Rides a Dread Legion

by Raymond E. Feist

  But the man whose foot she struck came away with an outcry, and before anyone could ascertain what happened, chaos erupted. The waking cultists saw a band of armed men moving toward them and reacted with the only weapons they possessed—their magic.

  Green energies shot out and several of those with weapons screamed in pain, while the other fighters shouted in outrage and charged. Sandreena scampered down the rock face, not wishing or needing to see further carnage. She knew the thirty-odd swords would eventually dispose of the two dozen cultists, but a lot fewer of the fighters were going to ride safely away from this hellish place.

  Sandreena rode down the trail at a nice canter, knowing those fighting for their lives behind her wouldn’t hear a thing.

  Sandreena worked her way up the rocks to the cave where the hermit had tended to her. She called out, “Hello! Are you here?” as she entered. It took some moments for her sight to adjust to the gloom after riding through the sunrise, and when she was inside, her eyes widened.

  She carried a small kettle and an assortment of cooking items: a knife, ladle, several spoons, and two earthen bowls. She had raided the inn passing through town, knowing the previous owners had no use for any of the items. When there was no answer, she moved deeper into the cave.

  The hermit sat back against the wall, his eyes closed. “Wake up, old man!” Sandreena said, for she had no time to tarry, but wanted to make good on her promise. The hermit didn’t move.

  She put down her burden and knelt next to him. She knew before she touched him the old man was dead. She quickly examined him and found no wounds. He simply had died during the night while he slept. There were no expressions of pain, no contortions of the body, so he must have never awakened.

  Sighing, she reminded herself that sometimes people just died. He was old and this was a harsh way to live and it was his time.

  She said a quick silent prayer to her Goddess to see him on his way to Lims-Kragma’s Hall, and then left the cave. She mounted her horse and turned it toward the south. With one last look around the forlorn seascape and rocky coasts, all greys and browns, black and white, she wondered if there was anyone in the world besides herself that would note the passing of that strange old man. She put aside that question, for her only goal now was to somehow get to Ithra alive and send her warning to the Temple in Krondor.

  Pug of Sorcerer’s Isle, perhaps the greatest practitioner of magic in the entirety of the world of Midkemia, waved his hand and created a barrier to protect himself and his companion from the blinding, choking smoke. He looked at an elf Spellweaver named Temar, and said, “This is the worst I’ve seen in a hundred years.”

  Temar nodded. “I’ve seen a few that match, but not many. It’s a bad combination, Pug, drought and lightning.”

  Temar was from the elven community at Baranor. For ten years Pug and Miranda had visited the elven enclave in the remote mountain area of Kesh known as the Peaks of the Quor, attempting to understand those strange aliens and those they protected, the Sven’ga-ri, and the equally odd race known as the Quor, who protected them.

  “It hasn’t been especially dry until a week ago,” said Temar. “But the undergrowth here is so thick that it was almost a certainty lightning would start something like this.” He glanced around and pointed with his hand to the north. “We’re getting an especially bad dry wind that’s doing us double disservice; it’s pushing the flames and drying out everything before them.”

  “Rain?” asked Pug.

  The elf gave Pug a wry smile. “I’m good at weather magic, Pug, but not that good. There’s not enough moisture in the air, nor is there any rain close enough for me to summon. I could attempt it, but I know the effort would be a waste.”

  A loud pop in the air alerted them to the arrival of Magnus. The elf was unfazed by the sudden appearance of the human magician, but Pug was startled to see he was not alone. “Father,” greeted the tall, white-haired magician.

  “Who is this?” asked Pug.

  “This is Amirantha, someone you need to speak with.”

  “This couldn’t wait until I return?”

  “I think not,” answered Magnus.

  Pug nodded. “We’re concerned about this fire,” he said, pointing to the raging flames on the next ridge. “It’s not entirely likely that it will reach Baranor, but it might. Conditions here are not good.” Turning to Amirantha, he said, “Sorry to be short on social pleasantries, but time is fleeting.”

