“A woman with a knife is to be treated with respect, but I was mounted on a war-trained varnin, wearing full armor, carrying a sword and a dagger, and had a war bow on my saddle. I should feel a sense of accomplishment because I killed her? I should feel triumph in slaughtering a child whose only defense is teeth and nails?” He shook his head. “No, I knew there was something terribly wrong.
“But like many who come to this insight, I assumed the wrongness was within me, that I had lost sight of His Darkness’s truth, so I sought out a Deathpriest to counsel me.” Martuch looked at Pug with a half-smile. “Fate conspired to bring me to a man named Juwon, a Deathpriest of the highest rank outside the Inner Temple, a High Priest, one who has jurisdiction over all this region of the Empire.
“He listened to my story, and later confided in me that the standing order in the Dark One’s service is that any who comes with the doubts I expressed is to be instantly confined, interrogated, then put to death. I just happened to have confided in the highest-placed prelate in the region, who also worked secretly on behalf of the White.
“He listened, bade me keep silent on this matter, but asked me to return. We sat together many times, for hours, over a period of months, before he took me aside and said my calling was to serve the White.
“By the time he revealed this to me, I had already come to the conclusion that there was far more to this than my mere hesitation over killing one woman and one child. Since then I have spoken many times to him, to Narueen, and other wise men and women, to priests, Bloodwitch, and others. I have come to see so much more than I was taught as a boy.” Martuch leaned forward. “That is how I came to serve the White. More, I have come to love the White, and hate everything about His Darkness.”
“How did you get to the first plane of reality?” asked Nakor.
“I was sent by the Gardener.”
“Why?” asked Pug.
“He is the one who works most closely with the White,” said a female voice from the door. “We do not question his orders. If he tells us to go to another reality, Martuch, or I, or any other serving the White, will go.”
Pug turned, and instantly stood, lowering his gaze to the floor. Magnus and Nakor were only a moment behind.
“Quicker,” said Narueen as she entered the room. “A second’s hesitation will make you remarkable. Remarkable Lessers are dead Lessers. Remember, Attenders are useful, but also despised for their helping ways.”
Pug stood motionless, and she came to sit on the spot on the divan he had just vacated. “Sit beside me,” she said to him, and then to the others, “You may drop your pose. It will almost certainly be the last chance to do so, and there is much we need to discuss before you leave.”
“Already?” asked Pug.
“Yes,” said Narueen. “I received word that something extraordinary may be taking place on Omadrabar. High Priest Juwon has been called to the Court of His Darkness, and if they are calling in the priests from the outer regions, then this is a meeting of importance.”
“Any idea why?” asked Martuch.
“When a Supreme Prelate dies, and there’s a need to anoint his successor, this type of convocation is usual; but there has been no word of his illness. Besides, news of his untimely death would have accompanied any such order. In the past, the Supreme Prelate might convene such an assembly to announce new doctrine; but Juwon would know about such a theological movement in the hierarchy of the church.” She shook her head slightly: a very human gesture. “No, it must be something else.” She looked at Pug. “We always fear discovery. But one advantage we have is that the servants of the Dark One have no desire for the populace to know we are not a myth, that we exist.
Pug asked, “When you say ‘we,’ do you mean the Bloodwitches or the White?”
“Both,” she replied, “for in my mind the Bloodwitch Sisterhood and the White have been one for many, many years, long before we realized we served that force which stood in opposition to the Dark One.”
“Martuch told us the story of his sparing a woman and her son. Do you know it?” asked Nakor.
Narueen nodded and her expression was revealing, the closest to a show of emotions Pug had seen from her. “I know it well, for I was that woman and Valko was the boy I held. We had ventured out of the caves a short distance away and were cooking. Our fires were lit too early, obviously. The children were fractious, Valko was teething and angry. The cooling breezes of the evening soothed him.”
“Why did you simply say ‘please’?” asked Magnus.
She sighed. “I don’t really know. An instinct that let me see something inside him. He was a vital warrior, the sort of man women seek out to father their children, at the height of his power. He had his bloodlust up and was ready to kill, but there was a…look to him, something around the eyes under that fearsome black helm that made me just ask him to spare us.”
“And so lives change,” said Martuch. “Valko doesn’t know the story, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t tell him yet. He will learn it soon enough, but what you must know is that our young Lord of the Camareen came to his office just this week. He beheaded his father only six days before you arrived. The celebration of his accession was two nights ago. Had we arrived then, most of us would likely be dead by now.”
Pug said, “I often wonder at these small coincidences in life: that something that appears nothing more than a chance, but in the end turns out to be vital.”
Nakor had been unusually silent throughout all of these discussions, content to watch and listen. He reached into his bag and pulled out an orange.
Pug’s eyes widened. “How did you do that?”
Nakor’s ever-present bag had a small permanent two-way rift in it, which allowed him to reach through and pluck oranges and other items off a table in a produce shop in Kesh. By any magic Pug knew, it couldn’t work here.
Nakor just grinned. “Different bag. Looks the same, but it’s not. I just put some oranges in it. This is the last one.”
