Erik signaled.
‘Over there!’ he shouted.
Men turned their horses and charged. The battle for the city had been raging outside the northernmost gate in the east wall since the day before. The invaders were disorganized as they came ashore.
Erik’s detachments had been struck twice, once at sundown, and again in the morning by a large detachment of Saaur horsemen. Erik had been pleased to discover that, despite their size, the Saaur horses were just as subject to the travail of travel as were the smaller animals humans rode. Also, for the first time in their memory, the Saaur weren’t facing human mercenaries but true soldiers, Kingdom heavy lancers, and the impact of a disciplined foe with twelve-foot-long, iron-shod lances and a willingness to conduct an orderly charge had routed the Saaur. Erik had no idea what good this would do for the overall campaign, but the lift it gave his men to best the huge lizardmen in their first confrontation was incalculable.
Now they were engaged with a company of mercenary humans who, while not as individually threatening as the Saaur, were proving more difficult for their sheer numbers, and because they were relatively fresh, while Erik’s men had fought two engagements in the last twelve hours.
But as the fresh Kingdom riders approached from the south, Erik found his units able to roll back the invaders, who fled at last into the woodlands to the north. Erik turned and looked for his second in command, a lieutenant named Gifford. He signaled the man and said, ‘Ride after, but halt a bowshot from the tree line. I don’t want you riding into traps. Then bring the men back and re-form. I’m heading to the gate to see if there are any more orders.’ The lieutenant saluted and rode off to carry out his orders.
Erik hurried his tired horse down the road toward the gate, past boarded-up houses, as if the owners expected to return to find them intact, as if this were only a storm striking Krondor. Other homes were obviously abandoned, with doors left open. A steady stream of refugees hurried along the road, moving in the direction from which Erik came, and he had to shout several times to get people to let him pass.
Already the tone of the flight was edging toward panic, and Erik knew that this would be his last trip to get any new orders. It took him nearly a half-hour to ride a distance he could normally travel in a third that time, and when he reached the gate he saw the activity was up to a frantic pace.
He saw two other wagons pushed off the road, one into the small river that ran along the road into the city, through the sewers, and into the bay. Erik absently wondered if it might be one of Roo’s. He suspected most of Roo’s wagons had gotten clear of the city before the fighting at sundown, and were now safely on their way to Darkmoor.
Getting within hailing distance of the gate, Erik shouted, ‘Sergeant Macky!’
The sergeant in command of the gate turned to see who called, and when he spied Erik, he shouted, ‘Sir?’
‘Any orders?’
‘No, sir. As before,’ was all he said before turning back to hurry along those trying to crowd through the gate, while maintaining order.
Erik shouted, ‘Good luck to you then, Sergeant!’
The soldier, an old man who had shared a drink or two with Erik and the other members of the Crimson Eagles, turned and said, ‘And to you, sir. Good luck to us all.’ Then he went back to his tasks.
Erik wished for a fresh mount, but he couldn’t risk heading into the city. He would ride back to his command position and see if there was time to secure a remount. He had ordered the fresh horses kept far enough from the most likely points of combat that they were safe – but not convenient.
He forced his way back through the mob fleeing the city. He knew what the plan was, yet this frantic sea of humanity made him wonder if he could be as cruel as the Prince and Duke, for many of those he passed would be hunted down and killed by the Emerald Queen’s raiders as they fanned out along the highway. Erik couldn’t protect them all.
Erik reached the edge of the foulburg and found a few of his men, resting in the shade of a tree. ‘Report!’ he ordered one of them, and the soldier stood up. ‘We just got hit by another patrol, Captain. They came out of the trees and looked surprised when we filled them with arrows.’ He pointed toward the distant trees. ‘Lieutenant Jeffrey is over there somewhere.’
