Rides a Dread Legion

by Raymond E. Feist

  He took a deep breath. Sandreena was a confusion he had no answer for. There was something about her that tasked him, something that made him desperately want for her to forgive his cavalier behavior toward her years earlier, and that desire troubled him deeply. Shaking his head in irritation at himself, he turned to find Brandos and get something to eat.

  Gulamendis knew his life was hanging by the barest thread as he spoke to the Regent Lord about Tomas’s pending arrival. It had been clear from the first moment of reporting to the Regent Lord and the attending members of the Meet that Undalyn was ready to declare war on their cousins to the north should he feel the impulse. As the members of the Meet were for the most part handpicked by him over the years, to replace older members who had fallen to the demons over the last thirty years, Gulamendis knew he would get no support in arguing against any position the Regent Lord took.

  Even Tanderae would only be able to offer subtle influence, to shade how things were presented, but he, too, risked being swept away by the Regent Lord’s wrath. He was not yet the new Loremaster, first among the Lorekeepers, though it was rumored the position would be his soon. Gulamendis knew that should it come to a choice between his rise to power or supporting the Demon Master, Tanderae would happily light the fire around Gulamendis himself.

  Slowly, step by step, Gulamendis recounted his journey, his frustration at not being able to locate the demon source, his ride up the Far Coast, and his eventual discussion with the Queen and her Consort. He thought it best to omit discussion of his journey to Sorcerer’s Isle until after he saw if he was going to survive what he had to say next.

  “The Queen is sending her Consort in two more days to greet you, my lord,” said Gulamendis.

  “Her Consort?” He glanced around. “There is no King?”

  “Her King made his journey to the Blessed Isle many years ago, and to ensure the King’s son inherits, her second husband rejected the crown. Prince Calen will rule in Elvandar after his mother.”

  The Regent Lord said, “Odd. One should think that any elf would aspire to rule in Elvandar.”

  Gulamendis could already see the Regent Lord’s mind turning. If he could somehow rid the world of this consort, he would be—in his own mind—the logical suitor for the Elf Queen’s hand, after a suitable period of mourning, of course. Long before departing on this journey, Gulamendis has begun to suspect that the strain of command for thirty years of war, of losing so many close companions, of watching his people being systematically obliterated had taken its toll on the Regent Lord. After having seen the Elf Queen, Tomas, Pug, and others, he was now certain: the Regent Lord was unfit to rule, perhaps he was even mad.

  What had begun almost as a jest between himself and his brother—that they were going to have to practice a little subversion—now seemed closer to what was needed, an act of treason. Gulamendis lacked the nobility of spirit he had seen in Tomas, who he sensed would gladly give up his life to defend Elvandar, but at this moment, if he thought he had an opportunity to end his people’s suffering by killing the Regent, he thought he would.

  Still, there already were wards in place, against the coming of the Demon Legion or others, but they were just as effective against Gulamendis’s powers. Perhaps one of the human magicians might turn this hall into a fire pit before the Regent’s guards might react, but Gulamendis knew he would be dead before he might be halfway through a summoning.

  Mustering up the courage to say what needed to be said, Gulamendis spoke softly: “He’s not an elf, my lord.”

  The Regent Lord blinked, as if confounded by his own senses. “What?” he asked.

  “I said the Queen’s Consort is not an elf.”

  With a tone bordering on outright revulsion, the Regent Lord said, “What is he?”

  Calmly, Gulamendis said, “He was born human.”

  Anger rose up in the Regent Lord and he said, “Whatever claim she may have held to the most noble line in our ancestry is fouled by such a mating. A human!”

  Taking a deep breath, Gulamendis said, “I said he was born a human, my lord, but today he is far more than that. He wears an Ancient One’s armor.”

  The Regent Lord looked as if Gulamendis had struck him a blow across the face. Almost whispering, he said, “He dares?”

