“I awoke with my lungs burning and feeling as if I had been frozen to my bones,” said Pug.
Acaila said, “You do not enter the realm of death while you are alive—not unless you make extensive preparations.”
Pug said, “Are we to return to Lims-Kragma’s halls?”
“Perhaps,” said Acaila. “That is why we must do what we are to do here. Time passes differently in other realms, that much we remember from our Master’s travels across the dimensions. You may be gone but hours, yet experience years. You may be gone months, yet experience minutes. We have no means to know which will be true. However long it takes, you are to leave your bodies for a while. Tathar and I will ensure your bodies are ready to receive you when you return. We shall keep you alive.”
Miranda said, “We appreciate the effort.”
Pug turned and saw her dubious expression. “You don’t have to come,” he said.
“I must,” she said. “You’ll understand.”
“When?”
“Soon, I think,” she answered.
“What must we do?” Pug asked Acaila.
“Lie down,” he answered.
They did as he bade and he said, “First, you must remember what I said about the passage of time. This is important, for you must hurry while you are in spirit form. If you linger but for an hour, months may pass here on Midkemia, and we know how quickly the enemy approaches. Second, your bodies will follow your spirits. When you return, you may not find yourselves here. If all goes as we hope, you will arrive where you need to be, and Tathar and I will know you were successful because you will awaken here or your bodies will vanish from our sight. Last, we cannot help you return. This is something you must accomplish by your own arts. We shall know if you fail only when your bodies die despite our efforts. Our arts can do only so much.
“Now close your eyes and attempt to sleep. You will see visions. When they first come to you, they will be as dreams. But they will become more real to you as the moments pass. When I call to you, stand up.”
Pug and Miranda closed their eyes. Pug heard Acaila’s voice as the ancient eldar Spellweaver began chanting. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the words, but he could not quite recognize them. It was as if he heard the words of a song forgotten the moment he heard the words.
Soon he dreamed of Elvandar. He could see the faint glow of the magic-imbued trees above him, as if his eyes were open. But they appeared to him as brilliant shimmering colors, blues and greens, golds and whites, reds and oranges, and the sky was as black as the darkest tunnel under the mountains.
Pug “looked” deep into that void and soon found specks of color appearing against the blackness. Time passed unnoticed as he saw the spirits of stars dance across the heavens. A strange, distant keening sound intruded on his awareness, also familiar yet unrecognized.
Time continued to slip by, and Pug was lost in an awareness unlike anything he had ever experienced. The texture of the universe lay open to him, not the outer shapes, or even the illusions of matter and time, but the very fabric of reality. He wondered if this was the “stuff” Nakor spoke of, the fundamental matter of all that was.
His mind started to soar, to voyage through the distances, and he discovered he could move at will from place to place. Yet he sensed he still lay in the grove. Something about his body had changed, and he felt alien powers and odd sensations course through him.
Not since his time on the Tower of Testing, high above the Assembly on the distant world of Kelewan, had he felt so connected to the world around him. Thinking of that time in his life, he turned and looked “down” at Midkemia.
Suddenly he floated miles above the highest peaks of the Kingdom, with seas and coastlines looking like maps to his perception. But rather than flat lifeless things, the very land and seas were living things, pulsing with power and beauty. He shifted his perceptions and saw every fish swimming in the sea. How very much like being a god! he thought.
“Pug.” A distant call and one that almost caused him to lose his perception.
“Find Macros,” came the instruction. “And ‘ware the time!”
He glanced one way and another, and every being on the world had a signature of energy, a line of force that started at Sethanon, at the Lifestone, which bound all living things in Midkemia together. As time passed, lines vanished as beings died, and new lines sprouted from it as births occurred. It looked like nothing so much as an emerald fountain of pulsing energy, life incarnate, and it took Pug’s breath away.
Among the myriad strands he sought one, one with a familiar quality to it. He lost track of time, and did not know if hours or years passed, yet eventually he saw something familiar.
The Sorcerer! he thought, seeing a particular pulsing line of force. How strong and distinct it was, he thought as he focused. But it was odd. It existed in two places at the same time.
“Arise!” came the spoken command, and Pug stood up.
He saw Acaila and Tathar, but they looked alien to him, beings of coarse matter and finite energy, while he was a creature of enhanced perception and unlimited power. He glanced at Miranda and saw a being of stunning beauty.
She wore no clothing and revealed no hint of sex. Where he should have seen breasts and hips, as familiar to him as his own body, he saw only smoothness, featureless and without distinguishing marks. Her face was an oval, with a pair of burning lights where eyes should have been. She had no nose. A single slit where her mouth should have been moved, but rather than his hearing her voice, her mind touched his.
“Pug?” Miranda asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Do I look as odd to you as you do to me?” she said.
“You look stunning,” he replied.
Suddenly he was seeing himself through her eyes. He was as featureless as she. They were of like height and they both existed with a shimmer of energy illuminating them from within. Neither had hair or sexual organs, teeth or fingernails.
From a great distance they heard Acaila’ s voice. “What you see are your true selves. Look down.”
