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His face had olive-shaded skin darkened by years of exposure to bright sun, and his beard was as white as the snow outside. Eyes of pale blue regarded her from under white brows.
She glanced around the hall, wishing she had more time to study the place. Its grandeur was nothing less than breath-taking, yet somehow it was alien and as cold as the wind outside the great door. No mortal lacking great magic would find his way to this abode of the gods, for the clime was impossible.
At least a hundred feet below the base of the plateau the air became too thin to breathe long and remain alive, and the temperature was constantly below freezing.
Most of the people were turned her way, and she noticed that each group seemed set off, isolated by the sense of separate areas she had detected upon entering, as if there was a zone on the floor they were confined to. After a moment, she was certain no one was leaving a given area to enter another.
“You limit the gods?” asked Miranda.
“They limit themselves, as they always have,”
came the answer. “Again I must ask, what cause brings you here?”
“I come because there are terrible forces gathering, and this world stands in jeopardy. I have visited with the Oracle of Aal, and she is ready to enter her breeding phase. Her vision will be lost to us. Those forces that march are committed to a course of action that will bring about the end of all we know, including this.” She waved her hand, indicating the hall.
The Warden closed his eyes a moment, and Miranda knew something was being communicated; then he said, “Speak more.”
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“Of what?”
“Of what you hope to find here.”
“I had hoped for some sense that the gods of Midkemia were ready to answer the threat to their very existence!” Her anger was poorly hidden, and contempt edged her words.
“These are but the aspects of the gods,” answered the Warden, “those men and women who have, for reasons beyond our mortal understanding, been chosen to exist on the gods’ behalf. They have come to live out their lives as mortal aspects of the gods, eyes and ears granting the gods mortal perspective on the world in which they abide.”
Miranda nodded. “Then I would speak to one of these godly aspects, if you don’t mind.”
“I have nothing to say in the matter,” came the answer. “I am but the Warden of the Celestial City. It is my task to keep those who abide here comfortable.” He closed his eyes. “You may speak to whoever will answer.”
Walking past the Warden, Miranda approached the area nearest the entrance, where a group of men and women stood surrounding one who loomed over them by a full head. All wore white, without a hint of color, and the woman at the center of the group had hair without hue. Her skin was also without pigmen-tation, but rather than possessing the look of an albi-no, she appeared to be of some alien race, with skin truly white in color. Those who surrounded her stepped aside, allowing Miranda to approach. At a respectful distance, Miranda bowed her head, then she said, “Sung, I plead for help.”
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Miranda could only begin to guess, but her face presented a kindly visage. Yet no answer was forthcoming. Miranda pressed on. “A great evil arises here, one that, unchecked, will release forces to rival even your own. I must seek aid!”
For a long moment the goddess studied Miranda; then with an economy of motion she indicated the woman should move to another area. “Seek one not yet come among us.”
Miranda hurried to another quarter of the hall, in which an empty area stood ready, but unoccupied.
Shifting her perceptions through each phase of sight she knew, Miranda searched for some hint of what she might find here.
A glyph shimmered in a spectrum of light beyond the ability of most men to see, yet Miranda saw it.
She turned to discover the Warden had followed her, floating a foot above the stone floor.
“Who placed such a mark here?”
“One who recently visited, like you.”
“What does the symbol mean?”
“It is the mark of Wodan-Hospur, one of the Lost Gods, whom we await.”
“You await the return of gods lost during the Chaos Wars?” she asked in surprise.
“Everything is possible in the Hall of the Gods.”
“What was the name of this man?”
“I may not say.”
“I am seeking Pug of Stardock,” said Miranda.
“At the inn, in the Hall of Worlds, I was told to come here.”
The Warden shrugged. “Such matters are not my concern.”
“Has he been here?”
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“I may not say.”
Miranda thought, then asked, “If you can say nothing else, where might I go next to find this man?”
The Warden hesitated. “It may be that you need to look at that place where you were misled.”
Miranda said, “I thought as much.” With a wave of her arm, she was gone, a faint popping sound the only indication of her having been there.
One of the people attending a nearby god turned and threw back his hood. He was short of stature, his eyes the color of dark walnut aged and stained, his beard as dark as that of a lad of twenty, but his manner and size did little to disguise the aura of power that surrounded him.
Stepping over to where the Warden waited, he said, “You’ve served your purpose.” With a wave of his hand the figures in the hail vanished, leaving only a vast emptiness of rock and ice. Cold air rang in through the now unprotected opening and bit with enough harshness to make him gather his cloak tightly around him.
