Shards of a Broken Crown

by Raymond E. Feist

  “That was Miranda?” said Kahil. “My gods!”

  Nakor grinned. “The other was her husband.”

  “Do I have grandchildren?”

  “Not yet.” Nakor lost his smile. “You know, you’ve gone so far down an evil road I barely remember what it was you once were. A vain girl, but no worse than some. But you have spent far too much time with dark powers. You do not even know what it was you did, do you? You have no idea who really controls your destiny.”

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  “I control my destiny!”

  “Oh, you vain woman. You are no more than a pitiful tool of a power far more than you can begin to imagine. He gained your soul so long ago that you can never be saved. You can only go to him for whatever torment he has in store for a failed minion. You know what I have to do?”

  “I know what you must try to do,” said Kahil, stepping back.

  “Your vanity almost brought this world to ruination. Your lust for external youth and beauty caused you to destroy nations. You cannot be allowed to continue.”

  “So at last you will attempt to kill me? It will take more than a tap to this head to rid this universe of me.”

  “No, I will kill you.”

  Kahil started to incant a spell, but before he could finish it, Nakor struck him in the face with the butt of his staff. The former Emerald Queen, now in a man’s body, staggered backward, his concentration broken and his spell incomplete. Nakor leveled his staff and a burst of white light shone on Kahil. He froze, trans-fixed, and from his mouth a mournful sound emerged. It grew weaker by the second as the body faded, becoming pale, then translucent, then trans-parent. When it vanished from view, the sound ceased, and Kahil was absent from the room. Sadly Nakor said, “I should have done that a century ago, but then I didn’t know how.”

  He indulged himself a moment to reflect on everything, then he turned and hurried to overtake the others. Until Zaltais was returned to the pit and it sealed after him, the struggle was not over.

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  Miranda waved her hand and a brilliant shower of sparks exploded from her palm and sprayed a dozen soldiers hanging back near the gates to the city. As they began to be stung, they turned and ran.

  “Not very dangerous,” she said, “but dramatic.”

  She looked back to see Tomas struggling with all his considerable strength to hold Zaltais on his shoulder, while Pug could do almost nothing but hang back.

  As they cleared the city gates, the building which covered the pit in view, Zaltais overbalanced Tomas and flipped over his shoulder, landing hard upon the ground. The creature thrashed around, and Miranda said, “My spell is failing!”

  Suddenly the crimson bands shattered, flung in all directions, the pieces fading from sight. The insectlike creature bounded upright and lashed out with a razor-sharp forearm. Tomas took the blow on his sword and the sound of the clash was steel upon steel.

  Bright orange light bathed Zaltais as it pulled back to strike again. “It’s casting a spell!” Miranda shouted.

  Pug incanted a word of power, which should have given him the ability to sense the monster’s magic.

  Instead he felt a blinding stab of pain in his head and he fell to his knees.

  Pug’s hands went to his head and tears ran down his face as he struggled to make himself breathe. The images and sensations that flooded his mind were so alien as to cause nothing but pain. The spell he had utilized was designed to sense out the nature of the spell being used, and to counteract it if possible, but even the emanations of the Dread Lord that appeared 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 592

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  under Sethanon, and of the Demon Kings, Jakan and Maarg, were comparatively familiar compared to what he was experiencing now. Pug fell to his knees, his eyes squeezed shut and his fists at his temples.

  Miranda took a more direct approach and simply tried to burn the creature, sending forth her most powerful spell of flames, a white-hot burst of energy that burned bright enough to blind anyone who looked at the flame.

  Zaltais writhed in the center of the flame, his own magic forgotten, a creature trapped in the heart of a star.

  Tomas circled the burning creature, and went to where Pug knelt, helping his friend to his feet.

  Suddenly the fire vanished as Nakor came hurrying up to them. “Quick! Carry it to the pit!”

  The monster was swollen and cooking in its own juices, the carapace cracked in several places. Tomas grabbed one of the forearms and tried dragging it. He made slow progress, but Zaltais was hauled through the large doors of the building and toward the pit.

  Then, with a loud crack, the chitinous outer shell broke, and inside the body they could see something writhing. The shell parted and something akin to a giant white worm began to wiggle out.

  Miranda said, “I don’t have the strength to burn it again.”

  Nakor said “You don’t need to burn it. Get it into the pit!”

  Tomas charged the creature as it was halfway out of the smoking insect shell. He bashed it as hard as he could with his shield, and Zaltais was knocked backward, dragging the insect carcass with him, its lower section still embedded in the shell.

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  The thing shrieked, a sound which cut through the skull like a knife, causing Tomas to falter, but he overcame the sound and smashed the creature again, knocking it back once more, now only a dozen feet from the yawning opening of the pit.

  Zaltais frantically snapped his tail, trying to rid himself of the insect corpse. Tomas kicked the tho-rax section and it spun the creature around, the insect body sliding toward the pit.

