A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

Pug said, “There is nothing there.”

  “To ordinary appearance,” said Tomas. He asked Macros, “Where shall we wait?”

  Macros was silent for a moment, then said, “Each to his place. Pug, Arutha, and I must wait here. You and Ryath must go to another place.”

  Tomas indicated understanding and used his arts to lift himself upon the dragon’s back. Then, with a thunderous crash, they vanished.

  Arutha said, “Where did he go?”

  “He is still here,” answered Macros. “But he is slightly out of phase with us in time—as is the Lifestone. He guards it, the last bastion of defense for this planet, for should we fail, then he alone will stand between Midkemia and her utter destruction.”

  Arutha looked at Macros, then Pug. He moved toward the dais and sat. “I think you had better tell me some things.”

  —

  Guy signaled and a shower of missiles came down upon the heads of the goblins rushing the gate. A hundred died in an instant. But the flood was unleashed and du Bas-Tyra shouted to Amos, “Ready to quit the walls! I want skirmish order back to the keep, no rout. Any man who tries to run is to be killed by the sergeant in charge.”

  Amos said, “Harsh,” but he didn’t argue the order. The garrison was on the verge of breaking, the untested soldiers close to panic. Only by frightening them more than the enemy could was there a shred of hope of maintaining an orderly retreat back to the keep. Amos glanced back as the population of the city fled toward the keep. They had been kept out of the streets so that companies could move from section to section without impediment, but now they had been ordered to leave their homes. Amos hoped they would be safely out of the way before the retreat from the walls began.

  Jimmy came running through the melee evolving to the west of where Galain, Amos, and Guy stood, and shouted, “De la Troville wants reinforcements. He’s hard pressed upon the right flank.”

  Guy said, “He’ll have none. If I pull anyone from their own sections, it will open a floodgate.” He pointed to where the goblins had cleared the breach through the outer gate of the barbican once more and were now climbing up the inner gate. The covering fire from moredhel archers was murderous. Jimmy began to leave and Guy grabbed him. “Another messenger is passing the word to quit the walls on signal. You’ll not be able to reach him in time. Stay here.”

  Jimmy signaled understanding, his sword at the ready, then suddenly a goblin appeared before him. He slashed out, and the blue-skinned creature fell, only to be replaced by another.

  —

  Tomas looked down. His friends had vanished, though he knew they were still in the same place, but slightly out of phase with him in time. Part of Ashen-Shugar’s attempt to hide the gem had been to put the ancient city of Draken-Korin into a different frame of time. He looked across the vast hall where the Valheru had held their last council, then regarded the giant, glowing green gem. He altered his perceptions and saw the lines of power spreading outward, touching, he knew, every living thing on the planet. He considered the importance of what he was to do, and calmed himself. He felt the dragon’s mood and acknowledged it. It was a willingness to accept whatever fate brought, but without a resignation to defeat. Death might come, but with it might also come victory. Tomas was somehow reassured by this thought.

  Arutha nodded. “You have told me it is important. Now tell me why.”

  “It was left against the day of the Valheru’s returning. They understood that the gods were fashioned of the stuff of the world, a part of Midkemia. Draken-Korin was a genius among his race. He knew that the power of the gods depended upon the relationship they had with all other living things. The Lifestone is the most powerful artifact upon this world. If it is taken and used, it will drain all power from all creatures down to the tiniest being, giving that power to the user. It can be used to bring the Valheru into this space and time. It does so by providing a surge of energy so vast it cannot be equaled, and at the same time it drains away the source of power for the gods. Unfortunately, it will also destroy all life upon this planet. In one instant, everything that walks, flies, swims, or crawls across Midkemia will die, insects, fish, the plants that grow, even things too small to see.”

  Arutha was astonished. “Then what will the Valheru have with a dead planet?”

  “Once back in this universe, they can war upon other worlds, bringing slaves, livestock, and plants, life in all forms, to reseed. They have no concern for the other beings here, just their own needs. It is truly a Valheru view of things, that all may be destroyed to protect their interests.”

  “Then Murmandamus and the invading moredhel will die as well,” said Arutha, horrified at the scope of the plan.