  Temar also nodded a brief greeting. “It’s going to be getting very hot here in the next hour, Pug.”

  Magnus asked, “Can you not turn the wind, blow it back on itself?”

  “I can command the wind,” answered the elf, “but not over so wide a front. And, like all things with fundamental elements, there is a price to pay.”

  “So rain is out of the question?” asked Amirantha, looking at the rapidly approaching inferno.

  “There is no hope of rain,” said Temar.

  “Perhaps I can help,” said Amirantha. “Please stand away from me.”

  Pug, Magnus, and Temar moved away, then farther as Amirantha motioned them to move a little more. When he judged them safely away, he held up his hand, closed his eyes, and incanted a spell. From his hand a brilliant white light, blinding even in this daylight, shot down to burn a line in the ground. In seconds it inscribed a circle around the Warlock. He looked at the circle on the ground, nodded in satisfaction, then stepped out of it, being careful not to step on the burned line as he took up position between himself and the others.

  He began another spell, this one longer and more involved, and then something huge appeared in the circle. For lack of a better description, Pug saw it as a thing of water, a huge being in roughly man shape but clearly a fluid being. Surging waves within the form were masked by ripples across the surface of it, and bubbles and foam seemed to deck its shoulders like a mantle. It cried out in a language that sounded like the roar of rapids or the pounding of waves and rushed Amirantha. The Warlock stood motionless, and when the creature reached the boundary of the circle, it recoiled.

  Amirantha said, “Summoned you I have, and my bidding you will do.” The creature in the circle seemed disinclined to agree. Amirantha began another spell, and then the thing in the circle grew quiet. Amirantha pointed to the advancing flames and said one word, then the circle vanished.

  The water creature grew. Pug and the others stepped back in amazement as it doubled in size in a few seconds. Amirantha turned his back and walked slowly to where they stood and said, “This should take care of the problem.”

  The water being continued to grow and soon was over twenty feet in height, then it sprang into the air. Like a bowshot, it was gone, arching high into the sky, and then suddenly it vanished. Rain fell.

  There was not a cloud in the sky, yet rain poured down over the flames.

  Amirantha said, “It’s not enough to completely extinguish the fire, but it should cool things off enough so the flames won’t reach this far.” He glanced at Temar. “And perhaps it will give our friend here the time he needs for a more permanent solution?”

  Temar nodded. “I can feel the weather change. In a half-day, there will be enough moisture in the air for me to call down rain. Thank you.”

  Amirantha nodded and smiled. Pug said, “What was that creature? I’ve never seen one like it before.”

  “It was a simple water elemental. A very minor demon. Nasty if you don’t contain it, as it can quickly fill your lungs with water—my first encounter with one was painful.” He glanced at the water still falling and said, “Water and fire are natural enemies among elementals. Once I got it to listen, pointing out the fire made it eager to go kill.” He chuckled. “Elementals are not among the brightest of creatures.”

  “Will you have any problem controlling it?” asked Magnus, obviously curious.

  “No,” said Amirantha. “Actually, the elemental will give itself up to the fire; they sort of cancel one another in the demon realm,
and once that creature runs out of water to rain down on the fire…Well, it saves me the trouble of banishing it back to the demon realm.”

  “It’s a demon?” asked Pug.

  “Not entirely, but close enough in some respects.” He glanced around. “Interesting place. I don’t believe I’ve ever been here before.”

  “You travel a lot?” asked Pug, finding something about this newcomer’s manner wryly amusing.

  “Quite a bit, many years ago. I have settled down a bit, recently.” He looked around and said, “Given the time of day when we arrived at your very interesting island, and when we departed—after a fascinating discussion with your son—and the position of the sun now, I assume we are again many miles to the east of where I was a few minutes ago.” He glanced at Pug and said, “Somewhere in Kesh.” Then he glanced around and added, “Perhaps the Peaks of the Quor.”

  “I’m impressed,” said Pug. “Seeing as you claim to have never been here before.”