  Pug wiped his hand across his eyes, his ringing head now clearing, and he uttered a simple spell that threw a punch of air, but one which could crush a man’s ribs. The creature was knocked backward and suddenly was overbalancing.

  As they watched, arms began to extrude from the worm’s upper segment, frantically waving.

  Nakor said, “Enough of this!” He ran forward, his staff cocked over his shoulder, and he struck the thing across the upper body as hard as he could.

  With a scream that threatened to shatter their ears, Zaltais fell into the pit.

  Miranda was knocked to her knees, as was Pug again. Tomas had to use all his willpower to remain upright, and Nakor gripped his staff as if it was the only thing keeping him alive.

  Then the sound was gone. Nakor said, “We must seal this pit!”

  “How?” asked Pug. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Yes, you have,” said Nakor. “You’re just not recognizing it!”

  Pug took a deep breath and used what little energy he had left to assess the pit “It’s a rift!” he said at last.

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  “Yes,” said Nakor, “but not the sort you know.”

  “How did you know?” asked Miranda.

  “I’ll explain it all later,” said Nakor, “but you must close it.”

  A faint breeze stirred, and Miranda said, “Did you feel that?”

  “Yes,” said Tomas. “And I don’t usually feel the wind inside a building.”

  “There’s something trying to come through!”

  shouted Nakor.

  Pug said, “I need help!”

  “What do we do?” asked Miranda.

  “Give me whatever strength you can!” shouted Pug. He closed his eyes and let his mind enter the rift. He sensed the energies and was again assaulted by an overwhelming sense of alien wrongness. Yet there was a pattern, and as alien as it was, once he apprehended it, he was able to study it, and with study, the structure began to emerge. “I have it!
” he said at last.

  He let his mind call up the knowledge he had gained as a Great One on Kelewan, as he had studied rifts and their nature. The nature of the rift was that Pug could either use more power to close it than it took to open it, or he could subvert the power used to keep it open. He chose the latter course, as his energy was too depleted to attempt the former. Besides, he felt that even at his best, that choice might prove beyond his powers. He sent a cord of energy that snaked out and engaged the source of the rift.

  Suddenly a presence appeared on the other side of the rift. It was massive and powerful beyond anything he had thought possible, and it was nothing but a distillation of hatred and evil so pure it defied 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 595

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  human understanding. A part of Pug’s mind recoiled and wanted nothing more than to fall to the floor and whimper, as Fadawah had done. But Pug’s mental discipline came to the fore and he held his ground against this horror of the mind.

  Whatever it was, it quested. It knew Pug was somewhere close by, but not quite where. Pug felt a sense of urgency rise up inside as he sought to unweave the matrix of power that held open the rift, for he knew that should this being find him, he would be lost forever.

  A faint surge of power came to Pug and he knew that Miranda had succeeded in joining her power to his. He felt a sense of reassurance from her when she touched him, and the part of his mind able to perceive her sent forth its thanks.

  The questing consciousness on the other side of the rift was becoming more aware of Pug as each second passed. Pug had his own spell ready.

  He opened his eyes and for a moment it was if he was seeing two images at once. Before him stood Tomas, sword at the ready, with Miranda and Nakor beside him. Overlaying that image was one of a torn section of space and time, through which a great terror was peering in his direction. More than anything else, Pug was struck by the image of a vast eye peering through a keyhole.

  Pug yanked back his own line of power, disrupting the supporting matrix of energy. He sensed a terrible rage from the other side of the rift.

  “Get out!” he shouted, and as he turned to run he realized he could barely move. Tomas threw his shield over his back and put his left arm around Pug, nearly picking him up.

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  They ran from the building as Ryana landed. “I called her,” said Tomas. The ground began to shake as they climbed aboard the dragon. As she launched herself into the sky, a terrible crack of thunder came from within the building.

  The dragon beat her wings and gained altitude, and Pug turned to watch the scene below. A great wind was being drawn to the building and the building began to shudder and shake. A crack of timber heralded the roof shattering, collapsing into the building.

  Miranda said, “Everything’s being sucked into the rift!”

  Pug said, “I hope not everything.”

  Nakor said, “It will balance out, but there will be a very big hole in the ground to fill when it’s done.”

  A thunderous rumble sounded, and as Nakor predicted, a huge hole in the ground appeared and the rest of the building fell into it. A giant cloud of dust shot heavenward, and more ground fell into the hole.

  Then the rumbling stopped.

  “It is over?” asked Miranda.

  Pug closed his eyes and rested his head upon Tomas’s back. “It will never be over,” he said.

  A ragged boy ducked under the outstretched arms of a guard who shouted, “Hey!”

  “I gotta talk ta the Sheriff!” he shouted as he dodged by.

  Dash turned to see the youngster scampering up the stairs. He stood on the rampart over the city gates, watching the Keshians deploy in the predawn darkness. “What do you want?” he demanded.

  “Trina says to tell you, the South Palace Gate!

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  Now!”

