At the Gates of Darkness

by Raymond E. Feist

  Magnus seemed less than amused. “We have some serious work here for the next few days,” he said.

  Amirantha put his hand on the white-haired magician’s shoulder and said, “You sound disapproving. If Jim wishes to go through the day with his head pounding and stomach turning, that’s his prerogative. We had a good night’s rest and once we’ve eaten, we’ll be off to do our work. The state of his health isn’t a matter for concern today, is it?”

  Magnus shook his head and said, “Sorry. I worry too much.”

  “Takes after his mother,” said Pug, and Amirantha was struck by the fact that this was Pug’s first reference to his late wife that didn’t contain a note of sadness. He hoped that was a sign the magician’s black moods were behind him. Too much depended on Pug’s leadership in the coming fight.

  A few minutes later, Jim appeared, looking far more composed than any of the three had expected. He smiled and said, “We dine,” and led them to the door leading out of the apartment he occupied.

  As if anticipating his need, an Imperial servant waited to guide them to a small alcove overlooking one of the seemingly endless gardens within the palace. Rather than lying on a divan to eat, they sat upon large cushions around a low table. A variety of foods was provided, several Kingdom dishes like fried cake and savory sausage, as well as the more traditional sweet Quegan delicacies. To everyone’s delight, a large pot of steaming Keshian coffee sat alongside a near boiling pot of water and an infuser with one of the more exotic teas from Novindus.

  Jim ate like a man who had starved for a week, and when he noticed the others staring at him, he said, “I worked up an appetite last night.”

  “Apparently,” said Magnus with a slight smile.

  “You scholars can slight the Emperor’s generosity if you wish, and I don’t denigrate your reasons, but it would have been an insult had I left the festivities too early last night.”

  “We noticed,” said Amirantha. “She was very pretty.”

  “Very smart, too,” said Jim. “I managed to get out of the orgy by getting off in a corner with a particularly attractive server, which given the differences in our cultures, my host assumed had something to do with Kingdom modesty.”

  Pug began to smile. “She was a spy.”

  “Of course, and if I get back this way any time soon, I’m going to do my best to turn her.” As if to himself he said, “Though if she won’t turn, I’ll have to kill her and that would simply be a waste.” Looking at his three companions, he said, “It was a certainty the Quegan intelligence service would have several agents watching us.”

  “The young woman seated with me?” asked Pug.

  “No,” said Jim. “She is what she says she is: the minor daughter of a very minor noble, who if the Emperor can’t marry off to some minor functionary”—he waved his hand at Pug—“will have to marry off to some distant cousin, and this Emperor would rather save himself even that modest dowry.” Looking at Amirantha, he said, “That voluble fellow who bent your ear last night, now he is one of the service’s best men. I doubt you even know how much you told him.”

  “Only the truth,” said Amirantha. “The questions he asked about my homeland were obvious, but it was equally obvious after a while that I knew little he would find useful. He asked about the Maharaja’s army, and I said it was big. I had no idea how big—which is true—just big.”

  Jim grinned, and took a drink of coffee. “You have the makings of a good spy, Amirantha.”

  “I gamble,” said Amirantha. “I expected anyone asking a lot of questions could read a lie, so I find limited truth works well in those situations.”

  “Ah,” said Jim. “We must play cards sometime.”

  “What are we doing today?” asked Magnus, already knowing roughly the plan, but not the details.

  Jim chewed a mouthful of juicy melon, then swallowed. “I meet with functionaries until midday, at which time I dine with a few minor nobles—the Emperor and anyone of rank are done with me—and then I’ll come find you in the archives.

  “You three will be about your business and someone will see to your midday meal. After we dine tonight, we’ll discuss the next day’s work.”

  They all understood that meant stealing the Great Book of Demons should they locate it, but no one spoke of it.

  They finished eating and when they were ready, servants came to escort them to their different destinations.

  Pug, Magnus, and Amirantha were led through a series of long hallways and across several large galleries and gardens, until they started down a long tunnel which they took to indicate they were heading into a portion of the palace excavated from the very soil under the palace.

  When they emerged into the sunlight, they could see they were now on the back side of the rolling hills that supported the palace, looking down at a far less populated portion of the city. There were still ample houses and estates nearby, but below there the jumble of merchant and poor houses was minimal. Instead they could see an ancient wall beyond which a vast rolling series of hills, atop tablelands, were dotted with farms.

  They trudged down the long road to another entrance, this one into a long and low façade with a dozen large windows, but most of the building had been constructed back into the hillside. “Gentlemen,” said the servant, “we are here.”

  He turned and left, and the three magic-users exchanged glances.

  “We are here,” echoed Amirantha mirthfully.

  Pug smiled, nodded, and indicated they should enter.

  Once inside, Pug saw a long hall and off to the left a gallery illuminated by the sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. Two long tables trisected the room, and around them were arranged chairs. Opposite the windows were the end-caps of a half dozen shelves, each with books arrayed so that the spines were out.

  A woman sat waiting and seeing the three men enter, she rose and crossed to them, a smile on her face. “Richard, how nice.”

