Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Yes, Nakor.” Bek looked heavenward, a near rapt expression on his face. “It’s nice. I like the flashes and the way you can see the wind.”

  “You can see the wind?” asked Magnus.

  “Yes. Can’t you?”

  “No,” Magnus admitted.

  Nakor squinted. “Ah, now I can see…” He turned to the two magicians. “If you try to see through the air, to the space behind it, you can see the pressure of the wind, like water rippling across a smooth sheet of rock. Try.”

  Pug did and after a moment he began to gain a sense of what the two men had seen. “It’s like heat shimmer on the desert,” he said at last.

  “Yes!” said Bek. “Only it’s more. You can see it behind itself.”

  Pug’s eyes narrowed questioningly as he looked at Nakor, who merely shook his head. “He sees deeper than any of us.”

  Pug decided not to pursue the matter for the moment. The wind was chilling and the air had a bitter tang. In the distance, they could see their destination, the city of Shusar. “Look at the size of it,” he said.

  He had spoken at length with Kaspar about his vision on the mountains called the Pavilion of the Gods, and asked him questions about every detail. One thing Kaspar had been emphatic about was the enormity of the Dasati cities.

  Pug tried to calm himself, but the entire experience of entering Delecordia was taking its toll. “I think this will take some getting used to.”

  “We’d better start down, Father,” said Magnus. “Vordam’s instructions are helping, but I can sense myself beginning to feel ill. We must reach Kastor soon.”

  Pug agreed with a nod and started walking down the path. “As soon as we are able, I’ll try a small jump to a visible site, but I suspect I may not be able to focus my mind correctly. It feels as if I’ve been given a sleeping draft.”

  Nakor nodded. “It’s interesting here, but not good. We need to find this Kastor fellow, yes.”

  As he had predicted, Pug was unable to effect the spell he used to travel short distances, willing himself to any place he could see. Nakor watched him struggle and said, “Yes, yes, it’s as I thought. Stuff here is different than back home. It’s twisted…wrong.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Magnus as they continued to trudge down the long trail to the road that led to the city.

  “I don’t know,” said Nakor. “It’s how I think of it. Stuff has rules. It acts a certain way when you do things to it. You push on the right side, and it goes left. You push down and it goes down. This world’s stuff…it’s as if you push on it and it pushes back, or you press down and it wants to go left.” He grinned as he added, “Interesting, and if I had time, I think I could figure out how to work it.”

  Pug said, “If Kastor can take care of us as Vordam said he could, we should then have time for you to learn, Nakor. Magnus and myself as well.”

  Bek pointed, his hand sweeping in an arc, indicating the entire vista. “This is a wonderful place, Nakor. I really like it.”

  Nakor looked at his young companion. “How do you feel?”

  Bek shrugged as he walked at Nakor’s shoulder, down the narrow trail. “I feel fine. Why? Don’t you?”

  Nakor said, “None of us feels well here, but you do?”

  “Yes. Is that wrong?” asked the powerful youth.

  “Apparently not,” said Magnus.

  The trail broadened as it reached the lower hills. After nearly two hours of steady walking, they reached the verge of a wide road, almost a highway, that led to the city. A cart pulled by something that looked a great deal like a horse, but had broader shoulders and a shorter neck, rolled by, the beast snorting as the driver in the high seat behind prodded it with a long stick, apparently the item of control. As the cart passed them, the driver gave them a glance; but if he was surprised to see four humans standing on the roadside, he didn’t reveal any change of expression.

  “I wonder how he gets it to stop,” said Pug.

  Nakor said, “Maybe he just stops prodding it and it stops out of gratitude?”

  Magnus laughed just loud enough to cause Pug to turn. His elder son rarely displayed any sense of humor, and on those rare occasions when he did, it always surprised his father.