Glancing around to see that no trace of illusion remained, he was raising his hands to will himself to another place when a voice said, “Gods, it’s cold without that illusion.”
The man turned, and standing a yard away was the woman. “Pug of Stardock?”
The man nodded. “Neatly done, lady. There are few who could have seen through the ruse.”
She smiled and something oddly familiar hinted at recognition, then was gone. “I didn’t. But things just didn’t feel right, and I thought if I could seem to have left, then perhaps I might learn something.”
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The man smiled. “You simply turned yourself invisible and made the proper noise.”
The woman nodded. “You are Pug?”
The man said, “Yes, I am Pug of Stardock.”
The woman’s face took on an expression of concern, and again there was something hauntingly familiar about her. “Good. We must go. There is much to be done.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Pug.
“Khaipur has fallen and Lanada is undone by treachery.”
Pug nodded. “I know this. But for me to act too soon—”
“And the Pantathians counter your magic with their own. I know. But there is more here than a simple bashing of magics, like rams banging heads in the mountains.” Her breath hung in the frigid air and she waited.
Pug said, “Before I presume to tell you there are forces at play beyond your knowledge, I suppose I should find out what you know.”
He vanished.
“Damn,” said Miranda. “I hate it when men do that.”
Pug had two goblets of wine poured when Miranda popped into existence. “Why did you do that?”
“If you couldn’t follow me, then telling you anything was pointless.” Pug handed her a go
blet.
“There’s something vaguely familiar about you,” he observed.
Miranda took the wine and sat down on a divan opposite a writing desk; Pug pulled out the stool that went with the desk, and sat down.
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“Where are we? Stardock?” She glanced around.
The room was small and lacking any decoration. All she could see indicated that this was a library. Books lined every wall, save one narrow space that held a window, and besides the divan, desk, and chair, the room was devoid of furniture. A pair of lamps burned, one at each end of the room.
Pug nodded. “My quarters. No one can get in or out but myself, and no one expects me to visit, as no one has seen me here in twenty-five years.”
Miranda looked around. “Why keep it so?”
“I made a major display of breaking off my ties here, after my wife died.” He spoke of her death in a matter-of-fact tone, but Miranda could see a tiny tension around the corners of his eyes as he mentioned this. “If someone is to come looking for me, they’ll look on Sorcerer’s Isle. I’ve left enough people who work magic there that any spell designed to detect magic will be ringing like a dinner bell.”
“And as magic is being practiced here every day, if you do decide to do some work, no one will notice.” She sipped her wine and said, “Very neat.
And this is very good.”
“Is it?” asked Pug. He sipped. “Yes, it is. I wonder which . . .” He held up the bottle. “I have to ask Gathis if there is more of this in the cellar at Sorcerer’s Isle when I return.”
“Why all the misdirection?” asked Miranda.
“Why were you looking for me?”
“I asked you first.”
Pug nodded. “Fair enough. The Pantathians are wary of me and my arts. They’ve discovered ways to neutralize me, so I make sure they and their agents can’t find me.”
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“Neutralize you?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve run across snake magic before and there are smoking corpses to mark those battles. If you’re as powerful as they say—”
Pug said, “There are more ways to stem attack than simply to meet it with more strength. What if I were to hold a child you love and put a dagger to her throat?”
Miranda said, “So if they don’t know where you are, they can’t threaten anyone you care about.”
“Yes. Now, why are you looking for me?”
Miranda said, “The Oracle of Aal enters her birthing cycle and we lose her ability to help us. I have been asked—”
“By whom?” interrupted Pug.
“By some people who would rather not see this world end any time soon,” she snapped. “I have been asked to help preserve the Lifestone—”
Pug stood. “How do you know of the Lifestone?”
Miranda said, “I am Keshian. Do you remember one who came to support the King’s army at the battle?”
“Lord Abdur Rachmad Memo Hazara-Khan,”
answered Pug.
Miranda nodded. “It took years to penetrate the illusions and false trails, but after a while, those few who entered to speak to the Oracle and leave with whatever wisdom she gave them, even with that statue at Malac’s Cross as the transfer point, even after decades, the truth was known.”
“So you work for the Emperor?”
“Do you work for the King?” countered Miranda.
“Borric and I are something of cousins,” said Pug, sipping at his wine again.
“You beg the question.”
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I’m somewhat less constricted in my loyalties than I used to be. Which is all beside the point. If you know anything of the Lifestone, you know that national interests are petty at this point. If the Valheru reawaken, we will all perish.”
“Then you must help me,” said Miranda. “If those foolish men I helped recruit for the Prince survive, we’ll know who and what we face.”
