Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  Pug stood with his arms linked to Nakor’s, who in turn had linked his to Bek’s. Magnus stood on his father’s other side, one arm through his father’s and the other through Martuch’s. Martuch had warned they would be transitioning through a realm he thought of only as “the grey,” and that every sense would be confounded. The passage lasted brief moments, but felt as if time had stopped.

  The Ipiliac wizard who had been summoned to oversee this transition had also taken great pains in informing Pug, Nakor, and Magnus about what to expect. Bek was unconcerned and ignored the warnings. He seemed excited to be finally going to “the next place.”

  Pug took a deep breath, then said, “Ready.”

  Martuch nodded once to the wizard and he raised his staff above his head, in the final incantation of a spell he had begun almost an hour earlier.

  Suddenly the room around them vanished. Pug tried to take in a breath, knowing that there was no air here, for he recognized this place! He was again in the place between! It was where Macros the Black had taken him when he had closed the first rift from Tsurani, at the end of the Riftwar. He knew exactly why Martuch had warned him. Pug reached out with his thoughts and quickly sheltered his companions as Macros had sheltered him.

  Father, came Magnus’s thoughts. Where are we?

  We are in the space between moments, my son. We are in the very stuff of the universe, between those strands that Nakor calls “stuff,” in the void itself.

  “You can speak,” said Nakor. “Though I can see nothing.”

  Pug and the others suddenly appeared, and Martuch said, “How…?”

  “I have been here before,” Pug said. He turned to Magnus. “I was taken here by your grandfather. This is the realm of the void, where the gods fought in the Chaos Wars.”

  Martuch said, “It has never taken so long…”

  “Perhaps it is because there are five of us,” suggested Bek, apparently fascinated by the total lack of any reference beyond them. The void was a sweeping nothingness: no light, no sound, no sensation.

  “I thank you for this, Pug,” said Martuch. “The passage has always been cold and painful.”

  “It will not be pleasant when we arrive,” responded the magician. As if to prove the point of his words, the transition to the second plane of reality was wrenching. The sensation was akin to having every particle of mind and body ripped apart. As Pug felt himself drawn into the Dasati world, something flickered past his field of vision. He tried to follow the movement, but he was physically yanked away from the void, and suddenly he was standing on a stone floor, in a room of black stone. He was on Kosridi.

  Pain ran up and down every nerve of his body, leaving Pug standing and panting as if he had run a long race. Everyone was there, linking arms as they had been on Delecordia.

  Pug staggered a little when he let go of Nakor’s and Magnus’s arms. “There was…” he started.

  “What?” asked Nakor, his expression one of unusual concern.

  “Something…” said Pug. “I’ll speak of it later.”

  He turned his attention to his surroundings and had to blink several times, as if there were something wrong with his eyes. Then he realized that even more than on Delecordia he was seeing things the human mind was not conditioned to see. Shades of color and pulsing energies were everywhere. The room in which they had appeared was finished in the black stone he had seen on Delecordia, but here any change appeared to make it shimmer with color. The effect was almost overwhelming.

  Then he realized they were not alone. In the room two figures waited, a man and a woman. “Regal” was the only word that Pug could conjure to describe the woman. Her high brow and straight nose gave her a striking look, despite her alien features. Her eyes were almost feline in shape and her lips were full.

  The man was dressed in a warrior’s armor, though something about his features led Pug to think of him as young. The woman looked at Magnus and her eyebrows rose slightly. She said, “This one looks almost like a Dasati, my son. He is even handsome. Pity he’s not a warrior.”

  Pug looked at his son and realized that the glamour was upon them. He could see both Magnus as he knew him and a Magnus who looked Dasati, as if two images were laid one on top of the other. He could see that Magnus’s height, slender features, and long nose would be appealing to these people’s sense of beauty.

  The young man stepped forward and said, “I am Lord Valko. This is my home. You are welcome, though I will confess it is difficult not to kill you. There is something about aliens being here that offends me. I will try to control this repulsion.”