  They turned up the highway, staying on the verge, as vehicles were a steady feature of this thoroughfare. Pug had visited other worlds, had lived on Kelewan with the Tsurani for four years, and had spent time with nonhuman sentient beings, but there was something about this place that fascinated him more than anything he had ever encountered. This place and these people were alien in a way he had never imagined possible.

  Vordam had been quite precise in all his instructions, and he had answered a few questions, but only those pertaining to Pug and his friends reaching the merchant Kastor quickly and efficiently. He had deferred many questions to Kastor, as if Vordam had reasons for being cautious that were not apparent to Pug.

  The city was magnificent. As they trudged along the road, getting closer by the minute, Pug could see the stones of the dark wall were slightly reflective, giving off hints of color as if light had been broken into a spectrum, like oil on water. Were there minute crystals in the stone? Pug wondered.

  As they neared the vast city gates, the wonders increased. The stones were fitted so closely the walls appeared seamless. They towered eleven or twelve stories by human standards.

  “What sort of enemy were they expecting?” said Pug.

  “Oh, maybe they just like really tall things,” replied Nakor as he drifted over to the left side of the massive entrance to the city. “Now this is interesting,” he observed.

  There were no gates in the traditional human fashion, but rather a massive portion of wall was retracted inside, swinging on hinges of unimaginable design. Nakor laughed. “They haven’t had to use them in a while.”

  A tree of some sort had grown up alongside the wall, blocking the segment that was retracted. “That would make closing the gate problematic,” said Magnus with a smile.

  “I think they’d figure out a way,” offered his father as they entered the Ipiliac city of Shusar. “That they’re peaceful is welcome news.”

  “Or they killed all their enemies,” Bek offered.

  Pug spared the youth a backward glance and saw him looking around at everything as if his head were on a swivel, his eyes wide and his face a grinning mask. “I like these people, Nakor,” Bek said. “This is an interesting and wonderful place.”

  Pug didn’t have Nakor’s appreciation of the way this odd boy thought, but he knew him well enough to know that this was as close as Bek could get to exhibiting what others would call joy. Bek lived in a heightened state of existence, it seemed, his pleasures coming from anything that offered an emotional peak, be it sex, violence, or beauty. Pug wondered, and not for the first time, why his future self had insisted on the lad being in this company. Now tiny pieces of a very complex puzzle were falling into place; of all of them, Bek was the least disoriented and least troubled by coming to this realm. He actually seemed to be enjoying it while his three companions were experiencing mounting discomfort and illness.

  If their presence caused any alarm in the Ipiliac they masked it well. In fact, Pug noticed, most barely spared the four humans a glance.

  He was forced to admit that once the alien aspect wore off, the Ipiliac appeared to be a handsome race: tall, almost regal, their movements fluid and graceful. The women were striking if not obviously attractive by human standards. They moved with even more grace than the men, motion that had an almost seductive quality to it, yet they appeared unself-conscious as far as Pug could see. There were apparently playful moments as men and women in the market joked with one another and shouted greetings. By any measurement Pug could apply, these seemed a happy people.

  By the time they reached the plaza Vordam had described, Pug was feeling a tightness in his chest, a shortness of breath, and he was starting to cough. The others, apart from Bek, were also laboring. Pug halted before a fo
untain, one which astonished him because of its beauty, a crystal thing with lights within, and water tumbling in sheets to strike harmonious sounds each time drops splashed on a crystal face.

  “There,” said Pug, pointing. “The shop with the red door.”

  A company of mounted riders was coming through the plaza, all wearing black tunics trimmed with purple, each with a shield of white on his back. Each man wore a hat that looked to be made of some felted material and boots that reached the knees with a high flap folded down in front. The dashing look was heightened by each man sporting a small chin beard.

  They were riding the odd horselike creatures at a posting trot and Bek laughed like a child. “Ha! I wonder if they can fight?”