Pug sighed. “You, a Keshian, recruiting for the Prince?”
“It seemed the prudent thing to do to serve my real master’s interests.”
Pug only raised an eyebrow. “So which foolish men are these?”
“Calis leads them.”
“Tomas’s son,” said Pug. “I haven’t seen him since he was young; it must be twenty or more years.”
“He’s still young. And angry and confused.”
“He’s unique. There is no other creature like him in the universe. He’s the product of a union that should not have borne fruit, and he will die someday, unique.”
“And alone.”
Pug nodded. “Who else?”
“A band of men condemned to die, none known to you. And Nakor the Isalani.”
Pug smiled. “I miss his rambling brilliance. And his sense of fun.”
Miranda said, “Fun is far from his mind these days, I fear. With Arutha’s death, Nicholas becomes the hope for the Western Realm, the Kingdom, and the world. He has grudgingly adopted his father’s plan, but he has little enthusiasm for it.”
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“What plan is this?”
She told him of the previous voyages to Novindus, and of the destruction endured by Calis and his men the last time. She told him of the plan to send men down to join with the conquering army, men who would return with the truth about what was facing them.
“Do you think,” asked Pug after she finished,
“that this is anything but a full-scale consolidation of all the armed might in Novindus, so that an attack can be launched across the sea to seize the Lifestone?”
“The Pantathians lack subtlety,” answered Miranda, “but it could be someone is manipulating them the way they manipulated the moredhel during the Great Uprising.”
Pug conceded that this was true. “But every indication is that they are seeking to put all Novindus under their sway, to create the largest army ever seen in this world, and from that it is just one logical step to assume they are going to throw that army at the Kingdom, perhaps sail right into Krondor harbor, then march across half the Kingdom to Sethanon.”
Pug was silent for a moment, then said, “I don’t think anyone is using them in the sense you suggest. The Pantathians are too alien by other beings’ standards, judging by everything I’ve seen.
“They have a view of the universe that is so warped it defies logic, but it is so ingrained in their very nature that they have not allowed more than two thousand years of observing the way in which the universe really works to sway them from their fanatic devotion to their unique view of things.”
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analytical for me, Pug. I have encountered other fanatics, and reality doesn’t seem to sway them much either.” She waved off a comment he was about to make. “But I see your point. If they move for their own dark purposes in such numbers, then it’s clear they risk all or nothing on this massive undertaking.”
Pug shook his head no and sighed. “Not really.
The damnable thing about all this is we can defeat them again, perhaps destroying every man and creature they send across the sea, but what does this gain us save wholesale ruin on our own shore?”
“We still don’t know where they live,” Miranda said.
Pug nodded yes. “We have only vague rumors.
Up north, near the headwaters of the Serpent River, the Serpent Lake, down in the Great South Forest, somewhere deep in the heart of the Forest of Irabek.
No one knows.”
> “You’ve looked?”
Pug nodded. “I’ve used every magic spell I could find or dream up and have traveled on foot across a great deal of that continent. The sad truth is they are either incredibly gifted in shielding themselves from sight, both magic and mundane, or they are doing something so obvious I’m not seeing it.”
Miranda sipped her wine. After a moment she said, “That still leaves us with an army to defeat.”
“More, I’m afraid.”
“What?”
Pug said, “I believe that Calis is going to find something far more powerful at the heart of this particular campaign, and I can’t tell you why.” He went over to a bookshelf. “There are several tomes here that speak of doorways, pathways, and routes 52887_Shadow of a Dark.qxd 9/3/02 3:50 PM Page 483
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between different levels of reality.”
“Like the Hall of Worlds?”
Pug shook his head no. “That place exists in the objective universe as we understand it, though it is somewhat of an artifact of creation, allowing those who travel the halls to exist beyond certain limits of that objective reality. Do you remember how real the Hall of the Gods locked?”
“Yes. A most convincing illusion.”
“It was more than an illusion. I tapped into a higher level of reality, a higher-energy state for lack of a better description. A long time ago, I went into the city of the dead gods, and entered through a . . .
seam, into the Hall of the Goddess of Death. I spoke to Lims-Kragma.”
“Interesting,” said Miranda.
Pug looked at her and saw she was not mocking him.
“It was really the Goddess of Death you spoke to?”
“That’s the point I’m trying to make. There is no Goddess of Death, yet there is. There’s the natural force of creation and the equally natural act of destruction. What breaks down a once-living being provides food for new life. We understand so little of these things,” he said, showing a hint of frustration.
“But these personifications, these gods and goddesses, they may be but a way in which we, who live in one state of reality, can interact with forces, beings, energy from another reality.”
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