A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond E. Feist

  Then they saw the first city. A mighty river, reminding Pug of the Gagajin on Kelewan, cut across the grasslands. On the southern shore a city had arisen, and farther south farmland could be seen. Far to the southwest, in the haze of evening, a range of mountains rose: the Pavilion of the Gods.

  Ryath began to descend, and they soon approached the centre of the range, a pair of peaks that rose high above those surrounding, disappearing into clouds, the Pillars of Heaven. At the base of the mountains, deep forests hid anything that might have existed. The dragon spent the last minutes of light seeking a clearing in which to land.

  The dragon set down, then said, ‘I go to hunt. When I finish, I shall sleep. I would rest for a time.’

  Tomas smiled. ‘You will not be needed for the balance of this journey. Where we venture, we may not return and you would have difficulty finding us.’

  The dragon projected a sense of amusement at that last remark. ‘Thou hast lost some sense of things, Valheru. Else thou wouldst remember there is no place within the span of space I may not reach, should I have but a reason.’

  ‘This place exists beyond even your ability to reach, Ryath. We enter the Halls of the Dead.’

  ‘Then thou shalt indeed be beyond my ability to find, Tomas. Still, if thou and thy friend survive this journey, and return to the realms of life, thou hast but to call and I shall answer. Hunt well, Valheru. For I shall.’ The dragon rose upward, extending her wings, then with a leap and a bound she launched herself into the darkening sky.

  Tomas remarked, ‘She is tired. Dragons usually hunt wild game, but I think some farmer may find a brace of sheep or a cow missing tomorrow. Ryath will sleep days with a full belly.’

  Pug looked about in the deepening gloom. ‘In our haste, we neglected such provision for ourselves.’

  Tomas sat upon a deadfall and said, ‘Such things never occurred in those sagas of our youth.’

  Pug looked at his friend questioningly and Tomas said, ‘Remember the woods near Crydee when we were boys?’ His expression turned mirthful. ‘In all our youthful dramas we conquered our foes in time to get home for dinner.’

  Pug joined his friend in sitting. With a small chuckle, he said, ‘I remember. You always played the fallen hero of some great tragic battle, bidding his loyal followers good-bye.’

  Tomas’s voice revealed a thoughtful tone. ‘Only this time we don’t simply get up and return to Mother’s kitchen for a hot meal after we’re killed.’

  A long moment passed. Pug said, ‘Still, we might as well make ourselves as comfortable as we can. This is as likely a spot to wait for dawn as any other. I suspect the Necropolis is overgrown, else we would have seen it from the air. We’ll be better able to locate it tomorrow.’ He added, with a faint smile, ‘Besides, Ryath isn’t the only one who’s tired.’

  ‘Sleep if you feel the need.’ Tomas’s eyes studied something in the brush. ‘I’ve learned to ignore the need at will.’ His expression caused Pug to turn his head, following Tomas’s gaze. Something moved in the dark.

  Then a roar erupted from the forests behind them. One moment the clearing had been silent, then something or someone was leaping out of the woods upon Tomas’s back.

  The half-cry, half-roar was answered by a dozen more. Pug sprang to his feet as Tomas was rocked forward by the impact of the thing upon his back. But while this creature or man seemed near Tomas’s equal in size, no mortal upon Midkemia was his equal in strength. Tomas simply stood erect, gripping the thing on his back by a handful of fur. With a yank, he tossed it overhead as he would a child, sending it crashing into another creature running toward him.

  Pug clapped his hands together overhead and the glade rang with the sound of a thunderclap centring upon him. It was deafening, and those nearby faltered. Blinding light erupted from Pug’s upraised hands, and those surrounding Tomas and Pug froze.

  They looked to be tigers, but their bodies had been altered into man shapes. Their heads were orange with black stripes, as were their arms and legs. Each wore a cuirass of blue metal and breeches ending at mid-thigh, of some blue-black material. Each carried a short sword, and a belt knife.

  In the glare they crouched, blinded by the light of Pug’s magic. He quickly incanted another spell and the tiger-men toppled. Pug staggered a little, inhaling with a loud sound as he sat upon the deadfall. ‘That was almost too much. The spell of sleep cast on so many…’

  Tomas seemed to listen with only half his attention. He had his sword out and his shield at the ready. ‘There are more in the woods.’