  Instantly Dash knew he had overlooked other agents inside the palace. The South Palace Gate was the entrance used by tradesmen making deliveries directly to the palace. It opened on the large marshaling yard used to train Calis’s Crimson Eagles; it also provided direct access to the one portion of the palace that was unprotected by walls and gates.

  Should the Keshians get through that entrance to the city, they would not only be in the city, they would also be in the palace. And most of the city’s defenders would be in the wrong place.

  Dash shouted to Gustaf, “South Palace Gate!”

  Gustaf had a flying company, a company ready to run to any point in the line and reinforce, and they were off as soon as Dash shouted the location.

  Turning to an officer nearby, Dash said, “Keep things here under control. Until their agents report the gate open, they’ll go through the charade of asking for surrender one more time.”

  Dash hurried down the stairs and chased after Gustaf and his men. He ran through the streets until he could hear the sound of fighting. “Where is the palace guard?” he demanded.

  Gustaf said, “They were ordered up to support the main gate.”

  “Who gave that order?” asked Dash.

  “I thought you did,” replied the constable.

  “When we find out who gave that order, we’ll have found our poisoner.”

  Dash and his constables raced through the street to the north-most entrance to the palace and found the gate unattended. He motioned for the men to run to the left, around the stables, and into the marshal-

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  ing yard from the north. At the far end of the marshaling yard he saw a brawl taking place in front of the south gate. He had ridden wagons through that gate when working for Roo Avery what seemed like years before, in a different life, but never before had the marshaling yard seemed so vast.

  As he reached a point halfway across the open stretch of ground he saw the struggle was nearly decided. Old men, boys, and a few men of fighting age stood toe-to-toe with armed mercenaries, trained killers who were dispatching them with cold-blooded efficiency.

  Standing before the huge bar that kept the gate closed was Trina, a sword in one hand and a dagger in another. A bleeding man at her feet told Dash that he had already paid the price of trying to get by the determined woman.

  The mercenaries at the gate were quickly disposing of the thieves, and Dash tried to will himself to be faster. He was twenty yards away when he saw a burly man with a beard strike down a young thief—barely more than a boy— then turn to join his companion facing Trina.

  The first man before her struck an overhand blow, which she blocked high, leaving her guard open. The burly man stepped under and drove the point of his sword into her stomach.

  “No!” Dash cried as he ran right into the two men without slackening speed. He carried both of them away and down in a heap. He struck out with his sword, killing the bigger man as he lay on the ground, then rolled over to come to his feet facing the first man who had struck at Trina.

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  head blow, then turning his wrist to slash at Dash’s side. Dash nimbly stepped back, then forward, while the man’s sword point was moving past him and, before he could reverse his blade’s direction, Dash killed the man with a stabbing blow to the throat.

  The constables overwhelmed the attackers at the gate as the thieves began to carry away their wounded. The Keshian agents fought to the last, but eventually they were all killed or disarmed.

  Dash looked around, and when he saw everything was under control, he ran over to where Trina lay.

  The gate was still closed.

  He knelt and cradled her in his arms and saw her skin
was pallid and clammy. Blood flowed copiously from her stomach and Dash knew her life was draining away. He shouted, “Get a healer!”

  A constable ran off while Dash cradled Trina in his arms. He tried to staunch the flow of blood by pressing on the wound, but the pain was almost unbearable to Trina.

  She looked up at him and weakly said, “I love you, Sheriff Puppy.”

  His tears fell unhindered. “You crazy good-for-nothing,” he said, “I told you to stay alive!”

  He gathered her to him and she moaned, then whispered, “You promised.”

  Dash was still holding the dead woman when the priest reached the gate. Gustaf put his hands on Dash’s shoulders, moved him back, and said, “We have work to do, Sheriff.”

  Dash looked upward and saw the sky was brightening. He knew circumstances demanded he put aside his personal grief and the numbing sense of loss he felt. Soon the Keshian herald would approach 52893_~1.QXD 8/30/2002 10:02 AM Page 600

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  the gate and make his final demand for surrender—for when the Keshian army saw the southern gate wasn’t open, they would know their only option was to attack, and they would come.

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  Twenty-Seven

  Interventions

  THE HORSES PANTED.

  Riders urged them on and prayed their mounts would hold out for one more day. Jimmy had put them on a punishing regimen, from dawn to dusk, with the shortest breaks possible. The horses were all exhibiting the results of the forced march, ribs beginning to show where not so many days before they had been sleek and comfortably fat.

  Six horses had come up lame, and those riders had been forced to drop out, walking their animals back to Port Vykor or following after, hoping there would be a Kingdom army waiting when they at last got there. Two animals had been so badly injured they had been put down.

  The troop was within minutes of being in sight of Krondor, and Jimmy prayed again that he was wrong in his surmise, and they would find the city peacefully going about its business. He would gladly accept the years of jests and taunts he would endure as a result should that be the case, but he knew in the pit of his stomach he was about to run headlong into a fight.