DASH RACED DOWN the street.
People ran through the streets while soldiers raced to the walls. The gates were closing and a panic-stricken constable in charge of the gate check said, “Sheriff! A rider raced in claiming there’s a Keshian army coming up the road.”
“Bar the gate,” said Dash. He grabbed the constable and said, “What’s your name?”
“Delwin, sir,” said the agitated young man.
“You’re now a sergeant, understand?”
The man nodded, then said, “But we don’t have sergeants in the constabulary, sir.”
“Right now, you’re in the army,” Dash shouted. “Come with me.” He led Delwin up the steps to the ramparts on the wall above the gate and looked to the east. The sun was rising over the distant mountains and caused him to squint.
Movement caught his eyes and he held his hand up to shield them from the sun. He squinted, and there, along a road running along the base of a distant hill, he saw movement, nothing more than the appearance of a long line undulating along the side of the hill.
“Gods,” he whispered. To the newly created sergeant he said, “Send word to the New Market Jail. I want every constable up on these walls with the solders. We have an army coming to visit.”
Sergeant Delwin hurried off. Dash looked to his right and his left and saw a sergeant of the Palace Guard hurrying toward him. Dash grabbed him and said, “What’s your name?”
“McCally, sir.”
“Your Captain is either dead or very sick; I do not know which. Are there any other officers around?”
“Lieutenant Yardley has the duty, sir, and should be above the palace wall.”
“Go fetch him and tell him I need him here at once.”
The Sergeant ran off and returned a few minutes later with the Lieutenant. “Sir,” said the Lieutenant, “what are your orders?”
Dash said, “As Baron of the court and Sheriff of Krondor, I find I am the only functioning noble in the city. How many officers escaped the poisoning last night?”
“Four, sir, of which I am senior.”
“You are now an acting Captain, Yardley. How many men have we?”
Yardley spoke without hesitation, “We have five hundred members of the Prince’s Household Guards, and fifteen hundred members of the city garrison, spread out around the city. I don’t know the current number of your constables, sir.”
“Slightly better than two hundred. What about guards who came with the nobles last night?”
“Maybe another three hundred, honor guards, personal retinues,” replied the newly made Captain.
“Very well, have them support your men on the palace walls. Have whoever’s in charge of the city garrison find me here and report.”
Yardley ran off, and a short time later a grey-haired old sergeant appeared. “I’m Sergeant Mackey, sir. Lieutenant Yardley said to report to you.”
“Where’s your officer?” asked Dash.
“Dead, sir,” replied the stocky old man. “He was dining with the Prince last night.”
Dash shook his head. “Well, Sergeant,” said Dash dryly, “for the next few days, you’re going to play the part of Knight-Marshal of Krondor.”
The old man smiled and came to attention. With a glint in his eye, he said, “I had hoped for a promotion before I retired, sir!” He then lost his smile. “If I may be so bold, who then are you to be?”
“Me?” said Dash with a bitter laugh. “I get to play the part of the Prince of Krondor until Patrick’s strong enough to stand.”
“Well, then, Highness,” said the Sergeant in a semimocking tone, “I respectfully submit we better quit larking about and get ready to defend this city.” He pointed to the advancing column in the distance. “That lot doesn’t appear very tender to me.”
“Right you are,” said Dash with a tired smile. “I want you to deploy three men in four on the walls. I want the remaining men held in reserve.”
“Sir!” said Mackey with a salute. As Mackey ran off, Gustaf and the constables ran down High Street toward the main gate. Dash yelled down, “How did the raids go last night?”
Gustaf shouted, “We netted another score of the bastards, but I know there are more out there.”
“Here’s the duty: call martial law and tell everyone to remain in their houses. Then I want the constables to check all the places we’ve talked about.” Gustaf knew exactly what Dash meant: those places within the city vulnerable to attack from within. “Then sweep the city and arrest anyone on the streets. Then report back to the jail and wait.”
“Wait for what, Sheriff?”
“Wait for word the Keshians are breaching the defenses, then come fast.”
Gustaf saluted. He turned and gave orders to groups of constables, who ran off in different directions, shouting, “Martial law! Get inside! Get off the streets!”