It took Erik a moment to put a face to the name Jeffrey, and he realized suddenly how big his command had become. He had met every man in his unit for the first half-year, but in the last two months the army of the Prince had doubled in size as units of troops sent from the Far Coast and down from Yabon arrived, along with detachments from the East. Many of the men who were now looking to him to survive were strangers, while most of the men he had trained were already up in the mountains to the east.
He rode on and found the lieutenant a short time later. The soldier, who wore the tabard of LaMut, a wolf’s head on a field of blue, turned and saluted. ‘Captain, we had a patrol blunder right into us. They didn’t know we were here.’
Erik looked at the bodies littering the open ground south of the trees. ‘They’re sending companies out without any coordination,’ he said. ‘The Saaur and the other companies we fought today haven’t spread the word we’re waiting.’
‘Can we expect this to last long?’
Erik remembered his own experience with the Queen’s army in Novindus and said, ‘To a point. They’ll never have the internal communication and discipline we do, but they have numbers, and when they come at us, they’ll all come at once.’
Looking at the afternoon light, he said, ‘Send a messenger down to where our reserves are and bring back two companies to relieve the men here, and’ – he pointed to where the standard of the heavy lancers could be seen flapping in the breeze – ‘tell the lancers to stand down for a few hours.’
‘You think we’ve beat them back?’
Erik smiled. The older lieutenant from LaMut knew better than that. He just wanted to see what kind of young captain he was taking orders from. ‘Hardly,’ said Erik. ‘We’re just catching a little calm before the storm. I mean to take advantage of it.’
Before the lieutenant left, he said, ‘What about those serpent priests?’
Erik said, ‘I don’t know, Lieutenant. We will certainly know when they arrive.’
Jeffrey saluted, and as he departed, Erik called after, ‘And bring me a fresh horse!’
Miranda said, ‘Something’s ahead.’ She spoke at a bare whisper.
Her father stood behind her, sweat beading his brow as he labored to keep a spell of invisibility around them. They had found the rift entrance that led into the world of Shila, and Miranda was attempting to probe it, to see what they could expect on the other side. From what Hanam had told them, they were likely to walk into the arms of some very angry demons if they just walked through.
They moved within sight of the rift gate, which to the normal eye appeared a blank wall. To Macros and his daughter the area was alive with mystic energy, and Macros said, ‘Something has tried to seal it from this side.’
Miranda probed the rift. There were presences on the other side, and Miranda backed into the dark. ‘You can let the spell down. There’s no one around.’
Macros did.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Miranda.
Sitting down heavily, her father said, ‘We try to get through that rift with stealth, we try to fight our way through, or we search for a third way to get to Shila.’
‘The first two don’t sound likely, and I especially don’t find the second choice attractive,’ said Miranda. ‘What do you think of the third?’
Macros said, ‘If there’s a way to Shila via the Hall of Worlds, Mustafa the fortune teller would know.’
‘Tabert’s?’ asked Miranda.
‘That’s as good a place as any,’ said Macros. ‘I’m tired. Can you get us there?’
Miranda’s brow furrowed in concern. ‘You, tired?’
‘I would never tell Pug,’ said Macros, ‘but I suspect when he pulled me asunder from Sarig, I became fully mortal again. Most of my power came from the dead God of Magic, and with that link sundered …’ He shrugged.
‘Now is a hell of a time to tell us!’ said Miranda. ‘We’re about to face a demon king and you’re suddenly not at your best because of old age?’
Macros grimaced as he stood. ‘I’m not quite ready for gruel and a shawl, Daughter. I could still tear down this mountain if I had to!’
Miranda smiled as she took his hand and willed them to an inn in LaMut. The inhabitants of Tabert’s were a mixed lot, but to the last, they rose and stepped back when the sorcerer and his daughter winked into existence a few feet before the bar.
Tabert was standing behind the bar, and he merely raised an eyebrow as Miranda said, ‘We need to use your storage room.’
The barman sighed, as if to say, ‘What sort of story am I going to have to concoct to explain away this mystery?’ but he nodded. ‘Good luck,’ he said.