  Pug shook off his fogginess and rose. In the surrounding forest the sound of soft movement murmured like the gentle stirring of branches in a light breeze, but no wind blew this night. Then, as one, another dozen figures materialized from the gloom, all similar to the fallen. In a thick, slurred speech, one said, ‘Put away your weapons, man. You are surrounded.’ The others seemed crouched, ready to spring like the giant cats they resembled.

  Tomas looked at Pug, who nodded. Tomas permitted one of the tiger-men to disarm him. The leader of the tiger-men waved at them, saying, ‘Bind them!’

  Tomas allowed himself to be tied, as did Pug. The leader said, ‘You have slain many of my warriors.’

  Pug said, ‘They only sleep.’

  One of the tiger-warriors knelt and examined a sleeper. ‘Tuan, it is true!’

  The one called Tuan examined Pug’s face closely. ‘You are a spellcaster, it seems, yet you allow yourself to be taken easily. Why?’

  Pug said, ‘Curiosity. And we have no wish to harm you.’

  The surrounding tiger-men began to laugh, or something like it. Then Tomas simply parted his wrists. The bonds snapped instantly. He extended his hand toward the warrior holding his golden sword and the weapon flew from the startled creature’s grasp into his own. The laughter died.

  In a startled rage, the one called Tuan snarled and swung a clawed hand at Pug’s face, fingers hooked and long talons extending from between them. Pug instantly raised his hand and a small golden light erupted on his palm. The creature’s claws rebounded from that light as if from steel.

  The surrounding creatures began to close upon them once more, two grabbing Tomas from behind. He simply tossed them aside and grabbed the one called Tuan by the scruff of the neck. Tuan stood six feet tall and more, but Tomas lifted him easily. Like any cat grabbed by the scruff, he dangled helplessly. ‘Halt, or this one dies!’ Tomas ordered.

  The creatures hesitated. Then one of the tiger-warriors bent his knee. He was followed by the rest. Tomas released Tuan and let him fall. The leader of the tiger-men landed lightly and spun. ‘What manner of being are you?’

  ‘I am Tomas, once called Ashen-Shugar, Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches. I am of the Valheru.’

  At that the tiger-men began to make small mewing noises, half growls, half whimpers. ‘Ancient One!’ was repeated several times. They huddled together in abject terror.

  Pug said, ‘What is this and who are these creatures?’

  Tomas said, ‘They are fearful of me, for I am a legend come to life before them. These are Draken-Korin’s creatures.’ Seeing Pug’s look of incomprehension, he added, ‘One of the Valheru. He was Lord of Tigers and bred these to stand as guards in his palace.’ He looked about. ‘I guess it would be in one of the caves in this forest.’ To Tuan he said, ‘Do you war on men?’

  Tuan, still crouching, snarled. ‘We war on all who invade our forest, Ancient One. It is our land, as you should know. It was you who made us a free people.’

  Tomas’s eyes narrowed, then opened wide. ‘I … I remember.’ His face turned slightly pale. He said to Pug, ‘I thought I had remembered all of those days…’

  Tuan said, ‘We had thought you but men. The Rana of Maharta makes war upon the Priest-King of Lanada. His war elephants command the plains, but the forests are still ours. This year he is allied with the Overlord of the City of the Serpent River, who lends him soldiers. The Rana sends those against us. So we kill
any who come here, dwarves, goblins, or serpent men.’

  Pug said, ‘Pantathians!’

  Tuan said, ‘So men call them. The land of the serpents lies somewhere to the south, but they come north at times to do mischief. We treat them harshly.’ He said to Tomas, ‘Have you come to enslave us again, Ancient One?’

  Tomas recovered from his reverie. ‘No, those days are vanished in the past. We seek the Halls of the Dead, in the City of the Dead Gods. Guide us.’

  Tuan waved away his warriors. ‘I shall guide you.’ To the others he spoke in a growling, guttural language. In scant moments they vanished into the gloom between the boles of the forest. When all were gone, he said, ‘Come, we have far to go.’

  Tuan led them throughout the night, and as they travelled, Pug asked many questions. At first the tiger-man was reluctant to speak to the magician, but Tomas indicated he should cooperate and the leader of the tiger-men did so. The tiger nation lived in a small city to the east of where the dragon had landed. Dragons had long been hated by the tigers, as they raided the herds raised by the tiger-men. So a full patrol had been sent in case the dragon needed to be driven away.

