A Crown Imperilled

by Raymond E. Feist

Sandreena’s former mentor sighed. ‘In truth, not much. If anything the temples are more difficult to infiltrate than even the Conclave, for the gods are very jealous of their domains. Several of the martial orders, however, seem to have been slightly compromised: no ordained member is suspected, but key servants, or lay administrators, have been weeded out as being undependable. Those identified are being questioned.’

  ‘Which orders?’ Sandreena asked.

  ‘The more active groups: the Warders, the Hunters, the Arm, and the Hammer.’

  Pug seemed to wilt visibly at the list, and Sandreena said, ‘If they infiltrated any significant level of those orders, they are dangerous.’

  ‘Exceedingly dangerous,’ added Creegan. Seeing that Amirantha didn’t quite follow, he said, ‘Of course, you’d know the gods and perhaps those orders by different names in your homeland.’ He held up his left hand and began ticking off on each finger. ‘The Warders of Law serve Astalon the god of law, the Hunters are followers of Guis-wa the god of forbidden knowledge, the Arm of Vengeance serve Kahooli the Vengeful, and the Hammer serves Tith-Onanka, the war god. Many of these, especially the Arm and the Hunters are almost overt enemies, and would never knowingly work together.’

  ‘I see, and the Shield?’ Amirantha looked pointedly at Creegan.

  ‘Our order is one that takes great pains in examining those we employee within the temples; magic is used to determine if those who come to serve have duplicity in their hearts. And unlike some of the other orders, we require our own members to conduct the daily business of the Order, the cooking, cleaning, and maintaining the temples, shrines, and other our places of residence. Some of the other orders do not. The Hammer, and the Hunters, feel that every member must be a warrior-priest, and to concentrate solely on those duties, they hire many to serve who are not of the Order. Therein lies their vulnerability. But even those orders I’d judge lax in selecting members have some safeguards. For infiltrators to be within their ranks would mean some agency of power is masking their duplicity.’

  ‘Send them messages,’ said Pug. ‘Convince them as best you can to see to their own houses. Bring in the Ishapians if you must.’ He stood up. ‘This meeting is over.’

  Creegan said, ‘The other orders will listen to the Ishapians, but they will not like it.’

  ‘They’ll like seeing their world in ruins at the feet of the Dread even less.’

  Creegan glanced at Amirantha, nodded to Sandreena, then turned and departed.

  Pug said, ‘Now, if you have that orb Magnus gave you, I’d like to visit this place you speak of and see what he is doing.’

  ‘Shall we return with you?’ asked Sandreena.

  ‘No, rest for a few days. You’ve been travelling a great deal. I’ll return with Magnus when it’s time.’

  Amirantha retrieved the orb from his tunic pocket and gave it to Pug, who said, ‘See you soon,’ depressed the switch on the side and vanished.

  Amirantha yawned. ‘After that meal, I’m in the mood for a nap. Care to join me?’

  ‘Those days are long over, you fraud,’ Sandreena said. Then she smiled. ‘Rest, and I’ll see you for dinner if you’d like.’

  ‘I would like that a great deal,’ he said and was surprised to find he meant it. ‘Dinner then.’

  She turned and walked away, and he watched her go and thought to himself that of all the women he had met and bedded, she was the one he could never get out of his head. With a sign of resignation, Amirantha turned and headed back to his own quarters.

  Pug appeared next to his son. Magnus was obviously in some sort of trance, as he sat ignoring the drizzling rain that had soaked him to the skin despite the best efforts of a Pantathian holding what appeared to be a make-shift umbrella that kept most of the rain off him. Which meant he had been there for a long time; knowing his son, Pug judged it had been since early this morning. While it was summer in the north, it was winter here and this far south the rain was turning bitterly cold.

  At the sight of him the Pantathian almost dropped the umbrella and said in clearly-understandable Keshian, ‘Oh, you startled me!’

  Pug waved his hand and said, ‘Apologies. Here, let me take that from you. I’m his father.’

  The reptilian creature seemed relieved. ‘He awoke before dawn and has been here since breaking his fast; this is his second day and we are unwilling to disturb him.’

