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At the Gates of Darkness
Raymond E. Feist
The conclusion of the bestselling Demon War series, which began with Rides a Dread Legion.Recent events have devastated the Conclave of Shadows; the discovery of the Demon horde on the heels of the taredhel invasion of Midkemia, the threat of the star elves themselves, and the terrible personal cost paid by Pug and his family.But grieving must wait. At a deserted fortress in the Valley of Lost Men, the Conclave’s agents witness horror beyond their imagination, orchestrated by a familiar enemy. But Belasco's motives are as yet unclear. The Conclave must regroup and discover the true meaning behind the chaos seeded by the evil magician if they are ever to find a way to stop the destruction of Triagia before the demon horde even arrives.



At the Gates of Darkness
The Demonwar Saga Book Two
Raymond E. Feist





Copyright (#ulink_f7c1cb3d-4cd5-5feb-9587-56298296e46b)
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

HarperVoyager
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
Published by HarperVoyager 2010
Copyright © Raymond E. Feist 2010

Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication
Source ISBN: 9780007264711
Ebook Edition © NOVEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780007290215
Version: 2018-10-08

Dedication (#ulink_ea835076-dd5f-5613-b012-11a5c3bcb5bb)
For the ladies who make me look so good: (in alphabetical order) Jennifer Brehl, Emma Coode, Jane Johnson, and Katherine Nitzel; rarely does an author get one good editor, let alone four.

Table of Contents
Title Page (#u02e09f71-6190-5711-8a5d-08d5fd3f55f5)
Copyright (#ufa05d35f-2820-561b-85d4-497c52e7af41)
Dedication (#ub1d1f370-70b7-5b51-af8e-25291f94a87e)
Chapter One: Sacrifice (#ua458566f-bb08-56e5-9719-60c943399bce)
Chapter Two: Foreboding (#ufc44d09f-7174-5d12-96f9-2e8f13745738)
Chapter Three: Sergeant-Adamant (#udd3567ef-8dfa-5a18-95f7-4062e4eec038)
Chapter Four: Death Magic (#uf7f0900f-9c88-52fd-9a3b-d57e5100bb65)
Chapter Five: Legacy (#ub4280bc7-042e-58e2-a28e-ddc4546596d8)
Chapter Six: Survivors (#u98951643-5b79-5a91-b9ff-3d0d1e3e0f5e)
Chapter Seven: Queg (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight: Fortress (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine: War (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten: Demon Lore (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven: Escape (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve: Allies (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen: Ancient Histories (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen: Slaughter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen: Strategy (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen: Reconnaissance (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen: Summoning (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen: Attack (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen: Demon Unleashed (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
By the Same Author (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

• CHAPTER ONE • Sacrifice (#ulink_a152b300-6a28-5a6f-b93f-f7057317d9e5)
HOWLS FILLED THE NIGHT.
The blasted hills smoked and the stench of char filled the air. Hundreds of robed figures slowly wended their way between rocky debris to reach the huge clearing below the remains of a fortress gate tower. A powerful man stood silently on top of the pile of stones, looking down upon his followers.
Another figure waited in the shadows, using his considerable skill to remain unseen, and wishing fervently that he was anywhere else in the world but here. James Dasher Jamison took a slow, even breath, as much to calm himself as to catch his breath, and struggled to keep his wits about him. Within the courts of the three largest nations of the region, he was known as a minor noble of the Kingdom of the Isles; a man who had inherited, not earned, his rank, being the grandson of the Duke of Rillanon. To others he was Jim Dasher, a businessman involved in some petty criminal dealings in the city of Krondor; and to a few, he was known as the Upright Man, leader of the Thieves Guild: the Mockers. But even fewer knew James Dasher Jamison as the head of the Kingdom of the Isles intelligent apparatus, reporting directly to his grandfather.
In his forty or so years, Jim had seen many strange and terrifying things—experiences that came with his various positions. At times he feared he had become as heartless a bastard as those he had put down in the name of the Crown, or for the Conclave of Shadows, with whom he often worked; but even his lifetime of violence and intrigue could not have adequately prepared him for what he now saw before him.