  Macros considered. “That is the one thing about this that puzzles me, for to utilize the Lifestone, the Valheru must have intrusted much lore to Murmandamus. It seems impossible that he doesn’t know he will die when he opens the portal. The Pantathian serpent priests I can understand. They have worked since the time of the Chaos Wars to bring back their lost mistress, the Emerald Lady of Serpents, whom they regard as a goddess. They have become a death cult and believe that, with her return, they will achieve some sort of demigodhead for themselves. They embrace death. But this attitude is unlikely for a moredhel. So I don’t understand Murmandamus’s motives, unless guarantees have been made. I don’t know what they could be, as I don’t know what this use of the dread can herald, for they will not perish with the others. And if the Valheru no longer wish them upon this world as they reseed the planet, it will be difficult for the Valheru to rid themselves of the dread. The Dreadlords are powerful beings, and this makes me wonder at the possibility of a compact.” Macros sighed. “There is still so much we don’t know. And any one thing could prove our undoing.”

  Arutha said, “In all this there’s one other thing I don’t understand. This Murmandamus is an archmage of some sort. If he needs to come here, why not shape-change, sneak into Sethanon looking like any human, and come here unnoticed? Why this marching of armies and wholesale destruction?”

  Macros said, “It is the nature of the Lifestone. To reach its proper frame of reference in time and to open the gate to admit the Valheru require an enormous mystic power. Murmandamus feeds off death.” Arutha nodded, remembering a comment Murmandamus had made when he had first confronted Arutha through the dead body of one of his Nighthawks, back in Krondor. “He sucks energy from each death near him. Thousands have died in his service and opposing him. Had he no need to harbor those energies to open the gateway, he could have blown down the walls of this city like a thing of sticks. Even such a small matter as keeping his barrier up against personal injury costs him valuable energies. No, he needs this war to bring back the Valheru. He would gladly see his entire army to the last soldier die just so long as he can reach this chamber. Now we must seek to block his masters’ entrance back into this universe.” He stood up. “Arutha, you must remain vigilant against mundane attack.” He came to Pug and said, “We must aid him, for his foe will prove mighty: most surely Murmandamus will come to this room.”

  Pug took Macros’s hand and watched as the sorcerer reached out and gripped the Ishapian talisman. Arutha nodded, and Macros took it from the Prince. Macros closed his eyes and Pug felt powers within himself being manipulated by another, a feat again new and startling to him. Whatever skills he had were still as nothing to Macros’s. Then Arutha and Pug watched as the talisman began to glow. Softly Macros said, “There is power here.” He opened his eyes. “Hold out your sword.”

  Arutha did so, hilt first. Macros released Pug’s hand and carefully placed the talisman below the hilt, so the tiny hammer lay next to the forte of the blade. He then gently closed his hand around the blade and hammer. “Pug, I have the skill, but I need your strength.” Pug took Macros’s hand and the sorcerer again used the younger mage’s magic to augment his own diminished powers. Macros’s hand began to glow with a warm, yellow-orange light, and all heard a sizzling sound while smoke came off the s
orcerer’s hand. Arutha could feel the blade warm to the touch.

  After a few moments the glow vanished and Macros’s hand opened. Arutha looked at the blade. The talisman had been somehow embedded into the steel, now appearing only as a hammer-shaped etching in the forte. The Prince looked up at Macros and Pug.

  “That blade now holds the power of the talisman. It will guard you from all attacks from mystic sources. It will also wound and kill creatures of dark summoning, piercing even Murmandamus’s protective spells. But its power is limited to the strength of will within the man who holds it. Falter in your resolve and you will fall. Remain steadfast and you shall prevail. Always remember that.

  “Come, Pug, we must ready ourselves.”

  Arutha watched as the two sorcerers, one ancient and robed in brown and one young and wearing the black robes of a Tsurani Great One, stood facing each other, next to the dais. They joined hands and closed their eyes. A disquieting silence fell over the chamber. After a minute, Arutha pulled his attention from the two magic users and began inspecting his surroundings. The chamber seemed empty of any artifact or decoration. One small door, waist-high in the wall, seemed the only means of entrance. He pulled it open, and glanced in, seeing a hoard of gold and gems lying in the next chamber. He laughed to himself. Ancient treasure, riches of the Valheru, and he’d trade it all to have Lyam’s army on the horizon. After a moment of poking about the treasure, he settled in to wait. He absently tossed and caught a ruby the size of a plum, wishing he knew how his comrades above were faring in the battle for Sethanon.