  “More,” said Gulamendis, judging it time to give the full truth and hope the Regent Lord continued to be stunned enough not to feel the need to affix blame to the messenger. Glossing over the very complex story Tomas had told him, Gulamendis said, “He was gifted the armor by the greatest of the great golden dragons”—he knew it was false, but he needed to glorify Tomas as much as possible to prepare the Regent Lord for the shock of meeting him—“in reward for some great deed. The armor’s magic transformed the human, and he does more than wear an Ancient One’s armor, he carries his—” at the last moment he decided to omit the facts of Tomas having Ashen-Shugar’s memories and instead said, “—his powers. In all but heart and spirit, he is Valheru.”

  Now the Regent Lord was reeling. He looked around the nearly finished meeting hall and moved to the large chair—not quite a throne—set on a small dais for him to rest on, and he slowly lowered himself into it.

  Of all the possibilities since Laromendis returned from his discovery of this world, this was one never considered. It had been feared the Valheru might have survived the Chaos Wars, but when no mention was made of them by Gulamendis’s brother, that fear vanished. But now, suddenly, that fear returned, yet it was tempered by the fact the Demon Master was bringing greetings.

  “Tell me of him,” whispered the Regent Lord, and at that moment, Gulamendis knew his life was safe for the moment. Gulamendis told of Tomas, changing the story of the boy lost in the cave—omitting any mention of the Dwarf King—to one of a brave lad seeking to destroy an evil demon; that resonated well with the Meet.

  After Gulamendis finished, the Regent Lord asked, “This human turned Ancient One, he seeks not to rule?”

  “It is most strange,” said Gulamendis carefully, “but he seems content to protect Elvandar and leave rule to his wife, the Queen.” The Demon Master slightly emphasized her title, again reminding the Regent Lord there were old ties that need never be forgotten. The elves of Elvandar might be rustics in the sight of the Taredhel, but they were blood kin, and after the losses suffered against the demons, as many kin as could be mustered was a necessity. After the Demon Legion had been confronted, then the Regent Lord could worry about ruling this world.

  The Regent Lord asked questions about Tomas and the Elf Queen for nearly a half-hour after, but then dismissed Gulamendis. As he and Tanderae left the Meet, the Lorekeeper said, “You acquitted yourself well, my friend.”

  Saying nothing, Gulamendis thought, Friend now, but only so long as it suits you.

  Two days later, the assembled members of the Regent’s Meet stood in the central plaza of the newly christened city of E’bar, awaiting the arrival of the Queen’s Consort. Gulamendis had been invited to attend, given his role, but had been relegated to one side by those of higher rank. From a short distance away, Tanderae nodded greeting to the Demon Master, a faint acknowledgment of his usefulness in this coming negotiation between the Regent Lord and his titular Queen.

  Gulamendis had purposely neglected to mention Tomas’s likely mode of travel, thinking it might serve the Regent’s Meet to be awed slightly. They stood waiting for a signal from the outer garrisons that riders were approaching.

  Instead a large shadow suddenly covered them as a massive flying figure appeared above, looming over them. Most of the members of the Regent’s Meet stood motionless, though Gulamendis noticed a few flinching until they recognized nothing was dropping down on them precipitously. Then he saw the reaction as recognition set in: a gigantic golden dragon was descending into the central plaza.

  With a thunderous beat of its wings, the dragon halted its descent, then landed gently. The size of a building, the enormous creature nevertheless was a thing of grace a
nd beauty in its movement. A head the size of a freight wagon lowered on a surprisingly sinuous neck to allow two figures to dismount.

  Gulamendis’s eyes widened as he recognized the second figure as his brother. Laromendis nodded ever so slightly in his brother’s direction, acknowledging his presence, but stayed close to the Dragon Lord.

  Gulamendis was delighted. Arriving with Tomas was guaranteed to prevent any rash punishment the Regent Lord might mete out for Laromendis’s absence. Gulamendis had inquired about his brother after having parted company with Tanderae, and no one had seen him since his being posted to the defense of Tarendamar, which meant either he was dead or had deserted his post. Gulamendis had been certain it was the latter, unless his brother had been terribly unlucky, as Laromendis wasn’t the kind to stand defiantly and be overwhelmed by the Demon Legion.