  Pug looked at once to see if he intended to test the question, but was relieved to see him merely watching in openmouthed admiration. He motioned for the others to follow him and they moved toward their destination. Pug spared a look up and down the streets, more to gauge how the local populace approached these shops: whether they knocked then entered, were admitted, or were just entering.

  Seeing that shops were being entered and exited without issue, he pushed open a shop door. Inside they found nothing that resembled a human shop: no counters, no shelves, no apparent inventory or even images of products for sale. Instead there were cushions strewn across the floor around a large device with several hoses of woven fabric leading from it. A large bowl topped this apparatus.

  An Ipiliac came through a beaded curtain, tall and thin even by this race’s standards. He wore a rippling robe of rainbow colors that shifted hue as he walked. He paused for a moment, looked from face to face, then spoke a phrase in an alien tongue. When they didn’t respond, he tried another language, one Pug recognized.

  “We are not from that world,” he said. “We are from Midkemia.”

  In Keshian, the entrepreneur said, “Welcome to my establishment. I rarely get human clients. You must be the ones Vordam spoke of. How may I be of service?”

  “We seek a guide to the world of Kosridi.”

  Now Pug saw surprise on the merchant’s features.

  “You seek a way into the next realm?”

  “Is it possible?” Pug asked.

  “Yes, but difficult. However, Vordam would not have sent you had he thought it impossible. You are beings of considerable strength to have reached this shop without the aid of powerful magic.”

  “Which doesn’t seem to work here,” Magnus responded. “And it is getting difficult to breathe.”

  Nodding, Kastor said, “I can help.” He vanished into the rear of his shop, then returned with a small pouch and deposited the contents into the bowl of the device. Then he added a liquid and almost at once a light mist appeared above the bowl. “If you would inhale this mist through these hoses, I think you will find your breathing difficulties will be ameliorated.”

  Bek said, “I don’t need to.”

  The Ipiliac studied the young man for a minute, then softly said, “I think you are right.”

  Pug hesitated for an instant, as Nakor and Magnus began inhaling from their small hoses. It was pointless to worry: they had no other choice; they were here and had to trust this being. Pug inhaled deeply, fighting back a cough as the pungent mist started to affect his lungs. After several deep breaths, his discomfort eased.

  After one long deep inhalation, Nakor said, “This is very good.”

  Kastor said, “Forgive me for being direct, but you will discover time is against you should you decide not to continue onward with your quest.”

  “We have no intention of turning back.”

  “So you say, but there are many things about the place you seek I am certain you do not understand, and I will not agree to help you until I am certain that you do.”

  Pug nodded.

  “The Dasati will kill you on sight. Simply for existing. They are a race akin to our own, but driven by realities you can only begin to imagine, let alone fully comprehend. Everything that is a potential threat is to be destroyed, utterly, and anything not understood is a threat, and therefore destroyed.

  “In the history of those people, twelve worlds have come under their dominion. Of these, five were inhabited by other races. In each case, that world was completely cleansed of its native race: today every animal down to the lowest insect, every plant, every form of life, is from the Dasati homeworld: Omadrabar.”

  Pug recognized the name from his own note to himself, but said nothing. He wanted to meditate on why he must not only do this nearly impossible thing, but go to the very heart of the most dangerous threat faced by his own world.

  “I take your caution,” said Pug. “The Dasati are fearsome and deadly.”

  “Implacable, my friend. You will never get one to speak with you, let alone negotiate. So, I must first tell you that to survive for more than a few minutes on Kosridi will be a far more difficult undertaking than merely preparing your bodies to endure the state of life on that world.”

  “Vordam has touched on the subject,” said Pug. “He likened it to throwing straw on a flame.”

  “More like a combustible oil,” replied Kastor. “Analogy aside, let us argue that you have been trained to endure the state of existence, but you still must survive the Dasati. To do so will require magic of staggering proportion, for you will have to appear Dasati in every imaginable way, not only in likeness, but to senses beyond your own. For example, they can see your body heat, as I can, and you burn brighter than they do. So many details must be considered, down to your body odor and the pitch of your voice. Moreover, this spell must endure not for mere minutes or hours but for weeks, perhaps even months. In addition you must learn their language, culture, and behavior in order to blend in. And you must be of sufficient importance to avoid…” He threw up his hands. “It is impossible.”