They did, and saw their own bodies lying on the grass, as if asleep.
“Hurry, now,” said Acaila. “Follow the thread that leads you to Macros, for the longer you are out of your bodies, the harder it will be for you to return. We will keep you alive, and when it comes time to return, you only have to think of it. Your bodies will appear wherever you need them to be,” he repeated. “May your gods protect you.”
Pug sent, “We understand.” He said to Miranda, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Where do we go?”
With a thought he made the thread appear to her, and he said, “We follow that!”
“Where does it lead?” she asked as he reached out with his mind and “took her hand,” leading her along the thread’s path.
“Don’t you sense it?” he asked. “It is going to the one place I should have expected it to lead us. It’s taking us to the Celestial City. We travel to the home of the gods!”
6
Infiltration
Calis pointed.
Erik nodded, then signaled for his squad to move out behind him. The men duck-walked in the gully, keeping their heads below the rim of the wash through which they were approaching their opposition.
Erik was both sick to death of this drilling and frantic that it might not be enough. In the six months since he had taken the first band of soldiers into the mountains, he had judged he had a solid twelve hundred soldiers under his command, reliable men who would survive on their own for as long as possible.
There were another six hundred men who were close, needing a bit more training.
The band he led now was those he feared would never become the soldiers needed to win this coming war.
Alfred tapped him on the shoulder and Erik turned. The Sergeant pointed to a man on the other side of the gully, who was not walking as instructed, letting the discomfort in his knees drive him to
recklessness.
Erik nodded, and Alfred nearly dove to get to the man and pull him to the floor of the gully. Sharp rocks cut both men, but Alfred’s hand clamped hard over the soldier’s mouth, preventing his cry from being heard by the nearby sentries. Erik could hear his corporal’s whisper: “Now, Davy, your sore knees just got you and your comrades killed.”
A distant voice told Erik the exercise was a failure, and as if reading Erik’s mind, Calis stood and said, “This is done.”
Erik and the others rose and Alfred jerked the soldier named Davy to his feet with one powerful tug. Now his voice was unleashed in all its volume and fury. “You rock-headed layabout! You sorry excuse for a water boy! You’ll regret the day your father looked at your mother when I’m done with you.”
Calis heard a challenge, turned, and called out the password. He motioned to Erik, and the Sergeant Major and his Captain walked away from the men. Calis said, “Sergeant, start them back to camp.”
Alfred shouted, “You heard the Captain! Back to camp! Quick march!”
The soldiers set out at a ragged run, and the Sergeant harried them every step of the way.
Calis watched in silence until the men were out of sight; then he said, “We have a problem.”
Erik nodded. The sun was setting in the west and he said, “Each day about this time, I feel as if we’ve lost another step. We’re never going to get six thousand men trained in time.”
“I know,” said Calis.
Erik looked at his Captain and sought any hint of his mood. In the years he had spent with Calis he had come no closer to being able to read him than he had the first day they had met. He was an enigma to Erik, as unreadable as one of those foreign texts William kept in his library. Calis smiled. “That’s not the problem. Don’t worry. We’ll have our six thousand men in the field when the time comes. They won’t be as well trained as either of us would like, but the core will be solid, and that backbone of really fine soldiers will help keep the others alive.” He studied his young Sergeant Major’s face for a while, then said, “You forget that the one thing you can’t teach is the seasoning you get in combat. Some of the men you judge fit will get themselves killed in the first few minutes, while some you would wager everything you have will perish will survive, even flourish in the midst of the carnage.”
His smile vanished. “No, the problem I speak of is we’ve been infiltrated.”
Erik said, “Infiltrated? A spy?”
“Several, I suspect. It’s a hunch, nothing more. Those we face are occasionally heavy-handed, but they’re never stupid.”
Erik thought it time to broach his own unease. “Is that why the Prince’s guards are ensuring no one sees the Royal Engineers building supply roads along the rear of Nightmare Ridge?”
“Nightmare Ridge?” asked Calis. His expression was clear to Erik. He wasn’t being disingenuous; he didn’t recognize the name.
“That’s what we call it in Ravensburg,” answered Erik. “It’s probably called something else up north.” He glanced around. “I ran a company up into the north and took them farther than usual. We ran into a company of Pathfinders and a bunch of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. I could hear the sound of tools coming from the other side of the valley we entered, echoing from behind the ridge: trees being felled, anvils striking steel, and spikes being driven into rock. The Prince’s corps of engineers is building a road. That ridge runs all the way from the Teeth of the World down through Darkmoor, and halfway to Kesh. It’s almost impossible to cross anywhere there isn’t a road, and more than one traveler’s been found dead up there. That’s why we call it Nightmare Ridge. You get lost anywhere up there in cold weather, you’re a dead man.”
Calis nodded. “That’s the place. You weren’t supposed to be there, Erik. Captain Subai was not pleased, nor was Prince Patrick. But yes, that’s why no one is permitted to go there, in case the enemy does have agents snooping around outside Krondor.”
Erik blurted, “You’re going to abandon the city.”
