Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  Miranda had received his message only hours before, and ignoring the time difference—it was just before dawn at Sorcerer’s Isle, but late afternoon on this part of Kelewan—she had come at once.

  They were moving across a meadow toward the hill, and when they reached the bottom, Wyntakata said, “Another moment, please.” He paused to catch his breath, then said, “You’d think with all the power…well, maybe one day we can do something about getting old.” He chuckled. “It’s odd, isn’t it, that this man you’re so eager to catch can move from body to body…a type of immortality, really.”

  “From one point of view, I suppose so,” said Miranda, impatient to see what it was she had been summoned here to see.

  The stout magician caught his breath and said, “Let us go.” As they trudged up the hill, he said, “Did you hear, old Sinboya was found dead last week?”

  Miranda stopped. “You knew him?”

  “How could you not?” Wyntakata stopped for a moment, puffed, then said, “He was perhaps the finest artificer of devices alive. Many of the Assembly had employed him to make his toys, useful as they were.”

  Reaching the ridge, they could see down into a small valley, a half-mile depression between two rows of hills. Below them in the valley was a dome of energy, black as night and yet scintillating with colors, like coruscating oil floating on the surface of water. Miranda instantly recognized it as a barrier of some type; though what it was keeping in, she could only guess.

  Wyntakata said, “I hear Pug visited Sinboya just before his death.”

  Miranda hesitated for an instant, then said, “He hadn’t told me.” Instantly, she knew she had been lured into a trap: the magician had referred to her husband as “Pug” rather than his Tsurani name, Milamber.

  She turned to gather energy, but suddenly a pain shot through her and her mind went numb. It was as if someone or something had sucked the air from her lungs, the blood from her veins, and all rational thought from her mind in an instant. She looked down and saw a faintly glowing latticework of lines in the soil beneath her feet. This spot had been the trap. The ward she stood upon negated her power and had stunned her like a blow to the head. She tried to move, and found her body disobedient.

  Wyntakata smiled unpleasantly. “Your mistake was assuming that your fugitive would conduct himself here as he did on your world, Miranda.

  “You see,” said the man she knew now must be Leso Varen, “you were so intent on looking for signs of necromancy that you neglected the obvious. These people”—he patted his rotund waist—“are such powerful practitioners of magic that I could conduct myself as I saw fit and no one would notice, as long as I observed a few proprieties. ‘Your will, Great One,’ is such a wonderful phrase. I fly to ‘my’ estates, and say, ‘I would like a meal,’ and people jump to get it done. It’s a great deal like being a king of a tiny little kingdom, really.

  “These people do appreciate power. But they are nothing compared to my new friends.”

  Miranda fell to her knees, weakening by the minute. Wyntakata held up his hand and made a signal. He knelt, awkwardly, holding on to his staff. “It’s really too bad that I didn’t have any say in whose body I grabbed, but this won’t be my host much longer. I must confess I’ve been so busy since I found the first Dasati rift that I really haven’t had time to make a new soul vessel. I plan on taking care of that as soon as possible, once I find a safe place to practice necromancy again without having a hundred angry Great Ones descending on me.” He glanced at the dome. “I think it won’t be too long before they’re far too busy to worry about me.”

  He reached out and took her chin in the cup of his hand. Her eyes were losing focus as he said, “My goodness, but you are an attractive woman. I never really noticed that. I think I found you off-putting at first because you are so…determined. You walk around with that frown and your eyes…glaring. I see why Pug fell in love with you, though I do find I prefer women who are more…submissive. But it would be fun to nail you to a wall and see how determined you remained while I did things to you with all the toys the Tsurani have invented for interrogation. They have quite a collection in a museum at the Assembly, you know.”

  Someone was coming up the hill behind her, but Miranda was too stupefied to move, let alone turn and look. Leso Varen used his staff to push himself to his feet as powerful hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her upright.