He dug his thumb into it and peeled the skin, then took a bite. He made a face and said, “Horrible. I guess how things taste to us has changed, too.” He put the orange back in the bag and said, “I’d better get rid of this somewhere along the way.”
“Yes,” said Martuch, rising and holding out his hand. “I’ll see to it. I wouldn’t want you to have to explain to a Deathpriest how you came by a fruit from the first plane of existence.”
Nakor handed over the fruit and turned to look at Bek, who was sitting quietly, staring out of the window. “What is it you find so fascinating, Ralan?”
Without turning, Bek said, “It’s just that I really like it here, Nakor. I want to stay.” He turned and his eyes were shining with emotion. “I want you to fix what you did to me, that day outside the caves, because I think here I can be…happy. This is a good place, Nakor. I can kill and make people cry, and everyone thinks it’s funny.” He looked out of the window again. “And it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
Nakor went to the window and looked out. “It’s unusually clear, today—”
The way his voice dropped caused Pug and the others to look at him. “What is it?” asked Pug.
“Come here,” said Nakor.
Pug looked out past his two companions. The daylight of Kosridi had taken some getting used to, as there was little visible by Midkemian standards, but Pug had found that once his eyes had adjusted to a much broader spectrum, what Nakor had called “the colors beyond violet, and under red,” he could see a profound difference between night and day on this world. With the sun above, he could see heat and energy and more detail than at night. But even then, he saw far more with his “Dasati eyes” as he thought of his new vision than he ever would have imagined possible. And he understood why he hadn’t seen apparent signs on Delecordia or here: it had taken him a while to apprehend the energy signatures used on the stone above doors to indicate the purpose of the building.
Today was “bright” as the
re were no clouds in the sky, and the sun shone down. Pug could see the rolling vista of the town beyond the castle, and the ocean below that. Then it struck him that there was something familiar about what he was seeing.
Nakor said, “I’ve only been to a place like this once before, years ago when Prince Nicholas had to sail after—”
Pug cut him off. “It’s Crydee,” he said softly.
“It looks a lot like Crydee,” said Nakor.
Pug pointed out to the southwest. “There are the Six Sisters.”
Narueen said, “That is what those islands are called.”
Pug said, “We’re in Crydee.” He looked out again and said, “This town is built…well, it’s Dasati, all one continuous series of interlinking buildings, like the Ipiliac, but there, that bit of land jutting out north of the harbor…that’s Longpoint!”
“What does it mean?” asked Magnus.
Pug turned and sat down on the window seat next to Bek, who still stared outside. “I don’t know. In one sense, I guess it means we’re back home, just on a different plane of reality.”
Pug began asking Narueen and Martuch questions about the geography of the region and quickly came to understand that Kosridi was Midkemia, only on the second plane of reality. After nearly half an hour of this, Pug said, “Why would everything else be different, but the physical environment be the same?”
“A question for philosophers,” said Nakor. He grinned. “But I do like a good question as much as I like a good answer.”
“So many mysteries,” said Magnus.
“We leave tomorrow for the city of Kosridi, by wagon,” said Martuch.
Pug placed the capital of this world roughly where Stardock would be on Midkemia, and asked, “Wouldn’t it be faster to travel by ship?”
“It would,” answered Martuch, “if the winds were favorable, but this time of the year we’d be beating against them the entire way. Also, there’s a series of dangerous places along the coast—I’m not a sailor so I don’t know what they’re properly called—rocks below the water where you can’t see them.”
“Reefs,” said Pug, “in our language.”
Narueen said, “In any event, once we reach Ladsnawe, we can take a swift ship across the Diamond Sea to the river leading to Kosridi.”
Pug considered, and realized that the Bitter Sea was roughly diamond shaped on the map. “So, how long?” he asked.
“Three weeks, if we encounter no difficulty. We have already sent swift messengers ahead to carry word of our coming, so we will find safe haven along the route every night.”
“We have so many more things to discuss,” said Pug.
“We will have time. Everything we do is overseen by the Gardener. You will travel with a surrounding cocoon of people who will protect your secrets, even if they themselves do not know what those secrets are. Act your part and all shall be well. We shall have time, ample time, trust me.”
Narueen stood and pointed to Magnus. “You must come with me.”
Magnus appeared torn for a moment between curiosity and his wish to appear the obedient servant, then he rose, bowed his head, and followed Valko’s mother. Pug looked over at Martuch who stood with a faint smile on his face. “What’s all that?” he asked.
“She will take him to her bed tonight,” said Martuch. “For a Dasati he is very handsome. Many women will wish to couple with him. I realize to your people our ways seem brazen and without—What is that word you humans use to explain your odd behavior?”
Nakor said, “Morality?”
“That is the word,” said Martuch. “We have none of that when it comes to breeding.”
“But can he…?”
“I am no expert,” said Martuch, “but I believe the essentials are basically the same, and while Narueen is indulging in some gratuitous pleasure, she’s also ensuring that your son doesn’t end up dead before we reach our goal.
“I do not overstate. He is very handsome, and many women will wish his company. And a few men, I expect. If he doesn’t understand his role, how he must obey, when he can decline, or what to expect, you might never see him again.” He pointed to Bek. “Likewise, I will have a Lesser come to his bed tonight.” Lowering his voice, he added, “I think he will have no problem convincing a Dasati woman he is a warrior.”