  Pug regarded him. “I think not. I think you know how we can do such things. You just don’t see the profit in it.”

  “Not true. For this training I shall demand a price which would appall a king on your world.” He narrowed his gaze. “Vordam would not have sent you had you been without means to pay such.”

  “I can provide payment,” said Pug.

  Nakor said, “I am curious. What manner of payment?”

  Kastor said, “The usual. Metals of value: gold from your realm is especially useful given its nonreactive qualities. Silver for the opposite reason. Certain gems, again for their utility as well as beauty. Like many other races, we enjoy items that are unique, or at least distinctive, objects of art or curiosity.” He looked at Nakor and said, “Most of all, I prize information.”

  “Reliability and improbability,” said Nakor.

  “Yes,” agreed Kastor. “You understand.” He looked at Magnus. “Do you?”

  “Probably not,” said the younger magician, “but I am my father’s son, and I go where he goes.”

  To Bek, Kastor put the same question. “And you, young fighter. Do you understand?”

  Bek just grinned, and Pug was struck by how young he looked at times. “I don’t care. Just as long as I can have fun. Nakor said this would be fun, so I’ll go with him.”

  “Very well,” said the Ipiliac, rising. “We begin at once. Before anything else, we must conspire to find solutions for a myriad of problems, but none so pressing as your ability to breathe the air of Kosridi, drink its water, and keep your life’s energy inside your bodies.”

  He motioned for them to follow and led them through the beaded curtain. In the rear of the building they discovered a hallway that led to a much larger building: a warehouse filled with row upon row of shelves.

  After passing through the warehouse, he led them into a hallway with doors on either side. At the end of the hall he indicated two doors, one at each hand, and said, “Here you will stay. Within the hour I will return with several drafts, potions, and powders for you to ingest. Without these you will soon sicken beyond anyone’s ability to help you. Despite these measures, you must be prepared to
endure great discomfort for many days to come. When you have been fully acclimatized to our world we will begin on four courses of action: we shall prepare you for your journey to the second realm, which will seem as if you’re starting the entire process over again; we shall begin a reorganization of thought so that your understanding of magic will allow you to practice your arts of magic; we shall begin your appreciation of the Dasati, their language and beliefs, and how to contrive to be like them, so that they will not kill you; and we shall come to fully understand why you are undertaking a task of such monumental stupidity.”

  Saying nothing else, he departed, leaving the four men alone in the hall. After a moment, Pug opened one of the two doors, indicating to Magnus that he should join him, and left Nakor and Bek to enter the other.

  After two weeks, the food began to taste normal to them, and the air smelled sweet. The bouts of stomach cramps, coughing fits, malaise, and sudden sweating passed. Kastor had arranged for a series of instructions from an Ipiliac magician, a being named Danko who instantly fascinated Nakor and who seemed to reciprocate the little gambler’s interest. After an exercise had been concluded, the two would wander the city, Bek trailing behind, while Pug and Magnus considered other problems to be anticipated.

  Taking advantage of the others’ absence, Pug and his son sat talking about the one question Pug had yet to explain to anyone’s satisfaction: why had they undertaken this journey?

  He said, “Truth to tell, son, I do not know.”

  Magnus sat on a sleeping pallet, his legs crossed beneath him, and smiled. “Mother would rejoice to hear such an admission.”

  Pug had weighed for months whether to tell his family about the notes from the future, but caution always prevented it. He sighed. “I miss her more right now than I can tell you, son. I’d endure one of her tantrums just to hear her voice.”

  Magnus smiled broadly. “I can only imagine what you’d hear if she heard you call them tantrums.”