Dash turned and watched as the sun continued to rise in the east, and the enemy continued their advance.
Erik leaned over, perspiration dripping off his brow, as the enemy retreated once more. He stood at the point of the center diamond, the dead piled outside the shield wall to chest height. He turned when someone touched his shoulder and saw Jadow behind him, his face a mask of red from the splattered blood. “We held,” said the Lieutenant. “We did it.”
The attack had been unrelenting; a wave of soldiers who had simply pushed themselves upon the waiting defenses of the Kingdom. Erik had been able to repulse them without having to rely on horses which he no longer had. The left diamond had threatened to collapse at one point, but a reserve company had been thrown in and the enemy pushed back. Archers had continued a slaughter between the diamonds and two flying companies had been able to respond to threatened flanking attacks from either side. On the whole, it had been a masterful defense.
Erik said to Jadow, “I’m worried about arrows. Get scavengers out there picking up as many as can be salvaged.”
Jadow hurried off and Erik waved over another soldier, named Wilks. “Run to the command tent and inform Earl Richard I’ll be along presently, and ask him if any supply trains have caught up with us. Then come back here and report.”
Erik was handed a waterskin by a commissary and he drank greedily. He then poured water over his face and wiped off whatever blood and dirt he could.
Around him men were pushing bodies outside the diamonds. The enemy showed no interest in removing their dead, and Erik was worried: beyond the obvious problems of the stink and the danger of disease, there was the added burden of his men having to clear the positions so they could be defended.
Erik directed the cleanup, and Jadow returned saying that the scavengers were hard at work recovering any arrows that could be used again. Even some that were damaged would be repaired by a trio of fletchers hard at work at the rear of their position. But Erik was nearly out of supplies and was concerned, because a baggage train due to arrive the previous day was overdue. He had dispatched a patrol to the south to find them and hurry them along. While a smith’s apprentice, Erik had tended mules and donkeys and knew they were even more fractious and difficult at times than horses, but now he was concerned that something beyond a difficult team or two was slowing down the supplies.
Jadow said, “Man, that was some fight.”
“Not much in it, save stand and slaughter.”
“Nightmare Ridge all over again.”
Erik hiked his thumb at the enemy. “They’re not very smart, but they are fearless.”
“I’ve been thinking,” said Jadow. “We know that those we faced before were under some spell or another, a demon or what have you, according to the rumors, and that’s why they fell apart after the battle at the ridge, but they don’t seem to have learned anything over the winter.”
“I know what you mean,” said Erik. “From everything we know about Fadawah, I’d expect something different. He must have discovered by now that we’re not going to chase him.” Erik rubbed his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the fatigue.
Wilks returned and said, “Captain, Earl Richmond awaits your report and told me to tell you the baggage train has arrived.”
“Good,” said Erik, “I was beginning to worry.” To Jadow, he said, “Relieve the men in the diamonds and get something to eat.”
“Sir,” said Jadow with a casual salute.
Erik left the diamond and paused to inspect the three positions for a minute. The shields were damaged, as he expected, and he had ample replacements, but the spears were almost used up. He turned to a soldier. “Johnson, get a squad and move south to the woods near the road. Start felling trees that we can use to make long spears.” The soldier saluted, and Erik could tell from his expression he had no wish to be doing anything but eating and sleeping, but during war few got to do what they wished for.
Erik knew they’d not have spearpoints, but sharpened, fire-hardened stakes would serve to keep enemy horse at bay. And other weapons would be in the baggage, machine parts for constructing catapults, oil for burning out underground tunnels and firing wooden defensive positions. Erik began to feel optimistic about being able to hold the position. He had no thought at this moment about advancing, not with his entire detachment of horse soldiers dashing toward Krondor.
He reached the command tent and found the Earl sitting at his command table. “How is the arm, sir?”
“Fine,” said Richard. He smiled. “Do you want to know why our baggage is late?”
“I was wondering,” admitted Erik as he poured himself a mug of ale from a pitcher on the table.