  “Livia,” said Pug, bowing slightly. “I believe you met my companions.”

  “Yes,” she said, “albeit briefly. Martin, Amirantha. It’s a pleasure to see you once more.”

  Amirantha’s expression broadened. “As it is mine,” he replied. “I was sorry I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with you last night. Perhaps…?” He let the question hang.

  She glanced at Pug as if gauging his reaction, then said, “Perhaps. Now, what may I do to help?”

  Pug said, “Martin and I are commissioned by the King of Isles and the Prince of Krondor to investigate certain discrepancies in our relative histories, especially looking for accounts of the period after Kesh’s withdrawal from the region, but prior to the Kingdom’s expansion westward through Yabon.”

  “I think I know where to start you,” said Livia. Looking at Amirantha, she said, “And you?”

  “I have a different charge, from my master, the Maharaja. At this point, I would be interested in subjects of a mystical nature.”

  “Mystical?” she said, as if not quite understanding.

  “Our faiths are much the same as yours, but apparently there are some differences. Our gods have different names, and slightly different aspects.”

  “How odd,” she commented. Then realizing she sounded judgmental she quickly amended that by saying, “I mean, it’s odd that there are differences, not that your view is odd.”

  “I took your meaning,” said Amirantha with a broad smile. “It might help my understanding if you could show me anything on…non-faith tales of magic and spirits, ghosts, and demons, let us say. Sometimes the tales of the villages and towns give us more insight into the beliefs of a people than the official records of the government or temples.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she replied. “Let me get you two”—she said to Magnus and Pug—“situated, then we”—she said to Amirantha—“will start looking for folk stories and legends.”

  With a smile and a nod, Amirantha conveyed he was amenable to this, and for a reason he couldn’t qu
ite put his finger on, Pug found himself annoyed.

  They moved off down the hall, toward the rear of the archives.

  Amirantha stood with his mouth closed only by conscious will. The term “jaw dropping” had entered his mind as he stood looking at a mountain of tomes, books, scrolls, and codices. There was one table in the far corner of the room, and no chair.

  Livia said, “I’m sorry, but for the sort of thing you’re looking to find, this is the most likely spot.” She gently touched his arm, which he found both reassuring and distracting. “My people, as you will no doubt discover, are predisposed to three, no make that four, issues. Glory, both military and commercial, comprise two of the four. The third is self-aggrandizement, for I will confess we are a vain culture. Lastly, pleasures of the flesh, which you would have discovered had you remained at the banquet last night.”

  Amirantha tried to appear disinterested. “I’ve been to an orgy before, Livia.”

  “As have I, and like you I left before it began, but what I’m trying to say is, if it’s not wealth, war, vanity, or lust, it’s in there.” She pointed to the massive mount of writings.

  “So what you’re saying is that Richard and Martin”—he used Pug’s and Magnus’s false names—“are likely to find only officially blessed histories where they are researching.”

  “No, they are finding the only histories not fed to the fire. However, there may be one thing or another in this mess that might provide them with a clue or two about what really happened in years past. However, for your research, any discussions of folktales, myths, superstitions, reports of encounters with the gods—not sanctioned by the temples, of course—or anything else you might find intriguing, it’s in there.” She again pointed to the mass.

  Amirantha was silent a moment, then said, “I have three requests.”

  “What may I do to accommodate you?” she said with a clear double meaning as she studied the still-handsome Warlock.

  He smiled his most charming smile and said, “First, could you arrange to have a pot of hot water and some tea brought to that table over there? I will not risk spilling anything on these old volumes, but I do prefer to refresh myself from time to time.”

  “Of course. What else?” she asked, touching his arm again.

  “Could I have a ladder?” He inclined his head toward the mass and said, “It would be better for whatever is in there if I took the volumes off from the top down. A small ladder, ten feet tall or so, should serve.”

  She laughed, and he found the sound of it and her look delightful. “Of course. I’ll have that sent along at once.”

  “Could you provide me with a servant, to haul books aside if I don’t wish to look at them, and have him bring along some writing implements and paper or parchment as I wish to take notes.”

  “Of course,” she said, though he noticed at once her manner was cooling.

  Understanding a moment was slipping away, he added, “Perhaps I should have said four things. Would you dine with me tonight?” He quickly added, “Assuming Lord James doesn’t insist on the three of us dining with him, of course.”

  She hesitated only a moment, not wishing apparently to appear too anxious, and said, “If your sponsor doesn’t require your presence, I would enjoy supper with you.”

  She turned and in a playful fashion looked over her shoulder and said, “I’ll have the tea, ladder, and servant sent to you at once.” Her smile could only be called seductive, as she added, “And I’ll come back later to see if there is anything else you need.”

  “Thank you,” said Amirantha, fully enjoying watching her walk away. The long Quegan toga might run from shoulder to floor, but it hugged her curves in a most tantalizing fashion.

  Taking his mind off the lovely woman, he turned and began to consider the prodigious task before him. Sighing, he reached out and took a book at random off the pile. He opened it and found it to be written in a language alien to him. Glancing around to ensure he was unobserved, he took from his belt pouch a small item Pug had given him before they arrived in Queg. He did as he had been taught and incanted a short phrase, holding the trinket to his forehead, then put it away. When he opened his eyes, the letters on the page seemed to swim, then come together in words he could read. Softly to himself, he muttered, “I should have met these people a hundred years ago!”