They hurried behind the bar and through the door into the back room. Miranda led Macros down a flight of stairs and along a narrow hall. At the end of the hall was an alcove, separated from the rest of the hall by a plain curtain hanging from a metal rod. It was the portal Miranda had used when she had first entered the Hall of Worlds. They pushed aside the curtain that set apart the alcove, and as they stepped across the threshold, they were in the Hall of Worlds.
‘I know the long way to Honest John’s,’ said Miranda, pointing to the left. ‘Do you know a faster way?’
Macros nodded. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing in the opposite direction.
They hurried on.
William watched as the battle raged below his vantage point. The defenders at the docks had started firing upon the ships moving toward them. Cleverly concealed ballistas and catapults had sunk three ships that had approached too close, but the fleet still came on.
One of William’s most prized possessions was a spyglass, given him as a gift years before by Duke James. It had the usual properties of any good telescope, magnifying things to about a dozen times their normal size, but it also possessed an unusual attribute: it could pierce illusions. James, seemingly reticent to discuss its origins, had never revealed how he had come by the item.
He studied the approaching command ship and saw the hideous demon crouching amidships. Despite his revulsion, he studied the creature. All those nearby were being controlled by mystical chains and collars.
The expression on the demon’s face was difficult to read, for it possessed nothing remotely like human features. Pug had warned Prince Patrick, James, and William of what had occurred regarding the death of the Emerald Queen and her replacement by a demon, but that information was being kept from all but a handful of officers. William and James had decided that there was enough for the men to worry about without having them fear the might of a demon lord.
William turned the glass ninety degrees, and the demon vanished from view. The illusionary woman who sat there was regal and beautiful and in an odd way even more frightening in aspect than the demon, who wore his rage and hate naked on his face for the world to see.
William returned the glass to the position that let him see through illusion and the demon popped back into view. William put down the glass.
‘Orders,’ he said calmly, and one of the palace pages stepped forward. The squires were serving with the defenders along the wall, as aides to the various officers, and the pages were serving as runners. For a brief second William looked at the eager face of the boy who was ready to carry his orders wherever he was bidden. The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years of age.
For a brief instant, William was tempted to tell the boy to run, to leave the city as fast as his young legs could carry him; then he said, ‘Tell the dock command to wait until they’ve gotten close, then I want everything fired at that large ship with the green hull; that’s their command ship, and I want it sunk.’
The boy ran off and William turned to look. It was probably a futile gesture; the demon’s ship was almost certainly afforded the most protection of any in the fleet.
Reports came in quickly that the enemy fleet had landed up and down the coast, and units of cavalry had harried the northmost eastern gate. William considered his options and called for another messenger. When the boy voiced he was ready, William said, ‘Run down to the courtyard and tell one of the riders there to carry orders to the eastern gate. Seal the city.’
As the boy turned, William said, ‘Page.’
‘Sir?’
‘Take a horse and go with the rider; leave the city and tell Captain von Darkmoor it’s time to head east. You stay with him.’
The boy looked confused at being told to leave, but he simply said, ‘Sir,’ and ran off.
A captain of the royal guards glanced at the Knight-Marshal, who shook his head. ‘I might spare one of them at least,’ said William.
The captain nodded grimly. The enemy fleet was attempting to dock. Lines snaked out from the ships as those on the railings attempted to throw loops around the cleats on the dockside. Arrows rained down on any who did not shield themselves, and men of the invading army fell into the water, their bodies pierced by multiple shafts.
But the first ship, then the second one, got a rope ashore and they were slowly hauled in close to the docks. The only place they were unable to close was where the earlier three ships had sunk. Ships beyond were tossed lines, and William saw their plan. Originally they thought they’d see a slow siege, with an orderly docking once this portion of the city was secured. But now he saw that there would be no attempt to move empty ships away from the docks.