“Leland forced them off the road,” said Richard, “so he could get down to Krondor. Some of the wagons got stuck in the mud and it took a half-day to get them out.”
“Well,” said Erik with a laugh, “I’d have rather had them here yesterday, but as long as they’re going to be late, I’ll settle for that reason; I was afraid they’d been ambushed.”
Hot wet towels were provided and Erik washed up. A servant went to his tent and returned with a fresh tunic, and Erik sat with the Earl, the teeth-gritting pressure of the day beginning to slip away slightly as the ale relaxed him.
Food was provided, and while plain camp fare, it was hot and filling, and the bread was fresh baked. Erik bit off a large hunk of the hot flavorful bread, and after he had swallowed, said, “One good thing about holding a defensive position is our commissary has time to set up their ovens.”
Earl Richard laughed. “Well, there you have it; I was wondering if there was even a hint of good in all this, and you found it.”
Erik said, “Unfortunately, that may be about all the good there is to wring out of this situation. I would trade all the hot bread in the world to be outside the gates of Ylith, ready to storm the city with our army.”
“Someone once said that you can make all the plans you wish, but they all go to naught as soon as the first elements in your army encounter the enemy.”
“My experience is that is true.”
“The truly great field commanders can improvise” – Richard looked at Erik – “as you do.”
“Thank you, but I’m far from being anyone’s notion of a great general.”
“You underestimate yourself, Erik.”
“I wanted to be a smith.”
“Truth?”
“Truth. I was apprenticed to a drunk who failed to register my name with the guild, and had he, I would probably have been moved from Darkmoor before I killed my halfbrother.” He went on and outlined the story of how he had become a soldier, from murdering Manfred while in a rage over Manfred’s rape of Rosalyn, the girl who had been like a sister to Erik, and being tried and convicted of murder. He told him of being pulled from prison by Bobby de Loungville, Lord James, and Calis, and the journeys to Novindus.
When he was done, Lord Richard said, “A remarkable story, Erik. We had heard things in the East of some of those things Lord James did, but only rumors and conjecture.” Lord Richard said, “My son will follow me in my office, and perhaps rise even higher as a result of this service, but you stand poised for greatness should you choose to take advantage, Erik. With Greylock dead, it is but a short step for you to take command of the Armies of the West.”
Erik said, “I am unsuited for it; there is so much I don’t know about strategy, long-range planning, the political consequences of things.”
“The fact you know those issues exist places you ahead of most of us who might be selected for the position on the basis of who our fathers were, Erik. Don’t underestimate yourself. “
Erik shrugged. “I don’t think I am, Richard. I’m Captain of the Crimson Eagles, and a Court Baron as a result. That’s far more than I wished to be. I thought I had everything I wanted when I was named Sergeant. I only want to serve as a soldier.”
“Sometimes we have no choice,” said Richard. “I wanted to grow roses. I love my gardens. I don’t think I’m happier than when I’m showing guests through them. I amuse my wife and annoy our groundskeeper no end by puttering around out there, on my hands and knees, pulling weeds.”
Erik smiled at the image of the old man out there in the dirt. “Yet you do it.”
“It makes me happy. Find what makes you happy, Erik, and hold to it.”
“My wife, doing a good job, the company of friends,” said Erik. “I can’t think of much more.”
“You’ll do, Erik von Darkmoor. You’ll do very well, should fate tap you for greatness.”
They talked late into the night.
Nakor pointed. “That way.”
The Captain said, “I can’t see anything in this fog. Are you sure?”
“Of course I am,” said Nakor. “The fog’s an illusion. I know where we’re going.”
“I’ll remember you said that, sir.” The Captain appeared dubious.
Nakor had tried a couple of “tricks” to contact Pug, but nothing seemed to work. He was almost certain new defenses had been erected around Sorcerer’s Isle, and upon entering the region of fog he was certain that was the case.
Pug didn’t want to be bothered by casual travelers, it seemed. When Nakor had been in charge of the island, he had relied on the reputation of the place, coupled with a menacing-looking castle with blue light flickering in the tower windows.