  Their city had no name, being only the City of the Tigers. No man had seen this place and lived, for the tiger-men killed any invaders. Tuan revealed a great distrust of men and when queried said only, ‘We were here before men. They took our forests to the east. We resisted. There has always been war between us.’

  Of the Pantathians Tuan knew little, except they warranted killing on sight. When Pug asked how the tiger-men came to be or how Tomas had freed them, he was answered only by silence. As Tomas seemed equally reticent, Pug did not press the question.

  After climbing the forested hills below the Pillars of Heaven, they came to a deep pass. Tuan halted. To the east the grey of dawn was approaching. ‘Here live the gods,’ he said. They looked upward. The tips of the mountains were receiving the first rays of sun. White clouds mantled the peaks of the Pillars of Heaven, wrapping them in glowing mists, which reflected the light in white and silver sparkles.

  ‘How high are the peaks?’ asked Pug.

  ‘No one knows. No mortal has reached them. We allow pilgrims to pass this way unmolested if they stay south of our boundaries. Those who climb do not return. The gods prefer their privacy. Come.’

  He led them into the pass, which descended into a ravine. ‘Beyond this pass, the ravine widens to a broad plateau at the base of the mountains. There lies the City of the Dead Gods. It is now overgrown with trees and vines. Within the city is the great temple to the lost gods. Beyond is the abode of the departed. I will go no farther, Ancient One. You and your spellcaster companion may survive, but for mortals it is a journey without return. To enter the Halls of the Dead is to quit the lands of life.’

  ‘We have no further need of you. Depart in peace.’

  Tuan said, ‘Hunt well, Ancient One.’ Then Tuan was off, with a running, bounding gait.

  Without conversation, Tomas and Pug entered the ravine.

  Pug and Tomas walked slowly through the plaza. Pug took mental note of every wonder. Oddly shaped buildings – hexagonal, pentagonal, rhomboidal, pyramidal – were arranged in an apparently haphazard fashion, but one that seemed almost to make sense, as if the beholder was not quite sophisticated enough to comprehend the pattern. Obelisks of improbable design, great upthrusting columns of jet and ivory inscribed with runic carvings unknown to Pug stood at the four corners of the plaza. A city it was, but a city unlike any other, for it was a city without markets, or stables, a city lacking taverns or even the rudest hut for a man to dwell within. For in every direction they could travel, only tombs rose up. And upon each a single name was inscribed over the entrance.

  ‘Who built this place?’ Pug wondered aloud.

  ‘The gods,’ Tomas replied. Pug studied his companion and saw there was no jest in his words.

  ‘Can this truly be so?’

  Tomas shrugged. ‘Even to such as us some things remain a mystery. Some agency constructed those tombs.’ He pointed at one of the major buildings near the square. ‘That bears the name Isanda.’ Tomas looked lost in memory. ‘When my kin rose up against the gods, I remained apart.’ Pug did not fail to notice Tomas’s reference to his kin; in the past he had spoken of Ashen-Shugar as a being apart. Tomas continued. ‘The gods were new then, coming into their power, while the Valheru were ancient. It was the passing of an old order and the birth of a new one. But the gods were powerful, at least those who survived. Of the hundred who were formed by Ishap, only sixteen survived, the twelve lesser and four greater gods. The others lie here.’ He pointed again to the building. ‘Isanda was the Goddess of Dance.’ He looked about slowly. ‘It was the time of the Chaos Wars.’

  Tomas moved past Pug, clearly reluctant to speak more. Upon another building was inscribed the name Onanka-Tith. Pug said, ‘What do you make of that?’

  Tomas spoke quietly while he walked. ‘The Joyful Warrior and the Planner of Battles were both mortally wounded, but by combining their remaining essences they survived in part, as a new being, Tith-Onanka, the War God with Two Faces. Here lie those parts of each which did not survive.’

  Softly Pug observed, ‘Each time I think I have witnessed a wonder unsurpassed… It humbles me.’ After a long stretch of quiet, as they passed dozens of buildings upon which were inscribed names alien to Pug, the magician said, ‘How is it that immortals die, Tomas?’