  Pug reached out gently with his magic and then withdrew. ‘You could probably hit him on the head with a rock and it wouldn’t disturb him,’ he said, taking the umbrella. As soon as he had hold of it he realized that despite the good intentions of the Pantathian, the gusting wind entirely defeated the effectiveness of the umbrella. Even so, he held it over his son.

  ‘I am La’th,’ said the Pantathian. ‘I will inform Tavak that you are here. I am sure he will wish to welcome you himself.’

  As the creature departed, Pug reflected on how ironic it should be to be welcomed by any sort of Pantathian. For his entire adult life they had been trying their best to obliterate humanity, at least all the ones he had encountered.

  While he waited, Pug inspected the tableau. Magnus sat on a soggy cushion facing an oval of energy floating about three feet above the ground. Seeing it and the Sven-ga’ri beyond, he understood why Magnus had forgone the relatively easy task of erecting a shield of magic against the elements. It would have had to be large enough to encompass what appeared to be a massive terraced park atop the largest building in this city, which would have made deploying his other spells more problematic; or if small enough to encompass just himself, it certainly would have distorted any readings or insights gained from that examination.

  Gently he sent his mind into the matrix of light before him, seeking out his son’s presence. Finding Magnus was like finding his own hand: as father and son they were attached in a way like no other pair in Pug’s life. His lifelong friend Tomas and his departed wife, Miranda, were family of his heart, and he could find them almost as easily, but Magnus was his blood, his last remaining child.

  For a brief moment that awareness struck Pug as he remembered those children he had lost: William, his first boy, dying heroically in the defence of Krondor, and Gaminia, his adopted daughter in that same struggle. Caleb, his youngest, dying with his wife Marie, at the same time Miranda had been lost. Caleb, so strong and willing to serve, yet always the one without magic.

  Pug pushed aside that pang, for he knew it led inexorably to his fear of the curse laid upon him by the Goddess of Death: that he would watch everyone he love die before him. He had foster grandsons, Tad, Zane, and Jommy, whom he had kept at an emotional distance, fearing that to come to love them as his own would doom them. He could not honestly say if he had succeeded in keeping his affections in check.

  Turning his mind away from such morbid turns, he followed his instincts to his son’s metaphorical location within the matrix and intruded slightly to let Magnus know he was there.

  Father, came Magnus’s thought. I felt your presence when you arrived.

  Pug marvelled at the man and sorcerer his son was becoming. Pug had known other workers of magic: Kulgan, his mentor; Shimon, Hochopepa and other Tsurani Great Ones in the Assembly of Magicians on that now-lost world. Macros and his daughter Miranda. Each had special abilities and in one thing or another surpassed the others. Kulgan was a practitioner of what was known now as the Path of Lesser Magic, a distinction made by the Tsurani. The Great Ones were known to walk the Path of Greater Magic. The Greater and Lesser Paths were pointless labels from Pug’s point of view when it came to Magnus. He was a true master of any magic he sought to learn. Even the most arcane of the arts, such as Amirantha’s demon lore, Magnus had undertaken to understand, and now he could exercise some small control over demons.

  Pushing aside his wonder at his son’s ability for mind-speech, a skill shared with Pug’s adopted daughter, a skill Pug had never successfully mastered, he said, ‘Amirantha and Sandreena have told me of this place. It is unexpec
ted.’

  Indeed, yet they have shown nothing but cordial hospitality. They are very wise beings, Father, and I think they know there are dark forces moving and they stand in harm’s way if they do not at least refuse to oppose us.

  Pug felt another presence nearby. ‘I think our host is here. I’ll return momentarily.

  Pug pulled his consciousness out of the matrix and turned to see an elderly Pantathian in a finely-made red robe with black trim now being thoroughly soaked by the intensifying rain. ‘You are Pug,’ the Pantathian said.

  ‘You are Tak’ka,’ returned Pug.