Now the defensive magic was stronger. Nakor had to correct the Captain’s course, because while in the fog the tillerman was letting the ship curve away from the island.
In the distance he heard the sound of surf and said, “Get ready to lower sails, Captain. We’re almost there.”
“How can you—”
Suddenly they were out of the fog, in brilliant daylight. Members of the crew looked over their shoulders and saw a wall of fog which circled the island like a fortress.
The castle still stood atop the cliffs, a looming black presence that seemed to cast a pall over the area. “Should we move farther down the coast?” asked the Captain.
“This is very good,” said Nakor. “They’ve added some new tricks.” He looked at the Captain. “Everything is fine. You just lower a boat, drop me on the beach, then you can go back to Krondor.”
The relief was obvious on the man’s face. “How do we plot our course?”
“Just sail through the fog, that way.” Nakor pointed. “If you’re turned around a little in the fog, that’s fine, because it will want to turn you away from the island anyway. You’ll come out more or less pointed east, and you can get your bearings off the sun or stars. You’ll be fine.”
The Captain tried to look reassured, but failed.
The sails were hauled in and a boat lowered, and within an hour Nakor stood on the beach of Sorcerer’s Island. He didn’t bother to watch the ship depart, as he knew the Captain would be raising sail even as the boat that had dropped Nakor off was rowing furiously back. Pug had done a wonderful job of casting a pall of woe and despair over anyone sitting off the coast.
Nakor hiked the path up from the beach, and where it split toward the castle and down into the small valley, he chose the valley path. Nakor didn’t even bother using the energy needed to shift his perceptions, as he knew that when he reached the limit of the illusion he would pass from the seemingly wild woodlands into a lovely pasture, dominated by a rambling villa.
When the illusion finally did shift, Nakor almost tripped in surprise. For while the landscape was as he had expected it to be, there was one feature that was totally unexpected. A golden dragon rested comfortably next to the house, apparently asleep.
Nakor hiked up his faded orange robe and hurried on spindly shanks until he was before the dragon. “Ryana!” he shouted.
The dragon opened one eye and said, “Hello, Nakor. Is there a reason you’re waking me?”
“Why don’t you change and come inside?”
“Because it’s more comfortable sleeping like this,” said the dragon, her voice revealing her mood as less than pleased.
“Late night?”
“Flying all night. Tomas asked me to bring him.”
“Tomas is here! That is wonderful news.”
“You may be the only one in Midkemia to think so,” rejoined the dragon.
“No, I don’t mean the reason he’s here, I mean the fact he’s here. That means I don’t have to explain things to Pug.”
“Probably for the best,” said the dragon as a nimbus of golden light surrounded her. Her form shimmered, the edges blurring, and the light seemed to shrink until she was human size. Then she resolved into the form of a striking woman with reddish blond hair, enormous blue eyes, and a deep tan of gold.
“Put some clothing on,” said Nakor. “I can’t concentrate when you run around naked.”
With a slight movement, Ryana created a long blue gown, which accentuated her coloring. “How you can be the age you are and still act like such an adolescent at times is beyond me, Nakor.”
“It’s part of my charm,” said Nakor with a grin.
Ryana slipped her arm in his and said, “No, I don’t think that’s it. Let’s go inside.”
They walked into the house and headed toward Pug’s study. When they got there, they heard voices inside, and when Nakor knocked, Pug’s voice said, “Come in.”
Ryana entered first, and Nakor came in behind her. Pug’s study was large, with a broad windowseat upon which Miranda sat. Tomas sat uncomfortably in a chair that was obviously a little too small for him, while Pug sat facing the two of them. If either Tomas or Pug were surprised to see Nakor, neither showed it. Miranda grinned. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”
“I give up,” said Nakor sitting down. “So, what are we to do?”
All eyes turned toward him, and Pug said, “Why don’t you tell us?”
Nakor opened his sack and reached in, up to his shoulder, as if feeling around. Everyone in the room had seen him do the trick before, but the effect was still comic. He fished out an orange and said, “Anyone want one?”
