Rides a Dread Legion

by Raymond E. Feist

It was Brandos who answered. “Something’s anchoring it here, in this realm. You do it to keep a demon from going home if it’s unhappy with what you want it to do!”

  “Look for anything over there that’s out of place,” shouted Amirantha. “An icon, a pole, something that’s not burning. That will be the tether. Destroy it, and we can banish that horror.”

  Miranda said, “I can’t see a thing with all this smoke and flame.”

  Then the monstrous demon recovered from their attack. With a bovine grin, it advanced on their position, a band of scampering, running, and hopping smaller demons in its wake.

  Brandos shouted to Jommy and Kaspar, “Don’t try to attack it directly. Kaspar, break to the left! Jommy, break right with me, when I give the word! Keep those smaller devils in front of you! Don’t let any of them get behind you!

  “Amirantha, you have to protect Creegan and Miranda as best you can!”

  “Understood,” shouted the Warlock. He shouted to the Father-Bishop and Miranda, “Don’t act until I give the word!” He reached into his belt pouch and pulled a large gem out of it. Crushing it in his hand, he shouted a single word, and suddenly they were engulfed in red smoke.

  “Now!” shouted Brandos and he and Jommy ran right, while Kaspar took off in the other direction.

  The large demon bellowed again and swung a massive claw through the space occupied a moment before by the three fighters, and then backhanded the cloud of red smoke. He shouted in pain and anger when his hand came away with red smoldering sores, as if he had touched acid. The unexpected wound distracted the creature for a moment, while the smaller demons rushed the fighters.

  Inside the smoke cloud, Amirantha said, “Back up slowly!”

  His two companions did as they were told and moved back, until they could see the befuddled demon captain standing over the roiling cloud of caustic gas. “Whatever you have, Miranda,” said the Warlock, “now’s the time.”

  Her eyes were wide with anger and frustration, and she reached down to the depth of her power, using her will to focus the most destructive spell she could muster. A line of blinding light extended from her outstretched palm to strike the creature, and down it flowed a brilliant white light. The demon captain stood stunned for a moment, then bellowed in pain and began to writhe.

  “I see it!” shouted Jommy to Brandos. He pointed to a strange object, a black post with alien runes carved on the surface. It sat in the midst of the flames, untouched.

  He took a step toward it, but Brandos grabbed him from behind and yanked him back just as a demon leaped to the spot he had vacated. The old fighter swung hard with his sword, severing the creature’s head from shoulders. The body lay flopping on the ground while the head’s features contorted and it tried to scream. “Unless you’re fireproof, that’s not going to work. And look out!”

  Another pair of demons leaped at them, each about the size of a large monkey. Jommy extended his sword point and allowed the creature to impale itself. The shock that ran up Jommy’s arm almost cost him his sword. He lifted his boot and kicked hard, as he pulled back, sending the demon tumbling backward. Brandos beheaded the other one in efficient fashion. “Point’s useful, but not that way,” he said as he struggled to breathe in all the choking smoke.

  Jommy was forced to agree and began slashing at anything that tried to approach. “What do we do about that anchor?”

  “Wait,” said Brandos, looking around, as if seeking inspiration. The large demon seemed to be coming out of the shock induced by the three spells hitting it and stood still, slightly shaking its head, as if clearing it.

  “Miranda!” shouted Brandos. “If you can destroy that totem over there, Amirantha and Creegan can banish—”

  He stopped as he saw a figure in white and silver dash through the flames toward the carved pole. “Oh, girl, no!” he shouted.

  Sandreena had worked her way around to the other side of the fire and now was making a mad dash for the totem. She obviously understood as much as Brandos and Amirantha did the significance of the device. Her tabard was stained with soot and char, and was smoking along one side of the back. Mindless of the scorching heat, she raised her mace above her head, then brought it down in an underhanded sweep, all the while not stopping. She threw her complete weight into the blow, and when her mace struck the wood, the shock reverberated throughout her body, but the wooden icon shattered, bursting into fragments that instantly went up in flames. She kept running, and her tabard was alight.

