hers had been particularly nasty and without Amirantha’s aid…She silently cursed herself for a fool at the sudden stab of feelings from thinking of him. He was a miserable excuse for a man, a charmer with no substance and his words were honeyed lies. Still, he knew more about demons than any man she had ever met, and right now she’d put aside her urge to strangle him in exchange for his ability to control the monsters.

  “Grab a tail,” she instructed.

  Farson moved up behind her mount from the side—against an unexpected kick—and gripped the warhorse’s tail. The mare snorted, but she had been through this before. Jaliel did likewise with Farson’s horse, and the three slowly began their descent from the platform down into the Valley of Lost Men. This way no one would wander and missteps would be kept to a minimum.

  The wind blew blinding gusts of dust and small objects, pieces of plants, dried insect carcasses, a powdery grit like chalk or ash that coated the skin and matted hair. Twice they found large outcroppings of rocks to shelter behind as the wind picked up in intensity and the howling in the air made even the well-trained horses paw the ground, nicker, and snort. Sandreena patted the nose of her mount in reassurance, but she was hardly in a position to reassure anyone, even her mare. The impulse that drove her to undertake this mission now looked like an impossibly vain idea. Still, each time she had been visited by doubt she returned to the same conclusion; there was no one in the temple save herself and Creegan, and two other Knights, their whereabouts unknown, who could possibly follow up on what that mysterious Kingdom agent had reported.