A Crown Imperilled

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘How do you know so much of dark elves?’ Miranda asked Nakor.

  ‘I travel,’ was his answer.

  Again Miranda was struck by the absurdity of their two sets of memories. Belog had never travelled further than the distance from the archivists’ quarters to Dahun’s palace and back, until he had left the city and encountered Child. Nakor had travelled to every distant part of Midkemia and worlds beyond.

  ‘He does looks like a traveller from across the sea, like Calis’s wife,’ granted Nakor. Miranda had rescued Ellia and her sons during the war of the Emerald Queen, across the sea in Novindus and had taken them to Elvandar, where they had met Calis.

  Calis said, ‘His tunic, trousers and cloak are simple enough, and he wears no armour, but that’s a bad bow: it’s cracked and has been re-glued and banded with leather, so he’s no archer. And he wears fine boots of a craft common to the Dark Brotherhood.’ He used the human name for the moredhel. ‘Those are unmistakable, and from what I can see, well-made. He’s important, perhaps even a clan chieftain.’

  ‘Well, that does raise the question of what he’s doing here,’ said Miranda.

  ‘Renegade?’ asked Nakor of Calis.

  Calis shrugged. ‘Rare, but not unheard of, although they rarely venture this far south; there are too many places between here and the northland for a moredhel to die alone. The few who are expelled from their clans are usually found in the east, among humans who traffic in weapons, drugs, and slaves.’

  ‘A spy, then?’ said Miranda, obviously intrigued by the speculation.

  ‘If he is, he’s a bad one,’ said Nakor, standing up. ‘Well, the best thing to do is ask him.’

  Before either Calis or Miranda could utter another word, Nakor had worked his way through the crowd to stand before the dark-haired elf in the corner. With as friendly an expression as the demon-in-human form could manage, he said, ‘Excuse me, but my friends and I were wondering what you are doing here?’

  Dark eyes regarded Nakor for a long moment, before the dark elf spoke, not in the King’s tongue but in heavily accented Common Tongue, the trading language of Triagia. ‘Go away, little man.’

  Nakor’s grin broadened even more. ‘We could have some fun. I could tell this crowd exactly what you are. Many are from the north and have no love for your people; and then we can see how long you survive. Or, you could simply answer my question.’

  Lowering his voice so those at the next table couldn’t overhear, Arkan of the Ardanien said, ‘Or, I could simply ignore you until you go away!’

  Nakor kept grinning. ‘I can be very persistent and patient.’

  ‘And annoying, apparently.’ Arkan stared Nakor in the eyes, then suddenly stood up and pressed past the little man. With no apology, the moredhel chieftain pushed his way through the crowd eliciting complaints and muttered threats.

  Reaching Calis and Miranda, he spoke in a language only Miranda and Nakor could understand. It was High Elven, the common ancestor language of all branches of the elves. ‘Had you wished to know my reason for being here, Prince of Elvandar, you could have simply asked, rather than send over that annoying little human.’

  Miranda tried not to chuckle.

  Calis said, ‘You know me?’

  ‘By reputation,’ said Arkan. ‘You are eledhel, but you are not. There’s something about you that is … human.’ He said the last as if it was an insult. ‘There is only one being like that: the son of the Queen of Elvandar.’

  Calis raised his eyebrows slightly and tilted his head, as if what he had heard was of little importance. ‘It is true, I was curious.’

  ‘Which is why you followed me into the inn when you were obviously about to depart this pest hole of a city.’

  ‘So, are you going to tell us why you’re here or do I send for the city watch and begin some carnage?’ asked Calis.

  Arkan studied the Prince of Elvandar. Like others north of the Teeth of the World, he had heard of the bastard son of Aglaranna and that abomination in the garb of the Valheru. Yet Calis wasn’t anything like he had imagined him to be. Save for his ears, which were less pronounced, more human-like, and the faint sense of power that emanated from him, he seemed surprisingly ordinary. His plain garb was that of a hunter or traveller, his bow was superbly made, but otherwise of simple design, and he wore no jewellery or badges, no bracelets or hair ornaments. With his traditional grey armour and black cloak he could have passed for a member of one of the moredhels’ southern bands.