A massive fire encompassed a circle of stakes, to which were tied four human sacrifices. They were not the first, already the dead numbered in the dozens, if not hundreds; but what churned Jim’s stomach more than this terrible scene, was that the slain had seemed willing, even eager to embrace a painful, flaming death.
Around the edges of the clearing more victims dangled at the ends of ropes; moments before, Jim had witnessed them place the nooses around their own necks, and jump off small ladders, to hang themselves. Many necks had broken with an audible crack, but a few had died slowly, kicking for what had seemed far too long a time. Jim had seen more than his fair share of public hangings in Krondor, but this was far more horrific than a criminal reaping his just deserts. This was a chilling display of self-sacrifice to evil. The howls lessened as the masochists finally began to lose consciousness and die.
As Jim watched, sickened, another score were impaled on wooden stakes, their blood and faeces filling the air with the unforgettable stench of death. Some of them quivered and twitched as their own weight drove the stakes deeper into their bodies. Others gave out only one death spasm before they hung on the stakes, motionless.
Jim saw nothing sane here. He turned his attention to the man standing on top of the tumbled down masonry, who held his hands up in a welcoming gesture. The man’s expression and bearing made Jim wish to turn tail and run away as fast and as far as he could. He had never seen this man before, but his description fit what he had learned from Pug of Sorcerer’s Isle and a Demon Master named Amirantha: The man on the stones above was Belasco; one of the most dangerous men alive, and certainly one of the maddest.
With a sweep of his hand, the domineering magic user conjured a mirage, a shimmering likeness that hung in the air above his head, one that made the mob at his feet cry out in supplication and awe.
The image was Dahun, and from what Jim had learnt over the last six months, the appearance of his likeness, almost as if he stood here in the flesh, meant that his servants were closer to opening a portal for him.
Dahun was twenty feet tall and roughly man shaped, but he also possessed a long black, scaled lizard’s tail, which descended from the base of his spine. His chest was massive and his stomach rippled with muscles under reddish skin that stretched from black at his feet and blended to crimson over his chest. His face was human, save for a massive, jutting lower jaw and large bat-like ears. His eyes were solid black orbs. Long tendrils of hair, braided with human skulls, hung to his shoulders. His brow was adorned with a massive golden circlet, set with a dark stone that pulsed with purple light. The fingers of his left hand ended in black talons and flexed restlessly, as if in anticipation of tearing his enemies apart. In his right hand he held a flaming sword. His hips were girded with a studded kilt, and two large leather bands crossed his chest with a massive golden emblem at their centre.
Jim spent a moment fixing the image in his memory. Then he glanced around and noted the slack jawed, empty eyed expression on the worshippers around him. It was clear they had been drugged in preparation for this ritual, so he attempted to mimic their shambling walk.
Feeling almost sick to his stomach, Jim steeled himself and slowly joined the people who were approaching the monster. Like them he wore a heavy black robe, but he had pulled the cowl forward to conceal his features. The original owner of the robe now lay at the bottom of a deep ravine less than a quarter mile away.
He shuffled his feet, moving slower than those around him to keep to the rear of the crowd; he wanted the opportunity to slip away easily should the need arise. He kept his hands inside the sleeves of his robe—one hand held a dagger treated with a fast-acting poison that would cause paralysis within a minute and the other a device which had been constructed for him by a master artificer in Krondor: a ball that when shattered would emit a blinding light for ten seconds, providing him more than enough time to get away. It would disable those around him for a few minutes, or at least the human onlookers, he couldn’t be certain that everyone in attendance tonight was like him.
Jim swallowed hard again and paused, forcing himself to confront the vision of the monster above him.
Belasco raised his hands again. Jim could easily see that the magic user was madder than a bug trapped in a bass drum. His demon projection was the most horrifying sight that Jim had ever witnessed, yet the magician was laughing like a delighted child. He was calling out to the faithful, but Jim wasn’t quite close enough to hear his words, only the tone of his voice.