  “I’d like you to meet two new friends of mine,” said Varen. “These are, if I have it right, Desoddo and Mirab.”

  Miranda was jerked around and found herself looking into the face of an alien, a being with a slender skull, greyish skin, and black eyes. “They are what the Dasati call ‘Deathpriests,’ and they are going to have a lot of fun with you, I think. Pity I won’t be there, but I have other matters to arrange.

  “You see, my new friends and I have come to an understanding. I’m going to help them seize Kelewan, and in exchange, they’re going to help me conquer Midkemia. Isn’t that a wonderful arrangement?”

  Without a word, the two Dasati Deathpriests jerked Miranda around and began to drag her downhill toward the black energy dome. As she fell into unconsciousness, the last thing she heard was Varen humming an odd little tune.

  “Oh, damn,” said Tad as he peered over the rise.

  “Yes,” whispered Servan. “Damn, indeed.”

  “What are we going to do?” asked Zane, from a few feet behind.

  Jommy squatted. The four of them were hunkered down below a rise and at the bottom waited the twenty soldiers—now all grudgingly obedient—Grandy, and Godfrey.

  “How fast can you get back to the General?” asked Jommy.

  Tad thought. “I can run to the boat. That should take no more than a half hour. If I go across the river, then run up the shore—that’s got to be faster than rowing against the current—four, maybe three and a half hours if I can do it without stopping.”

  Tad was unquestionably the best runner among the six boys, perhaps the best in the entire Roldemish army. “That will get you to him before nightfall. If he sends sixty men by boat at night, they can be here easily before sunrise. So all we have to do is keep them from moving before tomorrow.”

  He glanced over the ridge one more time to look at the enemy and ducked back down. The Salmater offensive wasn’t coming across the river where the General expected; it was coming across the river here. Once that force was moving into Olasko proper, finding them among the hundreds of islands would be as big a problem as dislodging them once they were found. But if they could be kept on this beach, even for a few hours tomorrow, they could attempt a retreat back across the river. With sixty fresh soldiers holding this ridge, and the promise of more arriving soon after…

  “How do we keep them from going around us?” Jommy asked Servan.

  He motioned for the other boys to shimmy down the side of the ridge and at the bottom he said, “If they think we’re only holding this ridge, they’ll flank us to the south. So, we have to make them think we’ve got soldiers everywhere.” He glanced upward. “Wait a minute.” He crawled up on his elbows to the ridge, looked at the deploying Salmater soldiers, then headed back down again.

  “They are still unloading,” said Servan. Looking at the afternoon sun, he said, “I don’t know if they’re going to try to march across this island and set up on that next one over there”—he pointed to a distant island separated from the one they were on by a broad, shallow rill from the river—“or camp here for the night. If they think they’re undiscovered, they may not be in a hurry.”

  Jommy looked at Tad. “You’d better be off, no matter what. Tell the General to come down fast with every man he can spare.” As Tad started to move, Jommy reached out and grabbed his arm. “Hey, tell the boat crew to head downstream. If they scout around the north side of the island, I don’t think it would be a good thing for the boat to be seen. Have them hide somewhere.”

  Tad said, “I’ve got it.”

  “And keep f
rom getting killed,” said Zane.

  Tan grinned and ran off without another word.

  Jommy turned to Servan and said, “So, how are we going to make them think there’s an army over here if they decide to move?”

  Servan said, “I have no idea.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  BETRAYAL

  Miranda awoke in pain.

  The two figures above her were speaking, but she could not understand what they said. Not only was the tongue foreign to her, but her senses were dulled: it sounded as if they were talking underwater. She was tied to a table of some sort, unable to move anything but her head, and that only slightly.

  She tried to breathe, but the effort taxed her: her lungs hurt as if she were suffering from too little air. She tried to focus her mind, to gather enough energy to free herself, but something was making concentration difficult.