  “To me, girl!” shouted Brandos. “To me!”

  She turned toward the sound of a familiar voice, and Jommy slashed at a demon who turned to see what was coming up behind him. The blow cut the demon’s throat and black, smoking blood gushed from the wound. Sandreena was blind from the smoke and started to run past Brandos, who reached out and grabbed her arm, shouting, “Fall down!”

  She did as she was told, and he lay atop of her, putting out the flames with his own body. Jommy kept his blade slashing in all directions as demons sought to swarm over the fallen Knight-Adamant and the old fighter.

  A sizzling bolt of green fire sped out of nowhere to strike two demons from behind, causing them to fall to their knees then convulse, their red leather hides smoking and blistering as they writhed then vanished in a blinding white flash.

  Jommy looked to see the origin of the bolt and saw Pug, Magnus, and two other magicians floating above the fray. Randolph and Simon were not the masters of destructive magic Pug and Magnus were, but knew enough of the more violent side of magic to inflict harm on the demons below.

  “Pug!” shouted Jommy, and he felt reinvigorated as he hacked at the demons in front of him, allowing Sandreena and Brandos to regain their feet. Whatever damage the young woman warrior endured, she ignored as she joined in the fray, using her mace to good effect and driving the demons back so the older fighter could get his wind and join the fight.

  The massive demon was stunned by Sandreena’s attack, and Amirantha and Creegan both began complicated banishing rituals. They were almost in harmony with their chants, though both were speaking different words. Then, as one, they finished, and the large demon simply faded from view.

  The tide of battle changed for with their captain gone, demons sought a means of escape. Several had the arts to will themselves back to their own realm, but others appeared to be abandoned to the less-than-tender care of those they attacked. Other magicians, many gravely injured, began to appear around the edges of the fire, and they did what they could to keep the demons surrounded.

  “Remember that nasty trick of letting us surround them!” shouted Brandos.

  Pug threw a massive energy bolt, but instead of striking the assembled demons, now down to about a dozen of them, it caused a huge compression of the air above them. The thunderclap caused everyone’s ears to pop, and, as if blowing out a massive candle, the flames dispersed and suddenly the fire was mostly out. A few hotspots still burned, but mostly the building was now smoking char.

  Miranda ran down the hill to help finish the fight, when suddenly a prone demon leaped to his feet, then onto Miranda’s back.

  Pug shouted, “No!” as the creature set his fangs to her neck, faster than she could react, and tore out the side of her throat. Miranda’s legs gave out and she collapsed, a fountain of blood pumping out of her neck.

  Magnus’s cry echoed his father’s, and he extended his hand and the demon withered to ash in a moment. The rage he displayed was incredible, and every demon who saw him turned to flee, only to be cut down by those nearby. Pug ignored everything but cutting a charred path through demonic bodies as he struggled to reach his wife.

  In less than a minute it was over. Pug and the others reached Miranda, and he knelt next to his wife. No one needed to be told she was dead. The lifeless pose and her fixed gaze made it abundantly clear. The attack had been so sudden, the damage to her neck so severe, only the most powerful healing magic used instantaneously might have saved her. In the scant moments it took for
Pug to reach her, she had bled to death.

  Pug was motionless. Magnus came to kneel next to his father and both were still.

  The struggle was over, and silence fell, only punctuated by the occasional crackle of flame and pop of cooling embers. Slowly, they all gathered around Miranda, save for a few who were trying to tend to the other wounded.

  Nothing was said for a long time. Pug reached under his wife’s prone body and lifted her with the help of his son. His features were set, but wetness ran down his cheeks, as he softly said, “I will see to my wife.” He glanced at Magnus and said, “You must be strong. There’s work still to be done.”

  Magnus looked around and nodded. His face was ashen, but his features showed resolve. He looked at one of the injured students and asked, “My brother?”