  ‘It would be false should I say you are welcome here, but we understand that your son’s appearance and now yours are fated, and accept that. Too much of our blood on your hands prevents me from offering more than tolerance and a modicum of comfort.’ He glanced skyward, ‘Though from your son’s willingness to soak in this soon-to-be-freezing rain indicates to me that creature comforts are not very important.’

  Pug could not hide his amusement. If the Pantathian was unaware of a human sense of humour, he was naturally wry. ‘Oh, we appreciate comforts and I welcome tolerance. Perhaps at some time in the future we may discuss our past differences, or at least mine with your more murderous kin, but for the moment Magnus’s actions communicate a sense of urgency on his part and I defer to his judgment. As for the wet and cold, we’ve endured worse, and I expect we shall come though this, though a dry towel when we are done would be most welcome.’

  Pug couldn’t tell if the creature was amused or not, as he did not understand Pantathian facial expressions. But Tak’ka answered, ‘That much can be done. La’th here will remain to provide for your needs should any arise.’ Without further words, the elder Pantathian turned and left the roof garden.

  Pug actually looked forward to having the opportunity to sit and speak with the apparently gentle leader of the Pantathians. He had understood so little of these created beings, these playthings of an ancient dead Dragon Lord, Alma-Lodaka, who had become a goddess to this race.

  But for now, Pug returned his attention to his son and re-entered the matrix.

  Time became meaningless and Pug realized they stood a real risk of passing out from exhaustion if they didn’t occasionally monitor their real-world existence. Then he wondered how he would know what constituted ‘occasionally’, given the circumstances?

  He watched as Magnus probed. He had remained an observer since Magnus had begun this exploration and seemed deft at discovering his way around this analogue of an energy field as well or perhaps better than his father would be.

  Pug virtually moved within the matrix without conscious thought to where Magnus probed the massive construct of a castle. It appeared to be a protective barrier constructed entirely of energy, and prodigious amounts of energy at that.

  They had tried moving around the barrier and learned that the illusion of size and shape was misleading. There was no ‘around’ nor ‘back’. Anywhere they ceased their ‘movement’ they were still confronted by the red barrier. After much discussion the night before, Pug was observing Magnus attempt to penetrate the barrier. The more obvious choices had been to ‘look’ in one of the windows, but that had proved pointless; there was nothing beyond the ‘window’. Pug deduced that it might have been some mechanism that allowed observation from within, allowing someone or something within the matrix to observe what Magnus and Pug were attempting. But who or what that someone or something might be was beyond their understanding.

  Now Magnus was probing the ‘lock’ in the door. Pug struggled to understand the concept. Here was an energy matrix, assembled in such a way as to imply it was a communication of some sort. But it seemed protected in a fashion that whoever placed it here wanted to be certain that only a certain person or group of people might be able to decipher it. That would imply the information was sensitive.

  Pug began an investigation of his own, exploring the limits of the matrix while Magus continued his probing of the internal barrier. When he was at last convinced he had begun to understand something of the nature of this odd artefact, he gently contacted Magnus, who withdrew.

  In a blink they were both conscious of being in the rain, drenched and chilled. They hurried to the entrance to the garden and found La’th waiting, though the Pantathian seemed on the verge of sleeping. He snapped out of his doze and handed them each a towel. ‘Is there anything you require?’

  Father and son glanced at one another. ‘Something hot to drink would be appreciated,’ said Pug. ‘Coffee, tea, chocha, whatever else you might have.’

  ‘We have tea,’ said the Pantathian and he hurried down the stairs.

  ‘What concerns me,’ began Pug to Magnus, ‘is the incalculable energy contained within that thing.’

  Magnus nodded. ‘Me too. When I first began I concluded that this construct, this matrix, is somehow an extension of the Sven-ga’ri, and I’m convinced it’s their attempt to communicate with us. I just don’t understand why, after all this time, and why here, rather than up in the Peaks of the Quor?’

  ‘When we unlock that barrier and if we are able to communicate with these beings, then perhaps we will have those answers. As for the first, I speculate that time may be different to them, and perhaps it’s taken them this long to appreciate what manner of beings surround them, and how best to reach out to us. As to why here than there, I do not even care to speculate on that question.’