Only a few ships would actually tie to the docks, but they would act as shields for those farther out. They would be tossed grapples, and soon the ships would be tied off. A raft of ships would extend out into the bay, a platform that would let thousands of invaders race from deck to deck, to land on the docks of Krondor, across the breadth of the waterfront. It was a dangerous ploy, for if the defenders were successful in starting fires on any of the ships, all were at risk.
When the Queen’s ship was close enough, every war engine within range launched an attack. A hundred heavy boulders flew through the air, accompanied by a dozen flaming bales of fire-oil-soaked hay. As William had suspected, all met an invisible barrier and bounced or slid off. He was pleased to notice that one large boulder crashed back onto another ship, which wasn’t protected, doing significant damage to the soldiers packed tightly on the decks.
William turned to order as much fire oil directed at the frontmost ships as possible. The flames exploded along the entire length of the balcony. William was thrown backward as if batted by a blinding hand of fire, and lay stunned on the floor of the palace balcony. Blinking away tears, he could barely see, and everything was tinged red.
After a moment he realized his eyes were burned and bloody. The only reason he wasn’t completely blind was that he had glanced behind him when the attack occurred. He felt around and saw a dim shape next to him, which groaned when he touched it. A pair of hands lifted him and a voice said, ‘Marshal?’
He recognized the voice of one of the pages, who had been standing back in the room. ‘What happened?’ William asked in a hoarse croak.
‘Flames erupted along the wall, and everyone … is burned.’
‘Captain Reynard?’
‘I think he’s dead, sir.’
Voices from the hall shouted and men came running in. ‘Who’s there?’ William could see only shadowy shapes.
‘Lieutenant Franklin, my lord.’
‘Water, please,’ said William, and he felt the lieutenant take him from the squire, holding him up as he made his way to a chair. In his nose he could smell only the stench of his own burned hair and flesh, and no matter how he blinked, he couldn’t clear his eyes of the blinding red tears.
Once he was sitting, William said, ‘Lieutenant, tell me what is happening.’
The lieutenant ran to the balcony. ‘They’re sending men ashore. It’s a dreadful fire we’re pouring on them, but they’re coming, sir.’
The squire brought a basin of water and a clean cloth and William applied it to his face. The pain was incredible, but he used a trick taught him as a child by one of his teachers at Stardock to ignore it. The water didn’t help his vision much, and he considered that he might be blinded for what would be the remainder of his life, however short that might be.
The loud sound of wood shattering followed by shouts and the sounds of fighting below caused William to ask, ‘Lieutenant, would you please tell me what is happening in the courtyard?’
The lieutenant said, ‘Sir, they’ve crashed the royal dock. Enemy soldiers are landing.’
William said to the squire, ‘Son, would you please help me to my feet?’
The boy said, ‘Yes, my lord,’ attempting to sound calm, but failing to hide the fear in his voice.
William felt young arms around his waist as he stood. ‘Turn me toward the door,’ he said calmly. The sounds of fighting were now echoing from the halls outside the room, as well as coming from the courtyard below as enemy warriors mounted the flight of stairs leading to William’s command center. ‘Lieutenant Franklin,’ said William.
‘Sir?’ came the calm reply.
‘Stand on my left, sir.’
The officer did as he was bidden, and William slowly pulled his sword from its scabbard. ‘Stand behind me boy,’ he said softly as the sound of fighting in the halls grew louder.
The boy did as he was asked, but he kept a firm grip around the Knight-Marshal’s waist, helping the injured man stand upright.
William wished he had something to say that would make this better for the boy, but he knew it would end in terror and pain. He just prayed it was quick. As the sounds of fighting got closer, and those remaining soldiers in the room rushed to defend the door, William finally said, ‘Page?’
‘Sir,’ came the soft, fearful voice from behind him.
‘What is your name?’
‘Terrance, sir.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘My father is the Squire of Belmont, sir.’
‘You’ve done well. Now help me stand fast. It wouldn’t do to have the Knight-Marshal of Krondor die on his knees.’
‘Sir …’ From the boy’s voice, William could tell he was crying.