  Finally Arkan said, ‘While I would happily kill everyone in this room, given the opportunity,’ he fixed his eyes on Calis, ‘and finish with you, Prince of the Light Elves, I am forbidden from such sport. I am pledged to a quest.’

  ‘Now, this is getting interesting,’ said Nakor. ‘What sort of quest?’

  ‘I’m to find a man, a human. That is all I know.’ Arkan briefly told them of his mission and saw that, while the humans were ignorant of Liallan, Calis was not. Finally he said, ‘It is simple. I am to find this human no matter what the cost.’

  ‘And then what?’ said Miranda having already formed an opinion on who Arkan was seeking. ‘Kill him?’

  Arkan smiled and for the first time Miranda, Calis, and Nakor saw a genuine expression of humour in the demeanour of a moredhel. ‘Actually, quite the contrary. I am to protect him with my life if needs be.’

  ‘Now that was unexpected,’ said Nakor with glee. ‘I do so love surprises!’

  ‘I think you’d better sit down with us,’ said Miranda. ‘I think we have a great deal to talk about.’

  Arkan hesitated, finding the situation as absurd as Nakor, he nodded once and sat in the empty chair, while the others retook theirs.

  Arkan retold his story briefly and when he was finished, he said, ‘And that is why I am here in this pest hole of a city.’

  Nakor grinned. ‘If you think this is a pest hole, you should visit Durbin!’

  Miranda put her hand on Nakor’s and said, ‘Enough.’

  Calis said, ‘You said you are of the Ardanien. You knew Gorath?’

  Arkan looked surprised for the first time. ‘He was my father.’

  Calis nodded. ‘I see the resemblance. I met him when I was young. You had a remarkable father, Arkan. He was the first moredhel I had ever spoken with and he bore a terrible burden.’

  ‘He is counted a traitor by most of our people.’ He glanced at the three faces confronting him and felt reluctant to discuss family history, but he was surprised to discover that Calis had met his father. ‘I know there are rumours and some, like Liallan, think him a saviour, but the truth of those days is shrouded by lies and rumour.’

  ‘Perhaps Pug can shed some light on that time?’ said Calis.

  ‘Pug?’

  Nakor said, ‘The man in black, in your aunt’s vision, is almost certainly Pug or perhaps his son Magnus. Both are given to wearing black, and both are great sorcerers who struggle to protect this world. If the vision of dragon riders is more than mere metaphor, they would be the Valheru’s most powerful opposition.’ He glanced at Miranda.

  She looked deeply troubled. ‘We know things,’ she said to Arkan. ‘Some of which are best discussed after we find Pug. We seem fated to travel together. If we can contrive some way to get past this invading army and navy blocking our way!’ She sat back in her chair with an audible sigh and said, ‘If there was some way I could contact Pug, reach out with my mind and tell him …’ Tell him what? she wondered silently. That his dead wife’s memories had been attached to a demon queen, who under any other circumstances would happily rip off his head and devour his brain; but who would now like nothing more than for him to hold her? Tears threatened, and she willed herself away from that emotional trap.

  ‘Pug,’ she said softly. ‘I wonder what he’s doing this minute?’

  • CHAPTER FOUR •

  Isle of Snakes

  PUG SIGNALLED.

  Sandreena and Amirantha moved out from behind the large rock where they had been
waiting. She was clad in the traditional armour of her order, the Shield of the Weak, and he had forgone his usual finery to don a more appropriate outfit: heavy woollen trousers, a dark green flannel shirt, and stout black boots. His attire made the staff he carried look almost gaudy. It had been created that way for theatrical effect, to help gull potential victims into his confidence scheme – summoning relatively harmless demons then banishing them for reward – but was a powerful magic artefact in its own right.

  They were tired and dirty from their journey down to the region where Jim Dasher had encountered what he thought was a Pantathian Serpent priest, and it had proved far more problematic than anticipated.