  If Tomas had shown restraint when confronting Gulamendis outside the Holy Grove, he withheld nothing as he dismounted the dragon. He used his mystic arts to unleash the full power of his Valheru aura. Gulamendis, who had experienced this in part before, and Laromendis, who had ridden with the Dragon Lord from Elvandar, both were rocked.

  The members of the Regent’s Meet were stunned. Several fell to their knees reflexively, some with wailing and weeping. Others stood trembling, unable to move. Only the Regent Lord and two of the most senior among his advisors stood silently, waiting.

  Tomas strode toward them, exuding power in every step, his left hand on the hilt of his sword. He wore golden armor, with a helm set with a dragon crest, as if a miniature golden dragon had lain upon his helm, down-sweeping wings forming the cheek-guards of his helmet. His tabard and shield were both white, with a golden dragon emblazoned on both, and every movement was fluid and graceful.

  He was beautiful and fearsome and a legend come to life before their eyes. Whatever arrogance the Taredhel possessed, whatever certainty of their own supremacy, fled before the magnificent power that was Tomas in the guise of a Valheru.

  He came to stand before the Regent Lord and said, “My lord,” and then waited.

  Almost whispering, the Regent Lord said, “How should I address you?”

  Tomas smiled and it was as if a huge cloud passed away, and he said simply, “My name is Tomas. And before anything more is said between us, I must tell you this:

  “In ages past, when war raged across the heavens, the wearer of this armor sat astride a dragon like this, my friend Sarduna, and he proclaimed to the world that all who had once served, all among the Edhel, were now a free people.” With a slightly wry smile, he said, “Your ancestors fled this world before that voice was raised, so I say to you now, you are a free people.

  “Let it be clear I have no claim upon you nor are you obliged in any fashion because I wear this armor and this mantle. I come to you in the hope of friendship, on behalf of my lady, Queen Aglaranna, who also bids you welcome to your ancestral home and wishes nothing but friendship and peace.”

  There was silence for a moment, then the Regent Lord said, “Fairly spoken…Tomas. You are welcome.”

  Quick introductions were made and the Meet retired to the council chamber, where Tomas would discuss two things with them: the prospects of the Demon Legion following the Taredhel to Midkemia and an alliance with the established inhabitants of Midkemia, should that occur.

  Tanderae lingered a moment as the brothers were reunited. “You both did well,” he said quickly. “I must attend our masters and see to soothing things should tempers flare.”

  Gulamendis said, “Do you think they might?”

  With as close to a grin as the Lorekeeper could allow himself, he said, “Given Lord Tomas’s presence, not until after he departs. He is…impressive.” He glanced at the retreating back in gold and white, who, while shorter than every elf in the meeting, still somehow seemed to tower over them. “Stunning, even.” Looking back at the two brothers, he said, “I have work to do, but consider that whatever sanctions have been placed against you are currently abated.” He pointed to the north and said, “Find housing. There will be a magistrate up on that hillside who will ask you many stupid questions; give him this.” He handed them a token with the Regent’s seal on it, and turned away.

  As the Lorekeeper hurried to overtake the Regent and his guest, Gulamendis said, “You made quite the entrance.”

  His brother replied, “Yes, I expect.”

  “How did you manage?”

  “Come, I’ll tell you as we go find ourselves a nice set of rooms.” They left the central plaza, and as they walked, Laromendis said, “I managed to win free of the battle at Tarendamar early—my command was obliterated and as we fell back, I was ushered into a company of refugees who were being escorted to the portal. As I was not in uniform, I expect everyone who knew I was detailed to serve on the wall and might recognize me was already dead. And as my new superior officer was ordering me to go through the portal ‘with all haste,’ who was I to argue?”

  “You weren’t disguised as an old woman, by any chance?” asked the Demon Master dryly.

  “No, I swear. No illusion. I didn’t even get a chance to argue.” He smiled. “Of course, I was disinclined to argue.”

  “How goes the battle?”

  “It’s over, but for the closing of the portal.” He glanced up to the hillside to the west where refugees were still arriving and said, “They’ll close that soon, and whoever is on the other side will die.”