  “Now!” shouted Guy, and the company directly under his command began to fall back from the barbican, while behind them trumpeters sounded the call to withdraw. In every quarter of the city the call was answered and, in as coordinated a retreat as possible, the walls were surrendered to the attackers. Rapidly the defenders fell back, gaining the cover of the first block of houses beyond the bailey, for the moredhel archers upon the wall began taking a heavy toll.

  Companies of Sethanon archers waited to offer answering fire over the heads of the retreating skirmishers, but it was only through exceptional bravery that a total rout was avoided.

  Guy pulled Jimmy and Amos along, watching over his shoulder while his squad fell back to new positions. Galain and three other archers offered covering fire. As the front rank of attackers reached the first major intersection, a company of riders erupted from the side street. Sethanon cavalry, under the command of Lord Humphry, rode among the goblins and trolls, trampling them underfoot. In a few minutes the attackers were being slaughtered and began withdrawing the way they had come.

  Guy waved to Humphry, who rode over. “Shall we harry them, Guy?”

  “No, they’ll regroup shortly. Order your men to ride the perimeter, covering where necessary, but everyone is to fall back to the keep as quickly as possible. Don’t do anything too heroic.”

  The Baron acknowledged his orders, and Guy said, “Humphry, tell your men they did well. Very well.” The stout little Baron seemed to perk up and saluted smartly, riding off to take command of his cavalry.

  Amos said, “That little squirrel’s got teeth.”

  “He’s a braver man than he looks,” answered Guy. He quickly surveyed his position and signaled his men back. In a moment they were all running toward the keep.

  When they reached the inner bailey of the city, they ran toward the keep. The outer fence was a decorative thing of iron bars, which would be torn down in moments, but the inner, ancient, fortress still looked difficult to attack. Guy hoped so. They gained the first parapet overlooking the battle and Guy sent Galain to see if his other commanders had reached the keep. When the elf had gone, he said, “Now, if I could only know where Arutha has vanished to?”

  Jimmy wondered as well. And he also wondered where Locklear was.

  —

  Locklear hugged the wall, waiting until the troll turned his back to him at the sound of the scream. The girl was no more than sixteen and the other two children considerably younger. The troll reached for the girl, and Locklear leaped out and ran him through from behind. Without saying anything, he reached out and grabbed the girl’s wrist. He tugged and she followed, leading the other two children.

  They hurried toward the keep, but the squire halted when a squad of horsemen was driven backward across their path. Locklear saw that Baron Humphry was the last man to quit the fray. The Baron’s horse stumbled and goblin hands reached up and pulled Humphry from his saddle. The stout little ruler of Sethanon lashed out with his sword, cutting down two of his assailants before finally being overwhelmed by the goblins he faced. Locklear pulled the frightened girl and her companions into an abandoned inn. Once inside, he searched until he spied the trapdoor to the cellar. He opened it and said, “Quickly, and be silent!”

  The children obeyed and he followed after. He felt about in the dark and found a lamp, with steel and flint next to it. In a short moment he had a light burning. He glanced around while sounds of fighting filtered down from the street above. He pointed toward a large pair of barrels and the children hurried over to crouch between them. He pushed on another barrel and rolled it slowly before the others, creating a small place to hide. He took his sword and the lamp and climbed over to sit with the others.

  “What were you doing running down the street?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “The order for noncombatants to leave came a half hour ago.”

  The girl looked frightened but spoke calmly. “My mother hid us in the cellar.”

  Locklear looked incredulous. “Why?”

  The girl regarded him with mixed expression and said, “Soldiers.”

  Locklear swore. A mother’s concern over her daughter’s virtue could cost all three of her children their lives. He said, “Well, I hope she prefers you dead to dishonored.”

  The girl stiffened. “She’s dead. The trolls killed her. She fought them while we ran.”

  Locklear shook his head, wiping his dripping forehead with the back of his hand. “Sorry.” He studied her for a moment, then recognized she was indeed pretty. “I really am sorry.” He was silent, then added, “I’ve lost someone, too.”