Miranda held up her hand and Nakor tossed it to her. He got another one for himself. Nakor began to peel the orange. “Something amazing happened in Krondor last week. A terrible thing and a wonderful thing. Or they were both the same thing. Anyway, one of my students, a very special woman named Aleta, was studying with Sho Pi – meditation, just the basics – when suddenly a light gathered around her. She rose in the air, and below her, trapped, was a very black thing.”
“A black thing?” asked Miranda. “Could you be a little more specific?”
“I don’t know what to call it,” said Nakor. “It’s energy, perhaps a spirit of some sort. Maybe by now some of the other clerics from the different temples have figured out what it is. But it’s something very bad. Maybe it’s left over from the demon. I don’t know, but I think it was in place so that something could happen in Krondor, later.”
“Later?” asked Miranda, then she looked at Pug, who shrugged.
Tomas said, “I have just been telling Pug that Captain Subai of the Pathfinders reached Elvandar. It seems Greylock’s army is stalled south of Quester’s View. And from what Subai reported, there is dark power being used again.”
Nakor said, “Yes, that makes a great deal of sense.” He was about to say something, then hesitated. “A moment.” He made a broad gesture with his hands and waved over his head, then the room crackled with energy.
Tomas smiled. “Don’t lower the barrier prematurely this time.”
Nakor grinned in embarrassment. The last time he had used this mystic shield to protect them, he had lowered it too soon and the demon Jakan had located them. “I put the field around the room. I’ll just leave it up permanently. No agency of Nalar’s will ever be able to spy on this room. Now we can talk without falling under his sway.”
At the mention of Nalar’s name, Pug felt a prickling sensation in his head for a moment, and suddenly barriers to his memory were lowered. Images and voices swam in his consciousness, and things he had placed apart in his mind were now accessible to him. “We must assume the Nameless One has more servants.”
“Obviously,” said Tomas. “The human sacrifices and other slaughter are means for gathering power.”
“What fascinates me,” said Nakor, “is what is happening in Krondor.”
Pug smiled at his occasional companion. “Obviously this new faith of yours is having a direct effect.”
“Yes, but that’s what I find odd and fascinating.” He pulled a section from his orange and ate it. “I am no expert on issues of faith, but I had the distinct impression it would take a few centuries or longer for our new temple to have any effect.”
Miranda said, “Don’t give yourself too much credit, Nakor. It may be the power was already there, and your little temple just happened to be the convenient conduit.”
“That makes more sense,” agreed Nakor. “In any event, we have this issue to discuss. When we fought the demon, we mistakenly thought we had defeated the Nameless One’s agents. What we did was destroy their most current weapons, nothing more.”
Nakor waved out the window past Miranda. “Out there,” he said, “is at least one more evil agency doing very bad things, and it is gathering power.
“That is who we must defeat.”
Tomas said, “Subai leads me to think that Elvandar will soon be at risk if we do not stop this army now.”
Nakor leaped out of his chair. “No! You are not listening.” He stopped, then said, “Or I am not saying this right. We are not trying to save Elvandar, or Krondor, or the Kingdom.” He looked from face to face. “We are trying to save this world.”
Ryana said, “Very well, Nakor. You now have my undivided attention. These petty human wars are nothing to dragonkind, but we share this world with you. What is the threat to us all?”
“This Mad God, this Nalar, whose very name is a danger, he is the threat. When you look at everything that has occurred since the Chaos Wars, remember this. When you once again forget the very conversation we have this hour, when your memories are locked away to prevent you from falling under Nalar’s sway, remember this much: there is always something deeper behind what you see on the surface.”
“All right,” said Pug. “So what we see on the surface, the invasion and the conquest by Fadawah, they hide a deeper truth.”
“Yes, Fadawah is a dupe. He was before and he is still. He is just the next to be placed at the head of this murderous army. We must identify whoever it is that stands behind him, in the shadow. There is something evil growing in Krondor. It is there against the time Fadawah’s army arrives. Whoever is behind Fadawah – an advisor, or servant, or a member of his guard – must be destroyed. Somewhere is a being who was there when the my old wife, Jorma, became Lady Clovis, when she was controlling Dhakon, and when she sat the Emerald Throne. He was there when the demon ruled, and now when Fadawah is the leader. This creature, man, or spirit, this thing is the agent of Nalar who is orchestrating the war. It is this being who seeks no conquest, but rather destruction. This is the creature who doesn’t wish to see one side or the other win, but rather seeks to let the suffering linger, let innocents die. This is the creature we must find.”