  Pug glanced at Martuch who said, “Consider that as gracious a welcome as you will ever receive to a Dasati estate, my friend.” He turned to Valko. “I am Martuch, Lord of the Setwala. I ride with the Sadharin.”

  “Welcome, Rider of the Sadharin!” said Valko, in what Pug took as a genuinely warm greeting. They embraced each other with ritual backslapping and a gripping of each other’s right wrist in their right hand. Then the young lord of the castle cast his eyes on Bek.

  Ralan Bek stood with his head lowered, looking out from under his heavy black brows. His eyes burned like coals with the reflected firelight, and his face was set in an expression that could only be called hungry. He said, “Martuch, can I kill him?”

  Bek had been dressed as a Dasati warrior, and rehearsed in his role. Martuch shook his head. “He is our host, Bek.”

  As if he had spoken these words all his life, Ralan shouted, “I am Bek! I serve Martuch of the Setwala and ride with the Sadharin!” He grinned like a demented wolf as he pointed to Valko. “My master says I must not kill you, or take that woman behind you. I will honor his wishes and control my desire.”

  “Is this one mad?” asked Valko.

  His mother chuckled. “He lacks manners, but he plays the part of a young Dasati warrior well.” She patted Valko on the shoulder. “Most of the young men in the Hiding didn’t have me as their teacher. His behavior will serve these…persons well.”

  Pug understood her choice of words. Dasati meant “people” but the word she used was obscure. Not quite Lessers, but certainly not Dasati.

  “It is the middle of the night,” said Valko. “Do you need rest?”

  “No,” answered Martuch, “but we are in need of information. There is far more at stake here than we imagined.”

  Pug took this to mean the Talnoy. No further discussion of the creation had been forthcoming, and when he had attempted to broach the subject, he had been rebuffed.

  “Let us retire to a private room where we may discuss all that needs to be addressed,” said the woman.

  Valko looked uncomfortable, and Pug was amazed at how quickly he had come to read Dasati facial expressions. He knew their training on Delecordia was partly responsible; but the rest was the result of the artful spells the Ipiliac wizard had used.

  The young Lord of the Camareen said, “It’s just that…they look like Lessers, yet I must treat them like guests!”

  He said it in such a way that Pug suddenly understood the implied insult. But the youth’s mother replied, “Do not be deceived by appearances. Each of these…persons is a master of great power, or they would not be here. Each is more powerful than the most puissant Deathpriest. Remember that.”

  Without further word, Valko turned and walked, as if expecting everyone to follow him without question. Pug glanced at Martuch, who indicated that he would follow with Bek behind him, and then the lady of the castle. Pug understood that it was imperative that they begin adopting their roles in this society.

  To whatever gods could overhear him, Pug made a silent prayer that they might all survive this journey.

  Nothing they had done on Delecordia prepared Pug and his companions for the experience of Kosridi. Even in the relatively sheltered castle of Lord Valko, the alien sense of this reality was nearly overwhelming. Pug ran his hand over a table and marveled at the feel beneath his fingertips; it was wood, much like any dark, close-gra
ined wood that might be chosen by a furniture maker back in Midkemia, but it was not wood in any sense of what was real to Pug. It was the flesh of a thing that served the same purpose as a tree in this realm, just as the stones were something akin to granite and feldspar, dark flecked with colors, but here the stone had energies still trapped within, as if the making of it deep beneath the mantle of this world had never quite finished. And it hungered. Touching the table, Pug could feel it wanting to drain the energy of his body through his fingertips.

  “Amazing,” he said softly as they waited in the chamber set aside for them by Lord Valko and his mother.

  Martuch said, “Yes, I had much the same reaction when I first went to Delecordia. When I visited my first world through the Hall, I almost couldn’t move for the wonder of it. From our point of view, Pug, your reality is so terribly bright and warm. It’s almost too much unless you have the ability to focus. It can be like trying to listen to one conversation in a large hall full of many people speaking. It can be done, with concentration at first, then it becomes more easy.”