Suddenly there was a shout, and William saw a shadowy form heading toward him. He heard more than felt the blade of Lieutenant Franklin slash out, and the attacker fell back.
Another shadow appeared to the left of the first, on William’s right hand, and the nearly blind Knight-Marshal of Krondor lashed out with his sword.
Then William, child of Pug the magician and Katala of the Thuril Hill People, born on an alien world, felt pain, quickly followed by darkness.
James moved slowly through the knee-deep sludge. The echoes of fighting rang through the sewers and his men walked with swords drawn. They opened shuttered lanterns from time to time to get their bearings, but mostly they negotiated through the murk by the faint light that came from above as they passed below culverts and drains from the streets.
‘We’re here,’ said a voice.
‘Give the signal,’ said James, and a shrill whistle was blown.
One of the men kicked open a door and James could hear other doors being opened nearby. He followed the first two men into the cellar, and up a flight of stairs. They burst into a room illuminated by candlelight because it was still below ground level.
As James expected, resistance was light, but he was almost split by a crossbow bolt fired from behind a table, overturned to provide shelter. ‘Stop shooting!’ he shouted. ‘We’re not here to fight.’
A moment of silence was followed by a voice saying, ‘James?’
‘Hello, Lysle.’
A tall old man stood up from behind the table and said, ‘I’m surprised to see you here.’
‘Well, I thought as long as I was passing by, I’d give you a chance to get out of here.’
‘Things are that bad?’
‘Worse,’ said the Duke, motioning for the man who went by Lysle Rigger, Brian, Henry, and a dozen other names, but who, by any name was the Upright Man, the leader of Krondor’s Guild of Thieves: the Mockers. James looked around. ‘Things haven’t changed much – except it used to be more crowded.’
The man whom James would always think of as Lysle said, ‘Most of the brethren are out of the city, running for their lives.’
‘You stayed?’
Lysle shrugged. ‘I’m an optimist.’ Then he said, ‘Or a fool.’ He sighed. ‘It’s a tiny Kingdom, the Mockers, but it’s my Kingdom.’
James said, ‘True. Come along. There’s one place we may survive.’
James and his soldiers took Lysle and a scruffy assortment of thieves in tow and moved back into the sewers. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Lysle as they slogged their way through the muck.
‘You know where the river enters the city beside the abandoned mill?’
‘The one that’s paved over?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Jimmy. ‘We used it when we were smuggling with Trevor Hull and his lot, too many years ago to remember. If you’d been in Krondor when the Mockers and Hull’s smugglers were working together, you’d have known about it. There’s a huge staging area we’ve been stocking for months.’
‘For months?’ said Lysle. ‘How did you manage that without us noticing?’
Laughing, James said, ‘From above. We did it during the day, when you and your thieves were asleep below ground.’
‘Why did you come fetch me?’
James said, ‘Well, you are the only brother I know about, so I couldn’t let you die alone in that basement.’
‘Brother? Are you sure?’
‘Sure enough to wager on it.’
‘I’ve wondered about that,’ said Lysle. ‘Do you remember your mother?’
‘A little,’ said James. ‘She was murdered when I was a toddler.’
‘At the Sign of the Boar’s Head?’
‘I don’t know. It could be. I was taken off the streets and raised by the Mockers. You?’
‘I was seven when my mother was killed. I had a little brother. I thought he was dead, too. I was packed off to Romney and raised there.’
‘Father didn’t want both his sons close by, I guess. Maybe we were targets for whoever killed our mother.’
As they reached a huge intersection of culverts, with water flowing down from above to spray the center of the passages, Lysle said, ‘I always thought it odd that my foster parents in Romney raised me to work for a thief in Krondor.’
‘Well,’ said James as they moved around the small waterfall, ‘we’ll never know. Father is dead many years and we can’t ask him.’
‘Did you ever find out who he was? I never did.’