Tomas said, “Do you suspect another Pantathian?”
Nakor said, “I don’t think so. Maybe, but it may also be a man, or a dark elf, or any other manner of creature. It may be a spirit in the body of one such as Fadawah. I just don’t know. But we must seek out this creature and destroy it.”
Pug said, “This sounds as if we must fly to the heart of the enemy and confront their leader.”
Nakor said, “Yes, and that is dangerous.”
Pug winced in memory of the trap the demon had laid for him, the one that in his arrogance he had overlooked, the trap that had almost cost Pug his life.
“Why don’t we just … I don’t know,” said Miranda, “just burn everything within a mile of Fadawah’s headquarters? That should end this creature, shouldn’t it?”
Pug said, “Probably not. Years ago I faced another of Nalar’s creatures, a mad magician named Sidi. A few of the older members of the temples know the story, for we strove to control the Tear of the Gods.”
Ryana said, “Tear of the Gods?”
Pug said, “It is a powerful artifact, used by the Ishapians to channel power from the controller gods.” He looked at Miranda. “You could burn this house down around Sidi and he would have been standing there laughing at you when the ashes cooled.”
“How did you destroy him?” asked Miranda.
Pug looked at his wife. “I didn’t.”
Miranda said, “Are you saying this person controlling Fadawah is this Sidi?”
“It could be. Or it could be one of Sidi’s servants, or another like him.”
Nakor said, “Nalar has many agents. Most do not know they serve the Mad God. They just do things because they feel the need.”
Tomas said, “What must we do?”
Pug said, “We lure this agent of Nalar into showing itself.”
“How?” asked Miranda.
Pug nodded. “Me. I have to be bait. Fadawah’s true master must know that at some point I will act. I have in the past. And we can assume there’s some sort of surprise waiting for me if I show up.”
Miranda said, “No! The last time I goaded you into acting prematurely, you almost got killed. Since then I think I’ve changed my mind about kicking down doors and walking into rooms. Let’s sneak around some first.”
Nakor said, “I’ve snuck around in the enemy’s camp, back when I went to Novindus with Calis and his friends, and I stood close to the Emerald Queen. I couldn’t tell who was running things. Pug is right. We must find a way to force this person or creature or spirit or whatever it is to reveal itself to us.”
Miranda said, “No! And I’m going to keep saying ‘no’ until you get it through your head.” She stood up. “I’ve snuck around behind the lines, too. Let Nakor and me do it one more time. We can go to where Greylock’s army is, and I know we can sneak into the camp. Let me get close to Fadawah and see what I can see. If we can’t find anything, I’ll agree to go in and let them throw everything at you. But I don’t want to risk it just yet. All right?” She touched his face.
“Your temper is going to get you killed,” he warned her.
“I can keep it under control when I have to.”
Pug looked at Nakor. “I want you to promise me you’ll tell her when it’s too dangerous and it’s time to come back here.” He looked at Miranda. “And I want you to promise you’ll listen to him, and when he says so, you’ll transport yourself back to this room.”
They both agreed. Pug said, “I don’t like this anymore than you like my idea.” He kissed Miranda and said, “It’s better if you go now, while it’s still dark over there.”
Miranda held out her hand. “Nakor, where do we want to go?”
“Last I heard, Greylock was somewhere south of Quester’s View.”
“I know a village on the coast. We’ll transport there, then we can fly up the coast.”
Ryana said, “I’m going to go sleep. Wake me when you have someone worth fighting.”
Nakor said, “A moment, please.” Pug and the others felt their memories shut off again, hiding knowledge of Nalar, and then the mystic barrier was lowered.
Tomas said, “Sleep well, friend.” The dragon in human form left the room.
Miranda took Nakor’s hand and they vanished from sight, leaving Pug and Tomas alone.