Jim inched to the right as the followers in front of him continued their slow progression forward; the group was coming together at the centre of what had once been a fortress. Perhaps five hundred of the faithful had gathered. Jim glanced around; a sudden tightness in his neck had caused him to worry about who might now be behind him. It was a sense he had inherited from his great-grandfather, something the family called his ‘bump of trouble’. Right now it was starting to itch badly.
As he suspected, figures moved along the rocks that surrounded the flat central area of the ancient marshalling yard. The roaring fires at its edge made everything beyond their light difficult to see, but Jim had mastered the trick of not looking directly at the flames, and kept alert for flickering movement betraying those outside the light.
The name of this ancient Keshian fortress had been lost in time. Its walls and towers were mostly gone, crumbled like the masonry upon which Belasco stood, and only one underground entrance a few hundred feet away still led into its tunnels and caverns. Jim had no intention of entering that labyrinth. In his great-grandfather’s day it had been known locally as The Tomb of the Hopeless. Legend told that an entire garrison had been left to die in there. It once commanded the entrance to what was called the Valley of Lost Men.
Jim reoriented himself. To his right was a gap in the rocks that would grant him relatively fast access to a trail north: it was an abandoned caravan route that ended in the Keshian port city of Durbin. At the foot of these hills waited half a dozen of the deadliest thugs Jim could find. Five were cutthroats who occasionally worked for him in Durbin; the sixth was Amed Dabu Asam, his most trusted agent in the Jal-Pur desert region and the one he relied on to carry word back to Krondor should Jim not return by dawn.
To his left was an open expanse and then the sudden drop down of sheer cliffs. Only the gods knew what waited in the desolate valley below them, so should he have to bolt, Jim knew that he was certainly going to veer right.
He glanced around again, trying hard to look like just another devoted follower of the demon, mimicking the ritual movements of the others. He hoped his wary looks towards the archers hadn’t attracted attention. He sensed that other things would start happening soon, all of them bad.
For over half a year Jim had been trying to find the lair of The Servants of Dahun, a group of outlaws known to others as The Black Caps. He had decided to investigate this ancient fortress whilst poring over the many reports from his great-grandfather’s days.
Once home to a cult of fanatical assassins called the Nighthawks, the site had been considered abandoned for over a century. Obviously someone had decided that since no one was paying attention, it was time to reoccupy the fortress.
It was close enough to Krondor and the Empire city of Durbin to allow the murderous dogs quick and easy access, and remote enough that the chance of discovery was small. Jim had almost been killed twice, getting here, and now was counting the seconds of borrowed time that he had remaining.
He considered the tale of his ancestor facing down a cult of assassins here, with almost no help. Jim would take a fortress full of assassins over this mob of religious fanatics any day. The assassins might kill you, but at least it would be swift, but these lunatics would probably slow roast him over a fire and eat him.
Finally, Jim was close enough to hear Belasco’s words. ‘We are here to give blood and life to our master!’
As one the assembled mob chanted, ‘Hail Dahun!’
Jim instinctively took a step back, checking first to his right, then the left. The crouching figures on the rocks surrounding the area were archers. He began sidestepping towards the closest boulder, which stood a very distant twenty feet to his right.
With two more rapid steps, Jim reached a deep shadow beneath an overhanging rock. He had to crouch, which made removing his robe more difficult, but in seconds he was almost invisible within the tiny pool of concealing darkness. He reached back and from behind his neck pulled a thin hood over his head that left only his eyes exposed. The material he wore was dull black, with dark metal fastenings. He gripped his dagger and waited.
Belasco shouted, ‘Rejoice! Know that your sacrifice brings our master closer to us!’
As he spoke, the archers crouching in the rocks rose up and began firing at the worshippers. Most stood stunned as those next to them fell. The eeriest aspect to Jim was their silence. A muffled exhalation of breath, or just a faint grunt of pain; no one screamed or cried out. The wind whipped up the dust, and Jim could only catch glimpses of their faces, but none of them showed any fear.
They stood like sheep, waiting quietly until a bow shaft found their mark.