  Now able to read this ancient Quegan text, he began to read softly aloud. “‘On the matter of the stars and their locations in the heaven by seasons…’” He read another page, then put aside the amateur astronomy text and looked around. To no one he said, “You know what you want is at the bottom of that pile, don’t you?”

  “Sir?” came a voice from behind.

  “Oh,” said Amirantha, seeing two servants in the doorway. One held a tray with a pot and infuser, a cup, and a canister of tea, and the other held a short ladder. “Never mind.” He pointed to the stocky man with the ladder and said, “Put that over there and climb to the top, and gently pull down the topmost book.” To the other he said, “Put that on the table, please…” As the servant moved to do as he was instructed, Amirantha said, “And find me a chair for that table. Thank you.” He turned his attention to the man climbing the ladder and the job that lay before him.

  The day wore on, and Amirantha drank two pots of tea. Other than having to relieve himself three times before lunch, his morning was uneventful; there was nothing remarkable about his findings. He had chanced across a few interesting things, a treatise on higher consciousness and the gods—which he found more compelling for the absolutely blind leaps of faith than he did for any compelling evidence to support the hypothesis, but done in language both precise and elegant. He found himself admiring it despite it having no relevance to his current search.

  There was one interesting account of a very bad famine, more family chronicles than he imagined possible; the Quegans were a self-aggrandizing people beyond his imagination. Even modestly successful merchants had commissioned family histories—most of which were far more fanciful than fact, he surmised. One particularly vivid but improbable tale concerned a merchant from the Kingdom city of Krondor who had contrived to build a fortune out of thin air, or so he claimed.

  There were a couple of interesting finds, beyond their value as quaintly curious; a book of “dark spells” that had more truth in it than the author understood; anyone with a talent for magic would recognize elements in it. He put it aside in case Pug or Magnus might be curious.

  Another work was a chronicle of a struggle between two temples, neither of which he recognized. The magic he used to read foreign languages did not make the understanding of proper nouns any easier. Someone named Rah-ma-to was named Rah-ma-to, and his only insight into that worth anything was context. He might be a local god, a local name for one of the gods he knew, or a farmer, for all Amirantha knew. Still, it touched on something of myth and magic, so he set it aside.

  Other volumes were likewise curiosities, but nothing remotely akin to the information he was seeking. He wondered if Pug and Magnus were having any more luck.

  Time of the midday meal was announced by the arrival of Livia. The charming Quegan woman seemed amused by the sight of Amirantha on his knees stacking books. “Are you finding anything?”

  He pointed to a dozen volumes stacked over on the table next to the empty—again empty—teapot and said, “Those look promising.” He exaggerated, but he wanted to make this look like a worthwhile undertaking to bolster his need to return.

  “I’ve come to take you to the archivists’ quarters, where a repast has been provided.”

  He rose up and found his knees slightly stiff. Feigning more discomfort than he felt, he said, “I need walk a bit more, I think. Too many days of sitting and I’m turning into an old man.”

  She smiled as she slipped her arm through his in a gesture of familiarity. Amirantha had dealt with flirtatious women all his life and knew he had been judged and found appropriate enough to warrant further scrutiny. He considered
the oddity of this culture’s social constraints if a woman this attractive and bright might consider a foreign scholar of modest means a suitable substitute for a man of rank in her own nation; then he remembered women of her age who saw their child-bearing years coming to a close and reconsidered. She might be ready to marry the first man who asked.

  He sighed and considered his need for pleasure and weighed it against possible injury to her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry,” he replied.

  “You sighed, and a rather heavy one at that.”

  He smiled. “Oh, just the amount of material yet to be considered is daunting,” he lied. He would dismiss the servant after lunch. The pile was manageable enough now for him to sort through it, and now that he was becoming used to the manner in which Quegans recorded their personal histories, business records, and the other sea of useless trivial piled up inside the archives, he should be able to get through the bulk of this by supper.

  “Perhaps you might stay longer?”

  He smiled as he looked at her and saw that his instincts in this were almost certainly correct; this woman needed to find a husband and start a family. With a pang he realized that he didn’t find the idea repellent, just impossible.

  He shook his head. “As I understand it, the agreement between your Emperor and the King of Isles is three days, no longer. As I am but a companion to the official researchers…” He shrugged.

  “I might talk to someone,” she ventured.

  “I live a very long way from here,” he said neutrally, but she took his meaning.

  She fixed him with a narrow gaze and pulled away ever so slightly. “You have a wife?”

  “No, nothing like that,” he said. “My work…consumes me.”

  “Ah,” she said as if that explained everything.

  They remained quiet until they reached the room set aside for their meal. A modest lunch by Quegan standards, but a small feast by anyone else’s, was waiting for them. A moment after Amirantha had been shown through the door, Pug and Magnus arrived. Their escort and Livia withdrew, leaving the three of them alone.