  “I haven’t,” said Amirantha with a friendly smile. “But given the angle of the sun and the time of day, the fact we’re standing on mountains, looking down at what can only be sea coast, there weren’t a lot of other likely candidates. I may not have been here, but I have studied a map or two.”

  Pug glanced at his son. “My demon expert?” His son nodded. “Where did you find him?”

  Magnus said, “Actually, Kaspar brought him to the island last night.”

  Amirantha smiled. “It was morning when we left Maharta.”

  “Maharta?” asked Pug.

  “Currently close to my home.” He glanced at the other two men and the elf and said, “If we’re going to talk, may I suggest we retire someplace a bit less smoky?”

  Pug glanced at Temar, who said, “Go. I can easily return to Baranor.” Originally from Elvandar, Temar had elected to come to Baranor with others of his kind to revitalize the dying Sun Elves, a pocket of elven guardians who had been placed in the mountains ages ago by the Dragon Lords.

  Duty-bound, they had remained even though the toll had been terrible. When discovered by Kaspar of Olasko and his men ten years before, the Sun Elves were barely able to defend themselves from a band of void creatures that had somehow reached Midkemia and taken up residency a few miles away from the elven enclave.

  Now many of those, known as the Glamredhel, those rustic elves who had once lived north of the Teeth of the World mountains, had migrated to Baranor, swelling the population and revitalizing the community. Temar was originally from the Tsurani world of Kelewan, an Eldar Spellweaver who had come out of simple curiosity, liked what he found, and remained. He, as much as Pug and the other magicians, was fascinated by the mysterious Sven’ga-ri and their Quor protectors.

  Speaking to the Quor was as frustrating an undertaking as Pug could imagine, for they appeared primitive, even simple at times, while at other times they made observations that hinted at a deep, perhaps even profound understanding of things beyond Pug’s own considerable intellect. Over one hundred times Pug had come to speak with the Quor and the Sven’ga-ri, and each time he felt as if he had gained a tiny bit of insight, yet no whole picture emerged. He was convinced the Quor were not native to this world, but nothing they said indicated that. They spoke without regard for time, being content to live in the moment, and their only concerns for past and future revolved around protecting the Sven’ga-ri.

  Those alien beings were most certainly not originally of this world, yet somehow they were connected to Midkemia in a vital, perhaps essential way. They didn’t communicate in any fashion Pug understood, but rather filled the air around them—or the minds of those with whom they spoke—with music. Their music was unlike anything Pug had heard from the dozens of races he had encountered over the years; it was pure feelings distilled.

  Pug wished to remain and study the Quor and Sven’ga-ri as originally planned, but it was clear his son thought the arrival of this stranger a more pressing matter. Besides, he had asked them to find him an expert on demons.

  Pug said to Temar, “Farewell. I will return again, soon.”

  “You are always welcome,” said the elf, who bowed slightly to the others, then turned and began descending toward the pathway that would lead him home.

  Both Pug and Magnus reached out and took a grip on Amirantha’s arms, and suddenly they were standing in Pug’s study. Amirantha said, “I am now convinced that is the most wonderful thing a magician can achieve. To go where one wants by thought!”

  Magnus and Pug exchanged glances. In their experience, no practiced magician was unaware of the ability to transport either via a Tsurani orb or through spells that take years to master. Even if he had never utilized the talent, he must have been exposed to it.

  Pug moved behind his desk and motioned for Amirantha to take a seat opposite, while Magnus remained standing near the door. Pug said, “You are welcome here, Amirantha.”

  The man smiled, though it was clearly not a genuine sign of pleasure but a social concession. “I came with a friend, who I believe is being held hostage somewhere against my good behavior?”

  Pug glanced at Magnus, who said, “Your friend is hardly being held hostage, but I didn’t feel the need to drag both of you along to find my father. I brought you with me in case he was unable to return here. If you’d like, I’ll send for Brandos.”

  “I’d like that very much, thank you.”

  Magnus left the room, leaving Pug and Amirantha alone. “Why don’t you tell me why Kaspar thought it important to bring you here?”