Jim didn’t need to see any more. He crept along under the rock and slipped behind it, circling until he was behind the archer perched above his hiding place. There was ten feet of open ground he needed to cross to reach his next cover and he didn’t hesitate. All eyes were on the worshippers falling around Belasco’s feet, but Jim knew that very soon they would all be dead and that the archers would then start checking for survivors. He was determined to be as far away as possible before that moment.
Jim reached the second shadow and looked around. Seeing no one nearby, he sprinted across another open space and cut between two large rocks marking the entrance to a game trail that would lead him down a short incline to the old caravan route to Durbin. The eerie sound of the desert wind deepened Jim’s apprehension as he half ran, half stumbled down the trail.
His nearly out-of-control flight caused him to bowl over a black-clothed figure waiting at the bottom of the trail. The two men went down in a tangle of arms and legs and Jim almost plunged his knife into the figure before he recognized him. ‘Amed!’
‘Peace, my friend,’ said the Keshian agent as he regained his feet.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘When you failed to return, I thought to follow, in case you needed aid.’
Jim glanced upward and said, ‘What I need now is to get as far from here as quickly as possible. Horses?’
‘Down the road a little,’ said the spy. ‘I thought it reckless of you to come on foot, so I brought along a spare.’
Jim nodded, and followed his companion. He had insisted on approaching the ancient fortress on foot, as all the supplicants were walking and a rider would have stood out. Suddenly, Jim thought he saw a movement above and behind them and with a quick tug on Amed’s shoulder, had him kneeling at his side. Pointing upward, he nodded once.
The nod was returned and Amed signalled his route up. Practiced in ambush, both men knew almost instinctively what the other would do. Jim would head back the way he came while his companion would loop around, to approach the possible stalker from behind. Jim waited to see if anyone was coming down the trail, and after ensuring that Amed was in place, he started back up the path.
Reaching the top of the trail, he found Amed kneeling, inspecting the ground in the moonlight. ‘I can’t be sure,’ said the Keshian spy, ‘but I think whoever followed you turned back when you headed down to the caravan road.’ He said, ‘Do we follow?’
‘No,’ said Jim. ‘I need to report back as soon as possible.’
‘Magic?’
Jim smiled. ‘I wish. Those devices are only loaned out when necessary and lately, some of the older ones have stopped working. Pug is trying to find a way to restore them, but it looks as if a lot of Tsurani art is being lost.’
Amed shrugged. ‘I know little of the Tsurani, few ever venture this far south. And I have no desire to visit LaMut.’
‘It is a less than captivating city,’ said Jim. ‘Let’s be on our way.’
As they made their way to where the horses waited, a man hidden deep in shadows watched their departure. He waited until they were far enough down the old caravan route then turned to trot silently back into the night. Reaching the clearing now strewn with bodies, he found Belasco waiting for him.
The mercenary said, ‘Master, it is as you predicted.’
The magician smiled but there was nothing akin to humour in his expression. ‘Good. Let Jim Dasher return to Krondor with his tale of bloodshed and dark magic.’
‘Master,’ said the killer. ‘I do not understand.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to,’ said Belasco as he sat on top of the rock on which he had been standing. He looked at the carnage around him. ‘Sometimes you have to put on a demonstration to show your opponents what you’re capable of accomplishing.’
‘Again, I do not understand. You instruct?’
‘Ambition?’ said Belasco, regarding the mercenary with a narrow gaze. ‘I’m not sure I like that.’
‘I do as you bid,’ said the man, lowering his head.
‘Where are you from? You speak oddly.’
The mercenary smiled broadly, revealing teeth filed to points. ‘I am of the Shaskahan, master.’
Brightening up at that, Belasco said, ‘Ah! The island cannibals! Lovely.
‘Yes, I will instruct. Sometimes you wish your opponent to think they are ahead. Other times not. This time, I want them to concentrate on bloody murder and dark magic, as if I were just another mad necromancer like my brother.’
‘This is to serve Dahun, master?’
‘Of course,’ answered Belasco annoyed by the question. ‘Just not in the way you think.’ He stood up. ‘Get the horses,’ he shouted. ‘We ride south!’
The mercenaries moved with precision. Of all the hired murderers he had at his disposal, this group was the most unswerving in their obedience and loyalty. The fanatics had their uses, but were too willing to die for their ‘god,’ and at the moment Belasco needed men who were willing to kill and reluctant to die.