  Pug fell silent as the Pantathian returned with two mugs of hot tea. It was bitter and flavourful and warming and they were both grateful to have it. ‘How are you doing with that barrier?’

  Magnus sipped his tea and Pug studied his son for a moment. Unlike his eldest son, William, who bore a strong resemblance to Pug, or like his youngest son Caleb, who resembled his mother, Magnus barely resembled either of his parents, though Pug could see hints of Miranda around the eyes. His face was currently set in a very familiar expression of thoughtfulness as he answered, ‘It’s complex, obviously. It’s constantly changing but I’m beginning to discern a pattern, a repeating sequences of pulses that prevent a casual probe beyond that wall into whatever is hiding behind there. Think of it as a lock, but one that has teeth and grooves within that are moving, and out there somewhere is a key that moves in synchronization with that lock, but any other key or lock pick will merely jam the lock, rendering it useless.’

  Pug considered this. After a moment, he said, ‘Still, the matrix did not manifest until you appeared, what, a day after you arrived?’

  ‘About that,’ agreed Magnus.

  ‘So we might conclude that there’s a reasonable expectation that you are either supposed to be in possession of that key or able to pick that lock, correct?’

  Magnus smiled. ‘Were our positions reversed in this conversation, Father, what would you say in answer to that?’

  Pug smiled. ‘I’d say you were making rash assumptions. It could be that the arrival of any magic-user triggers that response.’

  ‘Or any non-Pantathian,’ offered Magnus.

  ‘Or demons on the island, or a flock of seagulls flying overhead …’

  ‘We should get back,’ said Magnus. ‘We have a few hours of daylight left, and while it’s cold now, it’s going to be brutal after the sun goes down. And I feel as if I’m almost ready to try to “pick the lock” as you say.’

  Pug followed his son out to where the now totally soaked and useless cushion sat, and watched as Magnus sat on it anyway, and observed him enter his trance state.

  A sudden concern struck Pug in the pit of his stomach as he recognized that his last living child was about to embark on what was perhaps a very dangerous exploration of magic. He quickly inventoried his own established spells of protection and realized he’d got sloppy lately.

  Pug had almost died because of his own arrogance when confronting the demon Jakan when he was in the guise of the Emerald Queen. That near-death experience had delivered a harsh lesson, but it had proved instructive in preparing
for potentially lethal outcomes.

  Pug decided not to join his son in the matrix exploration but began to construct a spell of protection for the two of them. Of all spell-craft at Pug’s disposal, the most difficult was this, a spell to protect without warning. The difficulty arose that in the time between an attack manifesting itself and the target becoming aware, the target could already be dead before the defence could be deployed. Against arrows and sword, fire and stone, there was no way to protect without advance warning. But against magic there was always a momentary gathering of energies, sometimes less than a few seconds, yet always there before the magic was unleashed. It was that fact that gave Pug the idea for this construction of magic.

  The shell that would engulf him and anyone close, Magnus in this case, and protect them from any magical damage Pug could anticipate. As a master of his craft unequalled on this world, save perhaps for his son, that covered any form of energy, fire, or other discharge that would instantly kill the unprotected. The trick, as Nakor would have called it, was to have it deployed the instant before the attack was unleashed, and that was where Pug concentrated. The instant a malevolent magic was detected, the shield would deploy, and in that instant was the different between salvation and obliteration. The difficulty was he could only deploy such a defence in a single position, such as on top of this roof in this garden.

  Pug fashioned his spell and put the magical ‘trip-wire’ as he thought of it in place, then let out a long sigh. As long as he stood there and didn’t move, he and Magnus stood a fair chance of surviving any trap that could be anticipated.

  It was the ones he couldn’t anticipate that had him worried.

  • CHAPTER SIXTEEN •

  Journeys

  NAKOR SWORE.

  ‘We can run faster than these horses,’ he complained to Miranda.

  ‘Yes, but after a few hours we’d need to eat them. And there are enough Kingdom patrols between here and Sarth I don’t wish to have to explain myself to.’