Calis sighed. “I wish it were that simple.” He was silent as he watched the sunset. Brilliant orange and pink faced by black clouds far away, over the sea, gave an unreal quality to the approaching evening, as if nothing that beautiful should exist in the same world as the coming evil.
Calis looked at Erik. “We have several plans in place. You need worry only about the disposition of soldiers under your command. You’ll be told where to take them and what your options are. Once you are in the mountains with your soldiers, you’ll have to make the decisions, Erik. You’ll have to judge what is best for both your men and the overall campaign. A great deal will ride on your judgment.
“But until the Prince and Knight-Marshal are ready to brief you on the overall operation, I will not give you details you might blurt out to the wrong person.”
“The infiltrators?”
“That, or if you’re abducted and some agent of the Pantathians doses you with some potion to make you speak, or if they have mind readers like the Lady Gamina in their employ. We have no idea what might happen. That’s why whatever you hear you share with no man, and you’re only to be told what you need to know.”
Erik nodded. “I’m worried . . .”
“About the girl?”
Erik was surprised. “You know about that?”
Calis motioned they should start walking after the departing soldiers, and said, “What sort of captain would I be if I didn’t know about my Sergeant Major’s life outside the barracks?”
Erik had no answer for that. He said, “Of course I’m worried about Kitty. I’m worried about Roo and his family, too. I’m worried about everybody.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Bobby, though he would never have voiced it that way.” Calis smiled. “He’d have said, ‘We’ve got too damn much work to do and half the time needed, and a bunch of incompetent fools doing it.’ ”
Erik laughed. “That sounds like him.”
“I miss him, Erik. I know you do, as well, but Bobby was one of the first I picked. The first of my ‘desperate men.’ ”
Erik said, “I thought you fetched him from the Border Barons to work for you.”
Calis laughed. “Bobby would have put it that way. He failed to mention he was going to be hanged for having killed another soldier in a brawl. I had to beat him a half-dozen times to get him to control his temper.”
“Beat him?” asked Erik, negotiating his way over a large rock as they followed the gully downward.
“I told him each time he lost his temper I’d strip to the waist and we’d have at it. If he was standing and I was not, he was a free man. It took that fool six beatings before he finally realized I am a great deal stronger than I look.”
Erik knew that was the truth. The Captain’s father was a man called Tomas, some sort of lord or another up in the north. By all rumors, his mother was the Elf Queen. But whatever the truth of his parentage, Calis’s strength was unmatched by that of any man Erik had run across. The former smith from Ravensburg had been the strongest man in his village, and of all those soldiers who had served with him on his first voyage to Novindus, only the huge man named Biggo was his equal. But Calis had done things that Erik could only judge impossible. He had once seen the Captain easily pick up a wagon so Erik could replace the wheel, when Erik knew from experience he would have needed the help of at least two other men to duplicate the feat.
Considering Bobby de Loungville’s nature, Erik said, “I’m surprised you didn’t have to kill him.”
Calis laughed. “I came close, twice. Bobby wasn’t a man to take defeat easily. When I came back from that first trip to Novindus, and we came limping into Krondor harbor like whipped hounds, Prince Arutha called me the ‘Eagle’ because of the banner on our ship.” Erik nodded. He knew as well as any man that in that distant land Calis played the part of a mercenary captain, and his company was called the Crimson Eagles. “Bobby elected to call himself the Dog of Krondor. Prince Arutha seemed l
ess than pleased, but said nothing.”
Calis stopped and restrained Erik. “Don’t say anything to anyone about what you suspect, Erik. I don’t want to lose another sergeant major. Bobby may have fancied himself a dog, but he was a loyal and tough one. You’re just as loyal and just as tough, though you don’t know it yet.”
Erik nodded at the compliment. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m not through. I don’t want to lose another Sergeant Major because Duke James hanged him to keep him silent.” He looked Erik in the eyes. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Very.”
“Come along, then, we’ve got to march this lot back to Krondor and hand them over to William to turn into garrison rats. If they somehow find themselves in the mountains, they may survive a little longer than the average soldier, so we’ve done them a favor, but none of these men will be of service to us.”
Erik said, “That’s the truth.”
“Go find me some more men, Erik. Desperate men if you must, but get me some men we can train.”
“Where should I seek them?” asked Erik.
Calis said, “Go see the King before he leaves Krondor. If you ask him nicely, he may give you a warrant so you can steal the Border Barons’ best men from them. The Barons will not be happy when you do this, but if we lose this war, invasion from the Northlands is the last thing we’ll need worry about.”
Erik, remembering the map of the Kingdom in William’s office, said, “That means a journey to Northwarden, Ironpass, and Highcastle.”
“Start with Ironpass,” instructed Calis. “You’ll have to move fast, and while you’re bringing the men south, march them through the Dimwood and avoid Sethanon. Get them here as soon as you can.” Then with what Erik had come to think of as Calis’s evil grin, he said, “You have two months.”
Erik suppressed a groan. “I need three!”
“Kill some mounts getting there if you must, but you have two. I need another six hundred good men, two hundred from each of those garrisons here in Krondor in two months.”
Rage of a Demon King Page 12