  Reaching a safe house in the Keshian city of Teléman had been simple enough, since Pug’s orb had taken them there. But that was as far south as the Conclave had established any permanent stations. Like almost everyone monitoring Kesh, the Conclave had considered the nations of the Keshian Confederacy barely worth consideration. They were universally regarded to be nothing more than an annoyance to the Empire on her southern boundary, and not an area noteworthy enough to warrant the Conclave’s continuing surveillance. The Conclave resources had limits, and Kesh was a vast land. Most of their intelligence gathering had been focused on the City of Kesh, heart of the Empire, and key population centres along the borders with the Kingdom, as well as major sea ports. None of Pug’s agents had travelled below the Girdle of Kesh, as the two ranges of mountains that divided the Empire from the Confederacy were called. Which made it the perfect place to organize the major undertaking of subverting the Empire’s rulers and launching a wholesale invasion of the Kingdom.

  And it made it impossible to reach by the magical means at Pug’s disposal.

  So, more mundane means of transport had been required. Pug had the ability to transport himself magically to any place in his line of sight, and to the places he knew well, but he was limited in how far he could transport himself and two others repeatedly. Still, the occasional sorcerous jaunt was handy for bypassing certain obstacles and to avoid roving bands of raiders, bandits, and what passed for the local militia, but most of their journey had been made by horseback, small boat, and foot.

  The weather was chilly, as it was now early winter in the southern hemisphere. A misty rain had been falling intermittently since dawn and the three travellers were just damp and cold enough to be irritable. Sandreena in particular was beyond patience, as she had been forced to leave her horse stabled in a tiny village on the mainland coast with the other mounts. As a Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, worshippers of the Goddess Dala, she found that being on foot was like having to fight with one hand; something she was able to do, but would rather not.

  Pug had secured a boat but the owner had refused to row them over to the large island, and at last Pug understood why. The maps that Macros had drawn years before and left behind in his library were full of errors and inexactitudes, one of which was sloppy translation. After speaking to the locals on the far shore of the mainland, Pug now realized that this was not the ‘Island of the Snakes’, but rather the ‘Island of the Snake Men’.

  Apparently, he had found the Pantathian homeland. Which puzzled him, as he had thought the heart of the Pantathian murder cult had been located near the foothills of the mountain range named the Pavilion of the Gods. Legend said many of the Valheru Dragon Lords had resided in that region as well.

  The Pantathians were an unnatural race, distorted by a Valheru by the name of Alma-Lodaka, Mistress of Serpents, who had created them to serve her. She had bred them, then evolved them into intelligent beings and granted them magical abilities. It was conceded that while the Valheru could not create life, they could manipulate and distort it.

  One unintended consequence had been the creation of a death cult who worshipped the long-departed Mistress of Serpents as a goddess, longed for her return, and who would stop at nothing to bring it about. Much of Pug’s personal history was intertwined with these snake men: upright serpents who were human-like in form, but who were more alien than any other race Pug had encountered on Midkemia. He understood the Dasati, a race from another plane of reality, better than he understood the Pantathians.

  Pug and his son Magnus had been instrumental in destroying the Pantathian crèches in what they had thought to be the final blow against the lizard race, but apparently there had been more than one enclave of the creatures. As disgusting as it might have been to obliterate every egg and spawn they had encountered, Pug had at least found some solace in the knowledge they were not natural creatures, but twisted parodies of intelligent life focused only on one purpose, and that purpose entailed the annihilation or enslavement of all other races on Midkemia in service of their ‘goddess’.

  Pug surveyed the landscape and sniffed the air. There was a burnt wood tinge in the heavy damp air. He motioned for his companions to follow him and led them up a small rise to a ridge overlooking a shallow valley. In the distance they could see what looked to be a community, but even at this distance it was clear that it had been burned to char.

  Pug motioned for Sandreena and Amirantha to stand close, and they stepped forwards to flank him, and put their hands on his shoulders.

  In an instant they were standing at the edge of the town. Signs of battle were evident in all directions. ‘Looks like whoever did this wasn’t willing to let anyone survive,’ observed Sandreena.

  ‘They were making a point,’ said Pug.

  ‘Point?’ Amirantha looked at the short sorcerer.

  Pug nodded. ‘I’m not entirely sure of what the point was: vengeance, perhaps. This wouldn’t be the first time an army destroyed every man, woman, and child of an enemy. You don’t slaughter those who farm and raise livestock if you plan on occupying a land and ruling it.’ He looked around. ‘The dead pay no taxes, either.’