“I’m married,” Pug said quickly.
Martuch laughed. “Do not worry, friend Pug. By Dasati standards you are far too short and homely to attract that sort of attention.”
Nakor said, “I like girls.”
Martuch laughed even harder, shook his head, and left the room.
TWENTY
CRUCIBLE
The rain pounded down.
Six miserable junior knight-lieutenants of the Army of Roldem hunkered down under the pitiful shelter of a canvas ground cloth which had been hurriedly erected as a makeshift tent. The rain had been unceasing for three days now and they were chilled to the bone, footsore, and couldn’t remember the last time they had slept.
After returning from the conflict with Bardic’s Holdfast, the six had received instructions to head downriver to Olasko Gateway with the first and third Olaskan infantry, and report to General Devrees’s staff. The boat ride had been uneventful and the boys had been full of their own sense of achievement.
The veterans in the first and third put up with the boys’ boundless optimism. They had seen it before and knew it wouldn’t last. Especially Sergeant Walenski, the senior sergeant given command of the first and third. The two units had been depleted below half the normal complement since the overthrow of Kaspar’s rule three years before. They had been operating as a combined unit since, and Roldem seemed slow in assigning new recruits to the old Olaskan army.
The first and third had been ordered to help sweep the border with Salmater. The problem was chronic: the southernmost province in Olasko was a cluster of hundreds of islands, the home of pirates, smugglers, outlaws of every stripe, and a highway for raids into the region. Roldem had decided on a show of force and a warning to anyone else in the region who might wish to go adventuring in their two newest provinces.
“Why did they have to pick the rainy season?” asked Jommy, as he sat shivering under the tarp. All six wore the uniform of the Army of Roldem: dark blue tunics, dark grey trousers, and a belted tabard. Each had been given a conical metal helm with a nose guard. Grandy’s was the smallest they could find and it was still slightly too large.
“To make sure we appreciate every possible aspect of the experience?” suggested Godfrey.
Tad said, “Well, at least it’s not a cold rain.”
“And the rain keeps the mosquitoes from biting,” Grandy offered.
“Ever the optimist,” said Servan. He reached out and rumpled Grandy’s already wet head and said, “It’s good we have at least one of those around here.”
Zane said, “I just wish they had something for us to do.”
Jommy said, “Be careful what you wish for…” He hiked his thumb and everyone looked to see where he pointed. Sergeant Walenski was climbing the short trail from where the General’s tent sat to where these most junior of officers huddled.
He came to stand before them and saluted in just a slow enough fashion to communicate clearly what he thought of these six “children” who had been deposited in his care. “If you young gentlemen would be so kind, the General would like a word with you.”
Jommy and the others came out from under the shelter, and as the others followed, he said, “I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck in finding us a proper tent, now, have you, Sergeant?”
“Sorry to say, no, sir,” he responded. The sergeant was a short, lantern-jawed man, who effected a large moustache that flowed out and curled up at the ends. He was still mostly dark-haired, but had just enough grey shot through to show his age. He had been a soldier—corporal, then sergeant—in the Army of Olasko for twenty-five years and had little patience with junior officers, especially boys plucked from university who, from
his point of view, were sent to play soldier while real men fought and died. He had been as close to insubordinate and insulting as he could get without actually breaking military protocols, but the boys had no doubt that he had rather these six lieutenants were anywhere in the army but here. “Sorry to say, the provisioner has not received any more supplies from Opardum…sir.”
Jommy threw him a sidelong look. “Well, thank you for the effort, Sergeant. I’m sure it was heroic.”
“We try our best, young sir. Now, if you don’t mind, the General is waiting.”
The boys trudged down the muddy hill to the command tent. As they passed a series of wagons, Jommy halted. “Sergeant, what is that piled up on the second wagon there?”
The sergeant made a show of squinting at the wagon. At last he said, “Why, I do believe that’s a stack of tents, sir. I guess some came in that I missed.”
Glaring at the sergeant as he walked past him to enter the General’s tent, Jommy said, “I hope you don’t miss the enemy when they turn up.”
The General’s command tent was a large pavilion which housed a table with a set of maps on it, a pair of canvas-and-wood chairs, and a simple sleeping mat. Everything was damp or soaked depending on where in the leaky pavilion it rested. “Miserable weather, isn’t it?” said the General.
“Sir,” agreed Jommy.
“We’ve got a report of some smuggling down near a place called Isle Falkane on this map.” He pointed to it, and the six young officers gathered around. “I’m in a bit of a predicament. We’ve also received a report that Salmater has mounted an expedition that’s coming across the border somewhere in this vicinity. So, I’ve got to keep most of the first and third intact, but I want you six lads to take a company of twenty men down to this island and see if there’s any truth to the rumor. I don’t want you to go looking for a fight; the sight of more than two dozen soldiers should be enough to send them scurrying off.
“I just don’t want any problems on my south flank if Salmater does mount an offensive here.” He glanced at the six boys and said to the Prince, “No disrespect to your family, Highness, but what are you doing here?”
Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga Page 28