Tomas removed his golden helm and placed it on Pug’s desk. “Well, old friend, there’s not much for us to do but wait.”
Pug said, “I’m not very hungry, but we should eat.” He rose and led his friend out of the study, down the hall, and toward the kitchen.
“You better land soon!” shouted Nakor. “My arms are getting tired.”
They were flying to the east of the highway, just above the treetops, with Nakor dangling from his staff, which Miranda held below her as she flew. They had appeared at a fishing village near Quester’s View. It had been deserted. Miranda had picked up Nakor and had flown across the highway, some distance away from a few campfires, and then had turned northward. They had flown past the campfires of both sides, past a large static position that had Nakor puzzled. He knew something significant had occurred for Greylock to have halted his northward march.
Miranda came in for a landing, letting go of Nakor’s staff. He landed with an audible “oof,” as he struck the ground hard. “Sorry,” she said as she landed. “My wrists were starting to hurt.”
“When you said we could fly together, I thought you had a spell that would carry both of us,” Nakor said as he stood up, brushing himself off. “I almost hurt myself on my staff.”
“Well, if you’d left the thing behind like I told you to it wouldn’t have happened.” She sounded very unsympathetic.
Nakor laughed. “You will be an excellent mother someday.”
She said, “Not until Pug and I feel the world is a safer place than it is right now.”
“Being alive is being at risk,” said Nakor as he adjusted his garment and recovered his staff. “Now, let us see if we can sneak into the enemy camp.”
“How do you propose to do it?”
“Like I always do: act like I belong. Just stay close behind me and, please, one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t lose your temper.”
Miranda’s expression clouded and she said, “I don’t have a temper!”
Nakor grinned. “There, you’re doing it now.”
“You insufferable little man!” she said, walking off ahead of him.
“Miranda!”
“What!” she shouted, looking over her shoulder.
Nakor hurried to catch up, and said, “For a woman of your experience, you can be very childish.”
Miranda seemed on the verge of saying something. She stood still for a moment, then finally said, “You don’t know me, Nakor. You may have been my mother’s first husband, but you know nothing of me. You don’t know what my childhood was like. You don’t know what it was to be raised by imperial agents. If I’m childish, it may be because I had no childhood.”
“Whatever the reasons, please try to keep from getting us killed,” said Nakor as he walked by her. Softly he said, “And for a woman your age, you are very concerned about things that happened a very long time ago.”
She hurried to stay up with him. “What?”
Nakor turned to face her, and for the first time since she had met him, there was not one shred of humor in the man’s expression. He gazed at her with an expression that could only be called intimidating. And for a moment, she glimpsed the power he had within him. Softly he said, “The past can be a terrible weight bound to you by an unbreakable chain. You can drag it with you, forever looking over your shoulder at what holds you back. Or you can let it go and move forward. It’s your choice. For those who live centuries, it’s a very important choice.”
He turned and walked away from her.
Miranda stood a moment, then caught up with him again. This time she said nothing.
They worked their way down through trees on the western face of the Calastius Mountains. They had passed the battlelines several miles to the south, where Greylock’s army had established a fixed front. Nakor said, “Something strange has happened. Greylock is dug in down south, at least that’s what it looked like from up there” – he pointed skyward – “as you sped along. It looks like he’s digging in, perhaps against a counterattack.”
Miranda said, “I don’t know. Maybe they’re going to wait for supplies sent up to that fishing village where we landed.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think so.” From the battlefield the stench of the dead filled the night air. Thousands of bodies littered the field. “This is very bad. To leave the dead unburied is an evil thing.”
North of the battlefield a structure was being built. It appeared to be a fortress of some type, but as they neared it, they could see it was actually a series of large buildings linked together by huge wooden fences a uniform twenty feet high. Men were camped around fires scattered around the periphery. “Look,” said Nakor, “they don’t camp too close.”
“What is it?” asked Miranda as they came near the edge of the sheltering trees.
“Something very bad I think. A temple, maybe.”
“Temple to what?”
“Let’s go find out.” He glanced around. “Over there.”