  Unable to speak, the student merely shook his head in the negative, then pointed at the heart of the house, where the office used by Pug and his son had stood. Only smoking rubble remained, and throughout that part of the building charred bodies lay in contorted positions.

  Magnus hung his head a long moment, then, with tears running down his cheeks, said, “Come, we have much before us.” He led the others away from where his father stood motionless, holding his mother.

  And in the end, Pug remained alone with his wife amid the smoking ruin of what had been their home for decades.

  EPILOGUE

  EPITAPH

  The crowd was silent.

  Father-Bishop Creegan, sporting bandages from burns received during the fight the day before, stood in front of a single stone marker as the sun rose and lit the landscape with golden and rose hues. Up on a hill a pyre stood ready, and Miranda’s body, wrapped in white linen, lay prepared for cremation. Other bodies were also ready for final rites, but most were burned beyond recognition, so they were receiving group rites.

  Caleb and Marie were somewhere in that group. Over sixty bodies had been recovered and four more were missing, assumed completely devoured in the heart of the fire; the community at Sorcerer’s Isle was now reduced by two-thirds. Of the three score teachers, only a dozen were left, and of the hundred students, not quite twice that number survived.

  The entire population of the island was stunned from the events of the day before, and all duties and tasks had been carried out quietly, as if most of the populace was too numb to speak. Pug and Magnus had spent the entire night sitting with Miranda’s body as it was prepared for this morning’s funeral. Pug had let no one else help him carry her to the top of the hill, where he placed her gently atop the piled wood.

  Magnus’s face had been set in a fixed expression all night, and he and his father barely spoke.

  Creegan said: “Our time on this world is short. Even those like Miranda, who lived longer than most, her days were brief. Some will count her life a full one, replete with achievements enough for a dozen others, yet we feel her time with us was too short.”

  He fell silent for a moment, then said, “It is not the usual duty of my Order to conduct services like this for an outsider, but Miranda was not an outsider to me. Our work together for the greater good made her my sister.” He looked at Pug and Magnus. “Everyone here shares in your loss, even if we can only claim a small portion of the grief you feel, Pug, Magnus. We know a great injury has been done to you, and we mourn with you. We know that it seems as if something profoundly unfair has happened.

  “We in the Service of Dala believe in achieving balance, seeking the equitable outcome. The universe doesn’t always permit that, and the ways of the gods are manifold and difficult to comprehend. I offer no comfort in saying this, but rather seek to allow that comfort may be out there, somewhere, beyond our ability to find it today, but with the hope it may come to us in time.

  “Miranda served others and put herself at risk many times, and endured hardship and privation for the sake of others. There is no higher calling in life than service such as hers, and I believe at this moment she is standing before Lims-Kragma and being judged as worthy and being offered a better place on the Wheel of Life. I believe our Goddess, Dala, is standing at her side and recommending her to her Sister Goddess.”

  He took a breath, fighting back emotion. “Caleb stands on her other side, I’m certain, with Marie, his wife, and so many others who served the good here at the island. They are all to be praised and they will be missed, for they were our brothers and sisters in struggle. Good men and women all, may the Goddess bless them, each and every one.” He turned and looked up at the top of the hill, and signaled. A torchbearer began the blaze, moving around the edges of the pyre, setting the kindling at the bottom alight. Quickly, the flames spread and the bodies atop the wood were eventually consumed.

  Magnus spoke quietly, “There’s been too much fire, Father.”

  Pug could only nod.

  Without another word, Creegan came to stand before Pug and took his hands in his own, held them for a moment, nodded once, then moved down the hill toward the remains of the villa. Others followed suit, and when it was over, the remaining community of Sorcerer’s Isle waited some distance away while the father and son said their good-byes to Miranda and Caleb.

  Time passed, then, finally, in a whisper, Pug said, “We have work to do.”

  “What first, Father?” said Magnus. “I need to keep busy for a while.”