  Pug silently turned in a full circle. ‘This valley runs to the south from here.’ He pointed to a nearby stream. ‘If we follow that stream I suspect we’ll find more villages.’

  ‘We walk?’ asked Amirantha.

  ‘Most of the way,’ said Pug and he set off. After a moment, the other two followed.

  By the time they found the fourth village, Pug was perplexed. ‘This was no small raiding party.’ He pointed to several locations around the area where they stood. ‘This was a coordinated attack. I’ve seen enough battlefields over the last hundred years to recognize that.’

  The one unexpected factor had been the corpses left intact enough to recognize: they were Pantathians. They had all been Pantathian villages, and the bodies which had not been literally torn to shreds, or incinerated, were lizard men, women and children.

  Sandreena said, ‘You’re right. There’s no sign of anyone fleeing.’ She pointed behind them and said, ‘If it was merely a raiding patrol, those fleeing the first onslaught to the north of here would have warned those in the south. By now we’d have seen abandoned wagons along the way, or more dead … people,’ she shrugged as if unable to think of a better word to describe them, ‘with bundles of precious belongings. There’s none of that. This was a coordinated attack, as Pug said. Several elements support a military strike.’ She looked at Pug. Then she faltered, pausing as if she heard a distant, faint sound. ‘Do you feel that?’ She looked at Amirantha.

  He said, ‘I’ve been feeling something for a—’ His eyes widened. ‘Demons!’

  ‘Someone sent a demon army here, Pug,’ said Sandreena.

  Pug sighed as if it was the last thing he wished to hear.

  ‘It’s as if the gods can’t find enough grief to visit on this world,’ said Amirantha. ‘I can no longer control one demon, so they send an entire army …’

  Pug slowly let his gaze wander. ‘It’s the gods who are trying to stop this. That is why we are here.’

  ‘I’m a woman of faith,’ said Sandreena, ‘but these are the moments when that faith is tested.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ said Pug.

  ‘What?’ asked S
andreena.

  Pug pointed to the recently-dead corpse of a Pantathian. He approached it, ignoring the stench of decay, and said, ‘Whenever we encountered the Pantathians, even when we raided their crèches in the mines below the Ratn’gary Mountains, we saw no soldiers.’ The corpse was dressed in a full open-faced helm, a cuirass of steel, a chainmail kilt and heavy leather boots. It still clutched a blood-caked sword in its dead fingers and nearby rested a distorted round shield, rent with talon marks. ‘We saw a few guards, but they were mostly workers, priests, and the female breeders.’ He knelt beside it. ‘There were no soldiers.’ He looked around, seeing others garbed in similar fashion. ‘These Pantathians have hidden an army.’

  ‘It’s smaller than a few days ago,’ quipped Sandreena. ‘The demons did thorough work here.’

  ‘What should we do now?’ asked Amirantha.

  ‘If this Pantathian society remotely resembles ours,’ said Pug, standing, ‘these farms and villages support a city somewhere, or at least a fortress.’

  ‘If there’s a fortress full of snake-men, I doubt we would be welcome,’ observed Amirantha.

  Pug nodded, continuing to look around. ‘Something here feels … right.’

  That statement brought puzzled looks from both his companions and he went on, ‘I have been battling Pantathians since the Great Uprising. They played a key part in the invasion of the Emerald Queen’s army.’ Both Sandreena and Amirantha were aware of the role the demon Jatuk had played in that war, using powerful magic to disguise himself as the Emerald Queen. ‘The Pantathians were duped as much as the Saaur and many of the humans loyal to the Emerald Queen. But there was even more in play than was apparent.’ He looked down at the dead Pantathian again. ‘I know there are others; the Shangri, also called Panath-Tiandn, are strange, nearly mindless creatures that have been twisted by dark powers to manipulate magic energy.’ He pointed to the dead soldier. ‘But it seems that there may be a third type of Pantathian we’ve never encountered before.’ He bent and took a small pouch that had been wedged into the soldier’s sword belt and pulled it free. Inside he found small objects. He tossed one to Amirantha. ‘What do you make of this?’