He led her through the trees to a place close to a collection of tents of all sizes and colors. They scurried through the heavy boles until they found a gap between two campfires, where they could slip in without attracting undue attention.
They passed by unchallenged. Nakor led Miranda past a series of campsites, where they were just two people among several walking about on some errand or another. But as they passed a large camp, a man walked toward them. His head was shaved, save for a single fall of hair, tied up to cascade behind him. The hair looked to be cinched by a ring of bone. He wore deep scars on each cheek. He was bare chested and wore a vest of what appeared to be human skin. His trousers were dyed leather and Nakor didn’t inspect them too closely. He was massively muscled and carried a huge curved blade known as a flasher. It was a two-handed weapon, but he looked capable of wielding it with one hand.
He walked up, weaving slightly, to Miranda, and looked her over in a very frank fashion, then turned to Nakor and said, with a drunken slur, “You sell her to me.”
Nakor grinned. “No, I can’t.”
The man’s eyes grew wide and he looked as if he was about to erupt into a rage as he said, “No? You say no to Fustafa!”
Nakor pointed at the building and said, “She goes there.”
Instantly the man’s expression changed, and he looked at Nakor and backed away. “I don’t ask,” he said, hurrying away.
“What was that?” asked Miranda.
“I don’t know,” said Nakor. He looked at the building, less than a hundred yards away. “But I think it means we need to be careful in there.”
“We’re going to walk in?” asked Miranda.
“You have a better idea?” replied Nakor, walking toward the building.
“No,” said Miranda, hurrying after him again.
They both felt a strange energy as they neared it. As they got closer, it grew stronger. Miranda said, “That makes me feel like I need to take a bath.”
“If your husband doesn’t object, I’ll join you,” said Nakor. “Come this way.” He motioned toward an opening in the fence, between sections of the building, and they entered.
Once they had entered, Nakor saw what the structures were. A huge square had three small buildings at each corner. In the center rose six large stones, each one carved with runes that set Miranda’s teeth on edge to view. “What is this place?” she asked.
“It’s a place of summoning, a place of dark magic, a place from which something very bad will come,” said Nakor.
They saw movement in the dark, in the middle of the ring of stones. They moved forward quietly. A band of men, all wearing dark robes, stood around a large stone. Behind the stone was a man who stood with arms outstretched, one who chanted something to the sky.
“Now we know why that man was so afraid,” whispered Nakor. “Look!”
Upon the stone lay a young woman, her eyes wide with terror, a gag in her mouth. Her hands were tied to rings of iron in the stone and she was dressed in a short black sleeveless shift.
Nakor’s eyes widened as he considered this. “We must leave!” he said urgently.
Miranda said, “We can’t leave her there to die.”
“Thousands will die soon if we don’t leave,” he whispered, holding her elbow and steering her back toward the exit.
Then there came a rumbling in the air, and Nakor said, “Run!”
Miranda didn’t hesitate, and followed Nakor out the doorway. The soldiers nearby ignored the two who ran from the building, for their eyes were riveted on the scene before them. A faint blue-green light was gathering around the building, swirling as if being stirred by a giant invisible stick.
Nakor stopped a few yards before Miranda and held his staff overhead. “Fly!” he shouted.
Miranda halted, closed her eyes, and gathered her own powers to fly. She leaped forward, as if diving, but rather than falling, she rose. She grabbed Nakor’s staff and hauled him into the sky.
She flew in a straight line, up the hillside, then began a gentle turn. When she could look down upon the building, she said, “Oh, gods of mercy!”
Up the coast, a dozen lights like the one before them had blossomed, evil green and blue lights that filled the night with a terrible illumination. Then down the coast came a line of power, moving from each of the constructions, starting somewhere near Ylith and ending below where Miranda flew.
A note painful to hear rang and below those soldiers camped nearest the building reeled back from the sound. A faint light spread out in a fan from the building, toward the Kingdom camp, growing fainter as it went. It shifted through the spectrum, going to red, then back to green, then to violet. A last deep indigo wave faded from view, and the grinding sound suddenly stopped.
Then, on the battlefield, the dead began to rise.