‘Eventually,’ said Belasco quietly, ‘Jim Dasher and his masters will decide that the time has come to investigate the Valley of Lost Men. We shall have to prepare another distraction for them when they do.’
With that he leaped down from the rock and hurried to where a mercenary held his horse. Mounting, he looked around to see that all was as he wished it. The fires would burn for hours, and the embers would remain hot for a day or more. The smoke and stench of death would drape this plateau for a week, but eventually the hot desert winds and the scavengers would reduce everything to dust and dry bones, and even the charred wood and dry bones would eventually be carried away.
He signalled and led his men down the steep trail into the Valley of Lost Men.
Sandreena, Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, waited at the docks. Her orders had been simple: meet with a Kingdom noble. She had no idea of who it would be, but she had been told that he would recognize her. She didn’t know if he had met her before or simply been provided with a description; there weren’t many members of the Order who were tall blonde women.
A pair of men covered in road dust approached. Their faces were obscured by the trailing edges of their keffiyehs that formed a covering for their noses and mouths—not unusual for men riding in from the Jal-Pur. Despite the oppressive heat, Sandreena stood motionless in her armour, her shield slung across her back and her sword within easy reach.
The taller of the two men came to stand before her and handed her a bundle of parchment. ‘For Creegan,’ was all he said before he turned and walked toward the end of the dock where a Kingdom trading vessel waited.
She wondered who this mysterious nobleman might be, but as he was probably disguised as a local trader, she knew that the situation did not warrant scrutiny. Father-Bishop Creegan was only forthcoming with the information she needed to ensure the success of her missions. Apparently, in this case all she needed to know was that those papers needed to reach Krondor.
She moved towards the stable yard where her horse waited. If the unknown nobleman needed her to ride to Krondor with his missive, then his ship was bound for another destination. She put aside her musing and stopped at a local stall. She would need a week’s provisions and several skins of water, for Durbin was three day’s ride from the first oasis, and Kingdom town of Land’s End another four days from there.
Not looking forward to the task before her, but resolute in her devotion to her duty, she paid for the dried meat, dried fruit and roasted grain that would be her only sustenance for the coming week. She also needed a week’s worth of grain, as there would be no fodder for her mount along the way.
Considering her assignment, she let her curiosity about the unknown Kingdom noble fade away.
Jim stood on the deck of the Royal Sparrow, a message cutter that had been turned out to look like a small coastal trader, renamed Bettina for the duration. The crew were among the finest sailors and marines Jim could steal from Admiral Tolbert’s fleet, each trained personally by Jim at one time or another. They were forty-five of the hardest, most dedicated and dangerous fighting men afloat on the Bitter Sea, and Jim had been grateful for their skills and loyalty on more than one occasion.
He considered his chance meeting with Sandreena. Dressed as a court noble, he was unrecognizable to her, but covered in dirt, with three day’s growth of beard, he had risked that she might remember him as the Mocker who had sold her into slavery years before. He was grateful for the keffiyeh he wore, and relieved that he hadn’t been forced to avoid being killed as he tried to explain his role in the period of her life that she’d most like to forget. Instead he considered himself lucky to now be surrounded by those loyal to him and the Crown, who would ensure he reached his destination safely.
Like Amed, the crew were among the few men Jim would trust his life to; they would follow him to the lower hells. And given what he had seen over the last month, that was very likely to be their destination.
Overhead, a nasty squall was finally leaving the small ship behind, as it moved eastward towards the distant city of Krondor. The storm had seemed to come over them in waves, and they had endured four days of bad weather in a row. Jim ignored the drenching he had received on deck, and waited to get close enough to the island to disembark.
In the distance, through the gloom, he could make out the dark, looming castle on the bluffs overlooking the one approach-able cove on Sorcerer’s Isle. The sight filled Jim with a vague foreboding, as it had the first time he had seen it. He knew from experience that the feeling was a very subtle magic employed by Pug, the Black Sorcerer, and that it would pass once he entered the premises. He noticed that the magical, evil-looking blue light in the northernmost tower was absent, and had been replaced by a relatively benign looking yellow glow, as if only a stout fire burned within.