  “She awakes.” She didn’t need to know who spoke. The voice was that of Leso Varen, now in the body of the Tsurani magician Wyntakata.

  The figure closest to her bent over her and spoke in the Tsurani language, but with a strange accent. “Do not move,” he instructed her calmly and without menace. “You will feel pain for a while. It will pass.” He stood back up and motioned around him. “This place is suitable for both our races, but you will need time to adapt.”

  “What do you want here?” she asked, finding it difficult to speak.

  “If I may?” Varen’s voice came from just outside her field of vision. Then his face was hovering over hers. He spoke in the King’s Tongue, which made Miranda certain he didn’t want the Dasati Deathpriests understanding what he said. “It’s simple, really. The Dasati are a race of children, in a way; if you can imagine a few million two-year-olds running around with very sharp blades, powerful death-magic, and an urge to break everything in sight.

  “But like toddlers everywhere, if they see something pretty and shining, they want it. And to them, the worlds of the first realm of reality are very pretty, indeed; much brighter, much shinier than their worlds. So, in a short while there will be thousands of very tall children in armor running amok through this lovely empire shouting, ‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’ as they kill, pillage, and burn. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “You’re insane,” Miranda choked out.

  “Almost certainly,” said Varen. He looked over to the two Deathpriests, and said, “But compared to them, I am the soul of reason. You will long for these moments we’ve spent together when their priests are working on you.” He looked at the two Deathpriests and said, “I’ve finished now.”

  Miranda saw one of the two tall Dasati prelates put out his hand, placing something over her nose and mouth that was pungent and bitter, and suddenly she was swallowed up by darkness.

  Some while later, Servan said, “I have an idea.”

  “Good,” whispered Jommy, “because I certainly do not have one.”

  “Take a peek and tell me what they’re doing now.”

  Jommy crawled up to the ridge and looked over. The Salmater forces were dressed as mercenaries, a ploy they had utilized on previous raids into the region, according to the General. But just one look at the way the camp was organized told Jommy all he needed to know.

  He scrambled back down the slope and said, “They’re pitching camp. They’re here for the night.”

  “Good,” said Servan. “Follow me.”

  He made his way to the base of the slope and motioned for the men to follow. When he was certain they were far enough away from the new Salmater camp, he said, “There are about two hundred regulars from Salmater over there. And there are twenty-five of us.”

  “So let’s get out of here,” said one of the soldiers.

  “That’s exactly what I want you to do,” said Servan. “But I just want you to wade across that shallow there and lie low out of sight until morning.”

  “What then…sir?” asked another soldier.

  “When you hear shouting, I want you to rush to that beach over there, making as much noise as you can, but don’t come across. Stir up as much dust as possible and run up and down the beach.”

  “Huh?” said Jommy.

  “The sun will be coming up right behind them,” said Servan, pointing east. “If the Salmater sentries top that rise, they’ll be blinded by the morning sunlight, or they’ll only see shadows, and dust and men moving. They won’t have any idea how many of us are here.”

  “And what will we be doing while all this is going on?” asked Godfrey.

  “Running around and making them think there are three different armies bearing down on them.”

  Jommy said, “And how are we going to do that?”

  Servan knelt. He drew with his finger in the soil. “Here’s the ridge. We’re on the other side of it.” He pointed. “I’ll take Zane. We’ll head down south of them.” He touched a spot south of the line and west of it. “You and Godfrey go up here to the north.” He glanced around. “Stay back in the trees. Run around and shout orders. Make it sound like squads are coming at them from all sides.”

  “That isn’t going to keep them fooled for long,” said Jommy.

  “It doesn’t have to. We just need to make them think about not moving a while, until the General gets here with the first and third. If we can get them to just dig in a little, kill an hour or so, that should do it.

  “When a company of real soldiers comes charging out of those north woods, and if we’ve done enough noisemaking, those lads on the other side of the ridge should beat a fast enough retreat home.”