  “You will,” said Pug, turning toward those waiting below. “Your mother and I discussed many things, including what we must do should such a terrible day visit us.

  “We move to the castle, and we shall stay there for a while. Let those who did this think us in tatters and running and hiding. We shall send out messages to all our agents around this world and the struggle shall continue.

  “We will find Belasco, Dahun, whoever else is involved, and uncover who is truly behind this madness. We will also find the Demon Gate, wherever it is, and we shall close it down.”

  He continued down the hill, determination in his step, and his son followed, swallowing his grief for his mother and brother. If his father could endure such a loss and press on with the work that needed to be done, Magnus was determined he could as well. If only the pain would fade, even just a little.

  Excerpt from At the Gates of Darkness

  Continue reading for a sneak peak of the next thrilling installment in Raymond Feist’s Demonwar Saga. At the Gates of Darkness will be available in hardcover on April 6, 2010.

  CHAPTER 1

  SACRIFICE

  Howls filled the night.

  The blasted hills smoked and the stench of char filled the air. Hundreds of robed figures slowly wended their way through rocks to the huge clearing below what remained of a fortress’s gate tower. A man of power stood atop the pile of stones, looking down at his followers.

  On the opposite side of the clearing, another man hung back in the shadows, using his considerable skills to remain unseen, and wishing fervently he was just about anywhere else in the world but here. He took a slow, even breath, as much to calm himself as to catch his breath.

  James Dasher Jamison struggled to keep his wits about him. In the courts of the three largest nations in the region, he was a minor noble of the Kingdom of the Isles, a man who had inherited rank solely due to his lineage, being the grandson of the Duke of Rillanon; to most others, he was Jim Dasher, a businessman with some ties to crime in the city of Krondor; to a few, he was the Upright Man, leader of the Thieves Guild, the Mockers. And known to even fewer, he was the head of the Kingdom of the Isles intelligence apparatus, reporting directly to his grandfather.

  In his slightly more than forty years, Jim had seen a great many strange and terrifying things—it came with his various positions. At times he felt he had become as heartless a bastard as those he had put down in the name of the Crown, or the Conclave of Shadows, with whom he often worked, but even a lifetime of blood and intrigue had not adequately prepared Jim for what he saw before him.

  Already the dead numbered in the dozens, if not hundreds, as a massive fir
e burned around a circle of stakes, to each of which had been tied four human sacrifices. What had churned Jim’s stomach as much as anything had been that the murdered seemed willing, even eager, to embrace their flaming death.

  Around the edges of the clearing more sacrifices dangled at the ends of ropes, as only moments before Jim had witnessed them place nooses around their own necks then jump off small ladders, hanging themselves. Many broke their necks with an audible crack, but a few died by slow strangulation, kicking for what seemed far too long a time. Jim had witnessed more than his share of public hangings in Krondor but this was something far more horrific than a criminal meeting his just desserts. This was a willing self-sacrifice to as evil a creature as man could imagine.

  The screams were lessening as the sacrifices finally, mercifully began to lose consciousness and die. Another score were impaled on wooden stakes, blood and feces filling the air with the unforgettable stench of death. Some quivered and twitched as their own weight drove the stakes deeper into their bodies, until finally succumbing to their wounds. Others gave out a death spasm then hung on the stakes, motionless.

  Jim saw nothing here that could be called anything but insane. He turned his attention to the man standing atop the tumbled-down masonry of an ancient wall, holding his hands up in a welcoming gesture. His expression and bearing made Jim wish to turn tail and run as fast as he could, as far as he could. He had never seen this man before, but his description fit with what he had learned from Pug of Sorcerer’s Isle and a Demon Master named Amirantha. The man on the stones above was named Belasco, and if what he had been told about him was true, Jim knew him to be one of the most dangerous men alive today, and certainly one of the maddest.

  With a sweep of his hand, the magic user conjured an image, a shimmering likeness that hung in the air above his head, and which had the robed mob at his feet cry out in supplication and awe.