  “Martuch,” asked Nakor. “Why would anyone from this world wish to invade the first plane?”

  “Why does any person, people, or nation do something we might consider mad?” He shrugged. “They have their reasons. Is that why you are here? You fear an invasion of your world by the Dasati?”

  Pug said, “Perhaps. We are partially driven by that concern. We would just as soon discover we are incorrect and that your race is not a threat to my world.”

  “Perhaps it is time for a little more plain speaking,” said the Dasati warrior. He was sitting on a stool, still dressed in his armor, while the others rested on a pair of divans replete with cushions. Bek sat staring out of the window, as if he could not get enough of the vista outside. Pug understood the fascination. The changing hues of the night as they became day provided a constant play of energies that were seductive to the eye. Even the tiniest detail of this realm could captivate the imagination. Earlier, Pug had caught himself being mesmerized by the view. In its alien way, it was beautiful, but Pug had to constantly remind himself that their adjustment to the Dasati plane of existence was illusory, and that even the most common thing they encountered could be dangerous, even lethal.

  Pug turned his attention to Martuch. “I would welcome that.”

  Martuch said, “First, you must not mention the Talnoy on your world until you meet Gardener.”

  “Gardener?” asked Magnus. “It is a name, or a title? In our world, that word is one who tends…plants, in a garden.”

  “It is the same here,” said Martuch. “It is a name we have for him so that others may not know who he really is.”

  “Who is he?” asked Nakor, coming to the point.

  “He is our leader, for lack of a better word, but rather than me telling you about him, Narueen should; she has met him. I have not.”

  “He’s your leader, but you haven’t met him?”

  “It is complicated. For years there have been among the Dasati those who could not bring themselves to embrace the teachings of His Darkness as being the totality of knowledge. Among your people I imagine there are those who question authority and challenge convention.”

  “Absolutely,” said Pug, glancing at his son. “It regularly occurs at the end of childhood. Ask any human parent.”

  Magnus smiled slightly. He had been headstrong like his mother as a child, and when he had begun his training under his father, there had been many arguments between them before Magnus came to understand his father’s wisdom, as well as his knowledge.

  “We have no childhood, as you do,” said Martuch, “so I will accept you understand my meaning. Those who question the teachings of the Dark One are put to death. So, those who have doubts learn quickly to keep quiet.

  “But there have long been factions within our society, the Bloodwitch Sisterhood being the most…‘notorious’ or ‘infamous’ would be the words in your tongue. They were rivals to the Deathpriests for centuries, each having their own influence. There was a balance.

  “Then the Hierophants and priests began to fear the Sisterhood and, with the blessing of the TeKarana, named them apostate and had them hunted down and destroyed. A few escaped and kept the ancient lore alive, and now they have reappeared among us, though for most people they are beings of myth and legend.

  “And there have been men, such as myself, who had no reason to question the order of things, but who did.” Martuch looked out the window, past Bek. “This is a strange place to you, my friends, but to me it is my home. Here everything is as it should be, while your worlds are…odd and exotic. But even while this is my home, I sensed there was something wrong, something out of balance. It was a chance that made me who I am today.”

  Martuch returned to his stool and sat down. “I have seen worlds in the first plane, Pug. I have seen men step on insects, without thought, a habit perhaps, or a deeply ingrained abhorrence of vermin.

  “That is as close as I can come in explaining to you how we Dasati males react when we see children. When I first saw males and females of other races carrying their children, holding them, going through crowded markets and leading them by their tiny hands, I could scarcely credit my senses.

  “I don’t know if I can make it any clearer, but it was as repellent to me as any perversity you can imagine witnessing in public.