James grinned in the dark. ‘Yes, I did, as a matter of fact. I heard his voice once and heard it again many years later, and after doing some snooping, I sussed out who was the original Upright Man.’
‘Who was he?’
‘Did you ever have the displeasure of meeting a particularly surly and evil chandler whose shop was down by the south point, near the palace?’
‘Can’t say as I remember one like that. What was his name?’
‘Donald. If you’d met him, you’d have remembered him, as he was a right nasty piece of work.’
‘A bit of a criminal genius, though.’
‘Like father, like sons,’ said James.
Reaching a place in the long passage where they were walking up an incline, Lysle said, ‘Are we going to get out of this alive?’
‘Probably not,’ answered James, ‘but then no one gets out of life alive, do they?’
‘There is that. But you have a hedge?’
‘You always hedge a bet,’ said James. ‘If there’s a way to get out of here alive, this is it.’ He indicated a large doorway, big enough to accommodate a wagon and team.
‘I see what you mean about being able to smuggle through here,’ said Lysle as two soldiers opened the huge wooden doors. They swung open silently, showing recent attention, and inside a bright light illuminated a hundred soldiers, readying with bows, crossbows, and swords.
‘Here we are.’
Lysle let out a soft whistle of appreciation. ‘I see you plan a warm welcome for whoever comes this way.’
‘Far warmer than you imagine,’ said James.
He motioned for Lysle and his half-dozen Mockers to enter and said, ‘Welcome to the last bastion in Krondor.’
After James and those with him were inside, the doors were shut with a loud crack that had the ring of finality to it.
Erik heard the trumpet and instantly began shouting orders. They had been constantly fighting with smaller elements of the invading forces, and had reports that similar fighting had begun near the sea gate, the northwestern gate. And at that point only a few men had been sighted near the southern gate of the city, which was fine with Erik, as he had ordered as many men to the northern gate as possible. Both gates fed refugees in a steady stream to the eastbound King’s Highway. And a mile east of where Erik and his companies stood, the two streams of humanity would come together, forming a clogging, slow-moving body of tired, frightened, and desperate people.
Erik’s mandate was to defend the rear of that column of Kingdom citizens as long as possible. Erik knew that meant halfway from here to Ravensburg if he was to judge things. At some point the enemy would likely cease harrying them. They had a city to sack and stores to replenish, and while the invaders were winning many battles, they were still disadvantaged from the long sea voyage.
Of the Saaur, Erik had seen little, and he wondered why they were being withheld after the first contact. He couldn’t spend much time trying to outwit his adversary, for there was too much to react to: the enemy was hurling small squads of raiders at his position. The battles were short and intense, and Erik had won them all, but the men were tiring and his casualties were mounting.
He had commandeered a wagon in which he had loaded his wounded, sending them east with the refugees. Now he heard the trumpet telling him the gates were to close, and as he started organizing a retreat, a young boy came riding up to him. ‘Captain?’
‘Yes, son, what is it?’ Erik saw the boy was dressed in the uniform of a palace page. Tears were streaming down his face.
‘Lord William ordered me to tell you to withdraw.’
Erik knew that, from the trumpet, so he had no idea why the boy was here. ‘What else?’
‘I’m to go with you.’
Then Erik understood. At least one of the palace boys was spared. ‘Ride east, and you’ll find a wagon with wounded in it. Attach yourself to them, and help tend the injured.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The boy rode off and Erik returned to the business of managing a retreat. Everything he had read in William’s library had told him an orderly retreat was the most difficult thing to accomplish in a battle. The tendency to turn and run was nearly overwhelming, and fighting a rearguard action was alien to men who had been taught to move forward when fighting.
But he had discussed this with William in theory over the last two years, and in particular since getting his new command earlier in the week, and Erik was determined that no force of his would be turned to rout.
Throughout the afternoon the sounds of battle carried to Erik from distant locations, even though his command was being left alone. He decided it was because the invaders were in the city and didn’t see the need to press the attack from the south or east.
He also knew that would change once James and William sprang their surprises.