Jim waited until Captain Jenson, master of the ship, gave the orders to reef sails and drop anchor before he indicated he was ready to go ashore. He was now dressed in a simple, utilitarian fashion—woollen tunic and trousers, a broad belt with sword and knife, high boots, and a large flop hat—all well-made despite their simplicity. He entered the longboat as it was lowered over the side and waited until the first breakers drove it into the shallows to jump out. He was already soaked to his small clothes, so waiting for the men to pull the boat ashore seemed unnecessary.
He was impatient to talk to Pug and his advisors, especially the Demon Master, Amirantha, and he hoped to unburden himself; he wanted the intelligence he carried to be someone else’s problem. He had Keshian spies to catch, competing criminal gangs to crush, and a court life that had been neglected for far too long.
He waded ashore, ignoring the water sloshing into his boots. The route from the beach was short and divided quickly. To the left the trail meandered up and over a ridge, then down into a vale where the sprawling estate, Villa Beata, had rested. Gutted by fire in an attack a year before, it now lay abandoned, a testament to the wickedness of Belasco and his minions. To the right lay the stony path which led up to the black castle.
He trudged up the path, now regretting his impulsive jump into the surf, as the water had knotted his stockings in his boots. Even with the rain, they had managed to stay dry until he jumped into the water. Not only would he have some serious polishing to do to save the fine leather boots from the predations of seawater, he would have a heroic set of blisters to show for his impatience, as well.
Sighing in resignation, he wondered if one of the inhabitants of the black castle might have a balm for his feet when he reached the gate. He crossed over a rickety looking drawbridge, which despite its dilapidated appearance, was well-maintained and sturdy.
The castle itself was a study in theatricality. Originally constructed by Macros, the first Black Sorcerer, it had been built using magic out of a blackish stone, shot through with steel grey. The looming gatehouse had the look of an open maw, as if any who entered would be devoured. The empty courtyard was weed choked and dusty, and the twin doors to the castle stood ajar.
Jim knew as well as those who lived here that the decision to relocate from the villa to this miserable haven was part of a ruse, to let Belasco think that the Black Sorcerer and the Conclave of Shadows had been humbled and driven into the old fortress where they huddled in fear, waiting for the next assault.
The truth was much more complex than that.
As he entered the forlorn looking castle, Jim reflected on his changing relationship with these people over the last year. The relationship between the Conclave of Shadows and the Jamison family had been difficult for twenty years. Jim’s great-grandfather, the legendary Jimmy the Hand, later Lord James of Krondor, had married Pug’s foster daughter Gamina. In a sense, they were distant family, but along the way a division had slowly developed.
Jim crossed the empty great room, crossing before the massive fireplace. In ages past, this type of castle would have housed as many as a hundred members of a noble family, their retainers and families, and on especially cold nights they would have gathered in this one room. He paused for a moment and considered the attention to detail undertaken by Macros the Black in constructing this place. Anyone exploring this near ruin would assume it had been built ages before its actual erection.
He mounted the stairs leading to the one tower he knew to be occupied and wondered how his great-grandfather would have viewed the current situation. By all reports of his nature, Jim concluded that he would have been both annoyed and amused by it.
Pug had shamed the Prince of Krondor at that time, later King Patrick, disavowing his loyalty to the Kingdom of the Isles and virtually daring the Kingdom to assert its claim on the island duchy of Stardock, in the Vale of Dreams.
Jim knew there had also been some dispute with those running Stardock on Pug’s behalf at that time, as well. Whatever the true cause, Pug had then withdrawn to this island with his family and retainers. He had also begun the Conclave of Shadows, the secret organization that had become a major part of Jim’s life, despite his original wish to have nothing to do with it.
Reaching the top landing, Jim paused and thought about his report. He carried the most dire intelligence, but he was about to make an important choice.
The relationship between the Jamison family and the Conclave became strained when Jim’s grandfather had been summoned to the King’s court and elevated to the rank of Duke of Rillanon.