  A thump of the floor above, and the girl stiffened more, fear making her eyes enormous as she bit the back of her hand to keep from screaming. The two smaller children clung to each other and Locklear whispered, “Don’t make a sound.” He put his arm about the girl and blew out the lamp and the cellar was plunged into darkness.

  —

  Guy ordered the inner gate to the keep closed, and watched as those too slow to reach it safely were cut down by the advancing horde. Archers fired from the battlements, and anything that could be hurled at the attackers was thrown—boiling water and oil, stones, heavy furniture—as the last, desperate attempt to resist the onslaught began.

  Then a shout went up from the rear of the invading army and Murmandamus came riding forward, trampling his own soldiers as often as not. Amos waited beside Guy and Jimmy, ready for the first scaling ladders to be brought forward. He looked at the frantically hurrying moredhel leader and said, “The dung-eater still seems in a hurry, doesn’t he? He’s a bit rough on the lads who happen to be in his way.”

  Guy shouted, “Archers, there’s your target!” and a storm of arrows descended about the broad-shouldered moredhel. With a scream the horse was down and the rider fell and rolled. He leaped to his feet, unharmed, and pointed toward the keep doors. A dozen goblins and moredhel raced forward, to die under bow fire. Most bowmen concentrated upon the moredhel leader, but none could harm him. The arrows would harmlessly strike some invisible barrier and bounce off.

  Then a ram was carried forward, and while dozens of invaders died, it at last reached the doors and was brought to bear. Moredhel archers kept the defenders down, while the rhythmic pounding began.

  Guy sat with his back to the stones, as flight after flight of moredhel arrows sped overhead. “Squire,” he said to Jimmy, “hurry downstairs and see if de la Troville has hi
s company together. Order him to be ready at the inner door. I think we have less than ten minutes before they’re inside.” Jimmy hurried off, and Guy said to Amos, “Well, you pirate…it looks like we gave them a good run.”

  Hunkering down beside Guy, Amos nodded. “The best. All things considered, we did all right. A little more luck here or there, and we’d have had his guts on a stick.” Amos sighed. “Still, there’s no use dwelling on the past, I always say. Come along, let’s go bleed some of those miserable land rats.” He leaped to his feet and grabbed the throat of a goblin who had just cleared the wall. The creatures had not seen any defenders, and suddenly there was Amos, seizing him by the throat. With a jerk he crushed the creature’s windpipe, and cast him back down the ladder, dislodging three more who were right behind him. Amos pushed the ladder away as Guy slashed with his sword at another who climbed through a crenel beside Amos.

  Amos stiffened and gasped and, looking down, discovered an arrow in his side. “Damn me!” he said, apparently astonished by the fact. Then a goblin breasted the wall and struck out with his sword, the impact nearly spinning Amos around. The former sea captain’s knees buckled, and he fell hard to the stones. Guy cut the goblin’s head from his shoulders with a savage blow.

  He knelt next to Amos and said, “I’ve told you to keep your damned head down.”

  Amos smiled up at him. “Next time I’ll listen,” he said weakly, then his eyes closed.

  Guy whirled as another goblin came over the wall, and with an upward thrust he gutted the creature. The Protector of Armengar, former Duke of Bas-Tyra, slashed right and left, bringing death to any goblin, troll, or moredhel who came close to him. But the outer wall of the keep was breached, and more invaders swarmed over, and Guy saw himself being slowly surrounded. Others on the wall heard the call for retreat and hurried down the stairs to stand within the great hall, but Guy stood over his fallen friend with sword ready, not moving.

  —

  Murmandamus walked over the bodies of his own soldiers, ignoring the cries of the dying and wounded around him. He entered the barbican of the keep, passing the shattered outer doors. With a curt motion of his hand he ordered his soldiers forward with the ram to begin the assault upon the inner door. He moved to one side while they began beating upon the door, their comrades seeking to rid the walls of Sethanon archers. For an instant all within the killing ground of the barbican were intent upon the splintering door, and Murmandamus stepped back into the shadows, silently laughing at the folly of other creatures. With each death he had gained power and now he was ready.