  “A mother scolding her child for wandering off in a crowd, that I could comprehend, for our mothers defend us to the death during the Hiding.” He paused. “But when I saw a father lifting his child, merely to make it laugh…” He sighed. “It troubled me more than you can begin to comprehend. It nearly made me physically ill.

  “I think you might understand if you were suddenly whisked by magic to a place where you could observe a Purging. To see grown men in armor riding through the night, crashing through thickets in the woodlands, charging through camps of terrified children and enraged mothers, many of whom throw themselves on the points of spears and swords to permit their little ones a slight chance at survival, well, all the time the warriors were laughing and joking as babies died…what you might feel seeing that is how I felt watching a man kiss a baby’s cheek.

  “And yet, deep within, I knew the wrongness was not in that father and child, but in me and my race.”

  “How did you come to this insight?” asked Nakor. “And how did you first get to the first circle?”

  Martuch smiled, and looked at Nakor. “All in good time, my friend.” He stood again and paced, as if trying to organize his thoughts. “The first time I felt the wrongness, as I think of it, was during a great purge.

  “Word had reached the Riders of the Sadharin that a Facilitator—a trader, actually—had seen smoke at sunset in a deep woodland only a half-day’s ride from this very castle.

  “The mountains to the east of here begin with a series of foothills, and there are many caves and ancient mines in the region. It would be impossible for an organized force to explore every one in a year, let alone find moving camps of females and young.

  “We rode at sundown so that we could strike the camp in the dead of night, and by the time we reached the camp, we could smell woodsmoke on the air, and hear the soft sounds of mothers crooning to their young.

  “We became filled with bloodlust, and wished to do nothing more than cleave and rend and trample these things beneath the hooves of our varnins. One female must have been alert, for we heard a warning scream moments before we overran the camp. Our women are clever, and dangerous when protecting their young. Several pulled warriors out of their saddles with their bare hands, dying to keep their children safe. One warrior had his throat torn out by a woman’s teeth.

  “I killed three females that night, to allow one of my brother riders to regain his mount, and when he had, the camp was empty. In the night I could hear the sounds of screams and cries, and the wailing of children cut off by the sound of swords striking flesh coming from all around me in the night.


  “I could feel blood pounding in my ears, and my breathing was heavy. It is much the same feeling as we get when we are ready to couple. In my mind the pleasures are equal, making life or taking it.

  “I rode into the underbrush around the camp, and when I had entered a thicket, I sensed something. I looked down, and crouching under a low-hanging branch was a female, holding her young son. I never would have seen her had I kept riding or had I not looked down at that exact moment. She would have been behind the searches and could have made her way to freedom and safety but for chance.”

  Martuch stopped his pacing and looked at Pug. “Then the amazing thing happened. I drew back my sword and made ready to kill the female first—she was the danger—and then the boy. But rather than leap to protect her child, she held him tightly to her chest and looked at me, eye to eye, Pug. She stared at me and said…‘Please.’”

  Pug said, “I take it that was…unexpected.”

  “Unprecedented,” said Martuch, sitting on his stool once more. “‘Please’ is a word a Dasati rarely hears, except from a Lesser saying, ‘if it pleases you, master,’ or a warrior or priest saying, ‘this was pleasing,’ but as an entreaty, no, it is not our way.

  “But something in that woman’s eyes…there was strength and power there: this was not the pleading of a weak woman, but an appeal to something more profound than mindless killing.”

  “What did you do?” asked Magnus.

  “I let them go,” said Martuch. “I put up my sword and rode off.”

  Pug said, “I can’t begin to understand what that must have felt like.”

  “I scarcely understood myself,” said Martuch. “I rode after the others and by the time dawn arrived thirteen females and twenty-odd children had been butchered. The other riders laughed and joked on the way back to the great hall of the Sadharin, but I kept my own counsel.

  “I had no sense of achievement or pride. I realized at that moment that I had changed within, and that there was nothing glorious in slaughtering those who were far less able to defend themselves.