  Changing the topic, Gulamendis said, “How did you contrive to arrive on the back of a dragon?”

  “I went looking for you, and after a few days wandering around to the west, I decided that no matter whatever else you were doing, you were going to see the Elf Queen in her court, so that’s where I went. As I didn’t wander around all that much, I managed to get there in fairly quick order.” He slapped his brother on the back. “Lord Tomas and the Queen said you had been there, and said you’d most likely be waiting here when he came to call, so he offered me a ride and I said yes. Riding on the back of a dragon! Can you imagine?”

  Laughing, very glad to see his brother, Gulamendis said, “Actually, I’ve ridden on one.”

  “You!”

  “Yes, and it’s a story. The locals have some very fine wine, and if I can secure us a skin or bottle, we’ll find a place to sit, drink, and I’ll tell you a story of my visit to a very special island.” Lowering his voice, he said, “I think it’s a place you’ll wish to visit, and very soon.”

  As they walked northward, seeking the magistrate who would supply them with quarters, Laromendis said, “I just realized; you and I, the two outcast brothers, we are the only Taredhel in history to ride a dragon!”

  Gulamendis said, “Ironic, in its way, especially if you consider how much the Regent Lord would likely want one for a pet.”

  Both brothers laughed and began looking for a bottle of wine and a place to live.

  A bitter wind blew across the plateau. Pug and Magnus stood motionless, accompanied by two other magicians. Randolph, a middle-aged man from a village near Tulan, was Magnus’s best student of battle magic, and looked it. He was a bull-necked, broad-shouldered brawler with a balding head and a barrel chest. If it wasn’t for his ability to conjure spells of stunning power very swiftly, Pug would have judged him as unlikely-looking a magician as he had ever encountered.

  The other magician, Simon from Krondor, was Randolph’s exact opposite in appearance: tall, ascetic-looking, late in years, and his blond hair now prematurely white, matching Magnus in outward appearance. He was a master of the far more subtle craft of detection. He and Pug both stood silently, attempting to sense any arcane presence.

  “Nothing,” said Simon. “If there has been any magic used in this area, it’s been years.”

  “I as well get nothing,” said Pug. He pointed to the northwest. “There, that’s where we’ll find Ahsart, the City of Priests.”

  It had taken Pug the better part of a day to recalculate creating a rift to Shila. He had forgotten how
difficult it was to redefine an ancient rift if there hadn’t been constant contact. His efforts had resulted in two failed attempts and a serious headache, before he succeeded. He was thankful he had become rigorous about taking notes over the years and could find everything he had recorded about Shila and how to get there.

  Once the four magic-users had arrived, it had taken another few hours for Pug to get oriented. They had begun a slow process of using Magnus’s exceptional ability to transport them magically to distant locations to move in jumps across the planet, seeking any sign of demon activity.

  There had been none.

  Pug’s thesis was if the portal from the demon realm was still closed, there would be no life on Shila. If this was, indeed, the planet where the Taredhel explorers had encountered the demons, there would be some movement between the original gate and wherever the rift to the Taredhel hub world was located. There should have been a steady stream of demons flying and running out of Ahsart.

  All was quiet.

  Magnus used his arts and took them to a hillside overlooking the City of Priests.

  The city had been an immense metropolis in its time, a sprawling home to millions. The ancient city that had been the heart of Ahsart was surrounded by a high wall, but the foulburg spread out five times the distance, indicating that this region had been peaceful for centuries after the original city had been founded. Broad streets crisscrossed throughout and tall towers rose here and there. Pug indicated a path downward and they began walking.

  “In ancient times, a gate had been created between the demon realm and this world, before recorded history. It had been sealed and protected, which is how this place came to be in the first place. This was where the Saaur shamans and priests who had sealed the gate lived. Others came to study, and it became a holy place,” said Pug. “The Saaur were a race of noble warriors, and they counted in the millions. They rode across endless plains of grassland and hunted.” Pug motioned for them to walk toward one particular avenue. “Then something changed.”