  Amirantha smiled and this time it was a genuinely amused smile. “And thereby betray his relationship to another authority besides the Maharaja to whom he’s sworn fealty?”

  “Hardly a betrayal,” said Pug. “Kaspar’s relationship to the Conclave of Shadows predates his taking service with the Maharaja. His service to his lord and to us is not in conflict. Our interest and the interests of the Kingdom of Muboya are never in conflict and occasionally overlap.

  “Now, again, why did you come here?”

  Amirantha paused, framing his response, then began recounting his experiences since the surprise summoning of a battle demon in a cave. Pug listened silently, asking no questions nor offering any comment. When Amirantha reached the part of the narrative where he met Kaspar and recounted his relationship with his two brothers, Pug stiffened in his seat and his eyes narrowed, but again he said nothing.

  “So, we rode out at sunrise in a display of overland travel, but once we were out of the city, in a small woodland thicket, the General and his soldiers dismounted, we were told to dismount, and for a brief moment I was almost convinced that Brandos and I had been brought to this out-of-the-way place to be murdered.

  “Of course,” he quickly added, “that was merely my…suspicious nature. The General could have just as easily had us tossed into the dungeon in Maharta and been done with it.

  “Your son appeared as if out of nowhere and we vanished. I assume the soldiers merely camp out until Kaspar returns, then they all ride back into the city in a few days and it looks like he went for a quick visit somewhere.”

  “Something like that,” said Pug, his eyes fixed on Amirantha.

  “Where is Kaspar, by the way?”

  “If I know Kaspar, he’s probably fishing off the north beach. He takes these little holidays when he can. If he returns to Maharta too quickly, people start asking questions. He’ll guest with us for another three days, then head back.”

  Amirantha seemed amused by that, just as Magnus returned with Brandos, with Caleb trailing behind. Introductions were made, and the old fighter sat down in a chair in the corner, content to let his friend do the talking. Pug said, “I need to ask you about your brother.”

  “Which one?” asked Amirantha.

  “Sidi,” replied Pug.

  “Ah, I take it then you’ve encountered him.”

  “Several times, never with a good outcome.”

  “Kaspar informs me he is dead. Is that true?”<
br />
  “To an absolute certainty,” replied Pug. He alone pieced together reports from Jommy Killaroo that he had seen a Tsurani great one singing a Kingdom tavern song as he walked toward the Dasati Black Mound, their magic beachhead on the world of Kelewan. That description matched up with Miranda’s identifying the body inhabited by Varen, or Sidi, who could jump from body to body. Either he had been on Kelewan when the planet was destroyed, or stranded on the Dasati home world where Pug had no doubt he would eventually perish. Despite his not-inconsiderable power, Sidi would not have the time to adapt to that environment before death overtook him.

  Amirantha sighed. “Good. He, like Belasco and myself, was a bastard, but he was a murderous one, and he slaughtered our mother for the sheer fun of it.”

  Brandos had heard the story before, but shook his head as he always did. Seeing the gesture, Pug gave the old fighter a quizzical look.

  “Just, well, it’s an interesting family.”

  Magnus was forced to chuckle and decided he liked the old fighter.

  Amirantha looked slightly annoyed, but remained calm as he said, “I am not my brothers.”

  “Apparently,” said Pug. “Had you been like Sidi, I doubt you’d have come looking for someone in authority to speak with.

  “Now, as we know very little about the demon realm, what exactly do you wish us to know?”

  Amirantha looked uncomfortable for the first time. “I’ve heard of your Academy at Stardock, Pug. No user of magic hasn’t. I first became aware of it fifty years ago, or so.

  “I even visited there when traveling in Great Kesh, some years after, and realized that my sort wouldn’t be welcome. So I noted with some amusement the self-congratulating smugness of a few magicians I spoke with in an inn in Shamata, then went about my business.”

  Pug nodded. He would have had a different reaction to the Warlock, but he knew the students and instructors around at that time were a conservative group of Keshians who would have made it clear that any summoner of demons was not a “proper” magician.