A distant thud and, a moment later, a huge plume of dark smoke, and Erik knew the first of their nasty surprises was unleashed. Barrels of Quegan fire oil had been lashed to the supports of the docks, as well as laid in the basements and lower floors of the buildings that faced them, back for three city blocks. At the moment they were fired, the entire waterfront of the city erupted in a conflagration few could imagine, and the enemy soldiers within a hundred feet of any building were dead. Those not burned to a cinder died from lack of air as the fire stole it from their lungs.
Erik cast a glance to the southwest, toward the palace, dreading the thought that the Emerald Queen’s soldiers might be within the keep. Then a shattering blast sounded and Erik knew what had happened.
A lieutenant whom Erik didn’t know well, named Ronald Bumaris, said, ‘What was that, Captain?’
Erik said, ‘That was the palace, Lieutenant.’
The lieutenant said nothing, waiting for orders. After a half-hour, the flood of humanity out of the northernmost gate in the city fell off to a trickle, and Erik ordered his men to form up for a rear guard.
He watched as the civilians moved eastward, toward the coming night, and then he turned to the west, as fires burned in the distance, and he waited.
Honest John’s was doing its usual business, and Macros and Miranda moved through the crowd. They waved politely to their host, but declined his invitation to a drink. They moved purposefully to the stairs and mounted them to the upper concourse, to the gallery of shops.
Reaching the shop of Mustafa, they entered. The old man looked up and said, ‘So it’s you again?’
‘Yes,’ said Miranda.
‘Did you catch up to Pug?’
Miranda smiled. ‘You could say so.’
‘What can I do for you? A divination?’
Miranda sat in the chair opposite the old fortune teller, and said, ‘Do you recognize my father?’
Mustafa squinted, and then said, ‘No, should I?’
‘I am Macros.’
‘Oh,’ said the old fortune teller. ‘I heard you were dead. Or missing. Something like that.’
‘I need information,’ said Miranda.
‘I deal in such.’
‘I need a way into the world of Shila.’
‘You wouldn’t like it,’ said Mustafa. ‘It’s overrun by demons. Some idiot unsealed the barrier between the Fifth Circle and that world, and now it is just gone to hell.’
Macros laughed a dry laugh. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Why do you need to go there?’
‘To close two rifts,’ said Miranda. ‘One between Shila and Midkemia, then one between Shila and the demon realm.’
‘That’s difficult.’ The old man rubbed his chin. ‘I have information that would prove useful, I think. I can tell you a doorway to a location not far from the city of Ahsart, which is where I think you want to go.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Macros.
‘I wouldn’t be much of a dealer in information if I didn’t know that, would I?’
‘How much?’ asked Miranda.
Mustafa set a price, the souls of a dozen children who had never been born, and Miranda stood up. ‘Perhaps Querl Dagat will prove less outrageous in his price.’
At the mention of one of his chief rivals, Mustafa said, ‘Wait a minute! Make me a counteroffer.’
‘I have a Word of Power, one which will gain you a greater wish.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘You have to cast it on Midkemia.’
The old man sighed. ‘Midkemia, by all reports, is presently a less than hospitable place.’
‘That’s one of the reasons we need to close those portals. If we do, then once the mess is cleaned up, you can travel to Midkemia, cast your wish, and be back before you know it.’
Sighing, the old man said, ‘I would like to lose a few years. I don’t age here, as you know, but I discovered the Hall late in life, and most of the youth cures I’ve discovered involve less than appealing requirements, such as eating the still-beating heart of your lover, or murdering babies in their cradles. My ethics do not permit such.’
‘If I were you,’ suggested Miranda, ‘I’d wish for eternal good health. You can be young and still have problems.’
‘That’s not a bad idea. I don’t suppose you have two of those wishes, do you?’
Miranda shook her head.
‘Very well, I’ll take it.’
‘Done.’