  Jommy said, “Well, as long as the General doesn’t linger over his breakfast, we have a chance.” He let out a long breath. “I hope this works, because I’m here to tell you I can face two men, maybe, but eight to one?”

  Grandy said, “What about me?”

  “You,” said Servan, “are to go across with these lads and make sure they do as they are told.” He looked at his cousin a moment, nodding once, and said, “Go along.” To the soldiers he was sending to the next island, he said with careful emphasis, “Make sure the Prince stays safe.”

  As if the point were made, the soldier nearest him said, “Yes, sir.” He saluted once, smartly, and hurried off, Grandy at his side.

  “Was that wise?” asked Zane when they had gone.

  “Those lads are troublemakers, but not deserters,” said Servan. “If they had been, they’d have been long gone by now. They’ll take care of Grandy. It’s one thing to be a foul-up in the army, quite another to get a royal killed.”

  Jommy said, “I hope you’re right.

  “Well, let’s find a bit more cover for the night.” He motioned to Godfrey and said to Zane and Servan, “See you tomorrow,” and started north, keeping low behind the ridge.

  Servan said, “Tomorrow,” and turned south.

  It was still dark when the call came. A breathless Lesser working for the innkeeper shook Pug, Nakor, and Magnus awake. “Your master calls.”

  They dressed quickly, ignoring the still-sleeping Dasati on the floor. The travelers had been given rolled mats of rushes to sleep upon, using whatever they had with them for blankets and pillows. It had been a cool night, but not too uncomfortable.

  Once in the courtyard, they found Martuch and Bek waiting, Bek looking skyward over the roof of the building Pug and his companions had exited. Pug looked over his shoulder to see what had the youth transfixed, and he almost stumbled at the sight.

  Magnus whispered, “Amazing.”

  Nakor said, “Now that is something to see.”

  Rising up into the heavens was a pillar of light. It was far enough from where they stood to look slender, but Pug had no doubt it was massive. It rose apparently straight up into the night sky, pulsing with energy. The colors slipped subtly from blue-green to blue-purple and back, a slow shift through that spectrum. What appeared to be tiny bits of white energy flowed up and down its length.

  “The Star Bridge,” said Martuch. “It is now sending people to the homeworld.”


  Pug knew that meant Omadrabar, the original Dasati homeworld.

  “We must go. It will only be operating for the next two hours. I have secured our travel.” He leaned forward. “So far, you have managed not to do anything foolish, but from this point forward, be even more alert.

  “Nothing you have seen will prepare you for the TeKarana’s world.”

  He turned and motioned for them to follow, Bek one step behind him, the others trailing in a line, eyes down, hurrying to keep up with the two warriors.

  They walked, Pug assumed, because the distance was not far from where they stood, and because varnin would not be taken on the Star Bridge. But Pug found himself rethinking this assumption as they walked briskly for nearly a quarter of an hour. They had traversed street after street, passing through massive plazas, all starting to show signs of life for the day to come. Lines of carts were moving along the streets, most empty from having unloaded the night before, and now heading out of the city to the distant farms and herds to pick up the next load of produce and meats needed to feed a city of millions.

  Hundreds of Lessers hurried along, each engaged in a task considered beneath the notice of the warriors, but vital in its own way to the continued well-being of the city. Pug wondered if there was some way to reach them, to educate them in the potential of living in a society where the ability to murder wasn’t the ultimate skill…Again, he chided himself, he kept thinking of these people as human in some way, despite all evidence to the contrary.

  They continued to walk, and the Star Bridge loomed larger by the minute. It now appeared to be a huge tube or column, mostly transparent, but with a shimmering, pulsing nebula of light hugging the surface. Sparks of white energy twinkled along its entire length. As they approached the great central plaza, a deep thrumming sound accompanied by a tingling in the soles of the feet manifested itself, and Pug could sense energy on an enormous scale.

  To Magnus he whispered, “If they can harness energy like this…”