  Tomas did not look at his friend as he spoke. ‘Nothing is forever, Pug.’ Then he looked at Pug, who saw a strange light in his friend’s eyes, as if Tomas were poised for battle. ‘Nothing. Immortality, power, dominance, all are illusions. Don’t you see? We are simply pawns in a game beyond our understanding.’

  Pug let his eyes sweep over the ancient city, its strange assortment of buildings half overgrown with lianas. ‘That is what humbles me most.’

  ‘Now, we must seek one who might understand this game. Macros.’ He pointed at a gigantic edifice, a building dwarfing those about it. Upon it were carved four names, Sarig, Drusala, Eortis, and Wodar-Hospur. Tomas said, ‘The monument to the lost gods.’ He pointed to each name in turn. ‘The lost God of Magic, who, it is thought, hid his secrets when he vanished. Which may be why only the Lesser Path rose upon this world among men. Drusala, the Goddess of Healing, whose fallen staff was picked up by Sung, who keeps it against the day of her sister’s return. Eortis, old dolphin-tail, the true God of the Sea. Kilian now holds sway over his dominion. She is now mother of all nature. And Wodar-Hospur, the Lorekeeper who, alone among all beings below Ishap, knew Truth.’

  ‘Tomas, how do you know so much?’

  Looking at his friend, he answered, ‘I remember. I did not rise to challenge the gods, Pug, but I was there. I saw. And I remember.’ There was a note of terrible, bitter pain in his tone, which he could not mask from his lifelong friend.

  They began to walk on, and Pug knew Tomas would speak no more on this subject, at least for the present. Tomas led Pug into the vast hall of the four lost gods. A fey light illuminated the temple, filling the gigantic room with an amber glow. Even to the high vaulted ceiling, no shadows existed. On each side of the hall a pair of gigantic stone thrones sat empty and waiting. Opposite the entrance a vast cavern led away into darkness. Pointing at that black maw, Tomas said, ‘The Halls of the Dead.’

  Without comment, Pug began walking, and soon both were engulfed in darkness.

  One moment they had existed in a real, albeit alien, world, the next they had entered a realm of the spirit. As if a coldness beyond enduring had passed through them, they each felt an instant of supreme discomfort and another instant of near-rapture. Then they were truly within the Halls of the Dead.

  Shapes and distances appeared to have little meaning, for one moment they seemed in a narrow tunnel, then upon an endless sunlit field of grasses. Next they passed through a garden, with babbling brooks and fruit-laden trees. After that, they walked below an ice flow, a white-blue f
rozen cataract spilling from a cliff surmounted by a giant hall from which issued joyous music. Then they seemed to walk atop clouds. But at last they were in a dark and vast cavern, ancient dead rock vaulting away into a darkness beyond any eyes’ ability to penetrate. Pug ran his hand over the rock and discovered the surface to have a slippery feel, as of soapstone. Yet when he rubbed thumb and fingers together, there was no residue. Pug put away his curiosity. A broad river slowly flowed across their path, and in the distance they could see another shore through dense mist. Then from out of the fog came a wherry, with a single figure hidden by heavy robes at the stern, propelling the craft by means of a scull. As the boat gently nudged the shore, the figure raised the large oar out of the water and motioned for Tomas and Pug to board.

  ‘The ferryman?’ said Pug.

  ‘It is a common legend. At least here it is true. Come.’

  They boarded, and the figure held out a gnarled hand. Pug removed two copper coins from his purse and deposited them in the outstretched hand. Pug sat, and was astounded to discover the wherry had reversed itself and was now heading across the river. He had felt no sensation of motion. A sound from behind caused him to turn, and over his shoulder he saw vague shapes on the shore they had left, quickly hidden by mist.

  Tomas said, ‘Those who fear to cross or who cannot pay the boatman. They abide upon the far shore for eternity, or so it is supposed.’ Pug could only nod. He looked down into the river and was further astonished to see that the water glowed faintly, lit from below by a yellow-green light. And within its depth stood figures, each looking up to the boat as it passed overhead. Feebly they waved at the boat or reached out, as if seeking to grab hold, but the boat was too quickly past. Tomas said, ‘Those who attempted to cross without the ferryman’s permission. Trapped for all time.’