The old fortune teller reached under the table and pulled out a map. ‘We’re here,’ he said, pointing to a large black square surrounded on four sides by lines that curved away after touching. ‘When you leave, tell the door witch you want exit number six hundred fifty-nine.’ His finger stabbed the map. ‘That will put you here. Go right, move down sixteen doors on the right – remember the doors are staggered and if you count on the left, you’ll go through the wrong one. The sixteenth door will open into a cave on Shila, about one day’s ride by horse to Ahsart. I assume travel once you’re there won’t be a problem.’
‘It won’t.’
‘Just travel due south and you’ll see the city off to your right. Now, to give you a little insight into what you face,’ he said, putting away the map, ‘let me tell you a bit about demons.
‘There are seven circles of what men call hell. The upper level is just a very unpleasant place populated by creatures not too different from those you meet on Midkemia. The Seventh Circle is populated by those you know as the Dread. They are life-drainers and beings of alien energy; they can’t exist in your world without killing anything they touch. They are so at odds with life as we know it they aren’t welcome in Honest John’s.’
Miranda took that to mean something significant, but without a context she had no idea what it meant. But being impatient to get on with the task at hand, she ignored the comment.
‘The demons of the Fifth Circle aren’t quite as alien as that. A particularly civilized one may wander in here from time to time, and as long as he doesn’t try to eat the other patrons, John will put up with his business.’
‘What has this to do with us?’ asked Macros.
‘For a sorcerer of wisdom and power you tend to the impatient, don’t you?’ asked Mustafa. He held up his hand as Macros began to protest. ‘Silence. All will be made clear.
‘The demons live on life. Much as you do, by eating plants or animals, they eat flesh and life. What you call life, mind, or spirit, is like drink to them. Flesh builds their bodies, much as it does yours or mine, but spirit builds their powers, and their cunning.
‘An ancient demon has devoured many enemies and will keep captured souls against the need to consume them later.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Miranda.
‘Demons are like … sharks. Do you have sharks on Midkemia?’
‘Yes,’ said Miranda.
‘They swim in bunches, but for reasons unknown they will turn on one of their own, tearing him apart. If they enter a feeding frenzy, one shark may be eaten by another while it is in turn eating a third. Demons can be like that.
‘They eat one another when there is no other source of spirit and flesh. When they find their way into a world on a higher plane, they pillage it, glutting themselves on flesh and spirit. As they steal spirit, or mind, they grow more cunning, but if they lack that new source, they become stupid. So the more powerful demons need more minds to keep from getting stupid.’
‘I think I understand,’ said Macros.
‘Yes,’ said Miranda. ‘The demon who hurt Pug was betraying his master so he could feed unopposed in our world!’
Mustafa said, ‘That is likely. They do not possess what we would call a strong sense of loyalty.’
‘Thank you,’ said Miranda, starting to leave.
‘Wait, there’s more.’
‘What?’ asked Macros.
‘If you trap the demons between their own realm, where they can endure without needing to feed, and Midkemia, they will eventually destroy all life on Shila. Then they will begin feeding on one another.’
‘Do we care?’ asked Macros.
‘Not for the demons. Eventually there will be one demon left alive, probably their King Maarg if he’s come through, or Tugor, his captain. And without a source of food, he’ll weaken, and eventually die. But before he becomes a starving, stupid demon, he’s going to be a very angry, very powerful demon.’
‘Which means … ?’ asked Miranda.
‘Which means, just make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave.’
Miranda blinked, then started to laugh. Rising, she said, ‘We’ll do that.’
‘Not only the one into Midkemia; bar the door into the Hall when you return. An enraged demon king loose in the Hall would be most unpleasant.’
‘I’ll remember that.’
‘What about my payment?’ Mustafa asked as he stood.
Miranda smiled and there was an evil cast to her lips as she said, ‘I’ll tell you on the way back.’
Mustafa sat down as they left his little office and said, ‘Why am I always such a fool for a good-looking woman?’ He pounded the table. ‘Get the money first!’