At times during his grandfather’s administration of the capital city—and by extension of the Kingdom itself—conflicts of interest had arisen between the Conclave and the Kingdom. James of Rillanon, like his grandfather before him, had been steadfast in his loyalty to the Kingdom of the Isles.
Jim reflected that it might have been simpler for his great-grandfather; in those days the aims of the Stardock magicians and the Kingdom were more or less in harmony. He wondered if Jimmy the Hand would have looked at this situation the same way Jim did.
Jim’s father, William Jamison, and his uncle Dasher had both died in the border wars with Kesh when Jim was a boy, and his great uncle Dashel had no surviving sons. By the time he was twenty years of age, Jim Dasher Jamison was the sole surviving heir to the family, and both his grandfather and great uncle had marked him.
Jim pushed aside the memory of the ruse his forbearers used to persuade him to take control of all the criminal activity along the Bitter Sea coast, as well as taking charge of the Kingdom’s intelligence services. He had found he had a knack for both and had made the criminal activities serve the Kingdom’s interest, but that hadn’t made wearing two caps at the same time any easier.
And now he was on the verge of more responsibility, as a fully committed agent of the Conclave. Pushing open the door to the tower’s common room, he wondered if he was making the right choice.
He pushed open the door and was confronted by two young women knitting, while a third placed wood on a fireplace set in the opposite wall. Three men huddled close to the fire speaking quietly. One young magician recognized him and said, ‘Jim Dasher, welcome!’
Jim nodded a return greeting and said, ‘Jason.’ He glanced around. ‘Where is everyone else?’
‘Scattered,’ said Jason, pushing his long blond hair back from his forehead. ‘Pug’s sent many of the younger students home or to Stardock, the rest have been moved to safe locations. A few of us have stayed to keep a lookout for any more trouble and convey messages. What do you require?’
‘I need to speak to Pug,’ said Jim, not bothering to mask his impatience. He held up a sphere of dull golden metal. ‘This doesn’t work. I had to take a fast ship from Durbin to get here.’
The magician took the sphere and said, ‘The Tsurani transport spheres…We’ve not had any new ones in years.’ He looked at it and his tone was regretful. ‘I fear most of the artificers who made them perished on Kelewan. The few who survived…’ He shrugged. ‘Most of those we have are decades old, my friend,’ Jason said softly.
Jim knew that the few Tsurani magicians who survived now struggled with the rest of their people on their new home world, or were perhaps living quietly in LaMut. And, without saying as much, Jason had implied that if the Conclave had access to newer devices, Jim would have had them.
Feeling a fool, Jim said, ‘Yes. You’re right. Now, may I speak with Pug?’
‘Pug’s not here,’ said Jason.
‘Where is he?’
Glancing over at his companions the young magician’s tone was apologetic. ‘We don’t know. We haven’t seen him for nearly a month now.’
Jim said, ‘Then I need to speak with Magnus.’
‘He’s gone as well,’ said Jason. ‘Come, sit by the fire and rest. We have means of sending word, but it may take some time.’
‘By some time, do you mean hours or days?’ asked Jim, pulling off his leather gauntlets and moving to a stool near the fire.
Jason only shrugged, and Jim felt his frustration return in full. He knew his crew would wait until he sent word or returned, so he felt little need to move away from the warming fire. Thinking of nothing better to do, he sat back against the cold stones, removed his boots, and wondered just where the two magicians might be.

• CHAPTER TWO • Foreboding (#ulink_27159234-89a9-5851-b49d-102bb52f61a0)
LIGHTNING FLASHED ACROSS THE SKY.
Amirantha silently counted before the distant boom of thunder came. Looking at his old companion, Brandos, the Warlock of the Satumbria said, ‘The storm is moving away from us.’
The fighter nodded, remaining silent as he concentrated on cleaning his armour. He sat on a low stool near the massive fire burning in the ancient keep’s fireplace in the tiny room near the top of the only occupied tower.
Amirantha had been amused the first time he had visited the legendary castle of the Black Sorcerer. Now he simply found it old and drafty, stifling in its familiarity and a place locked in the grip of sorrow. After a year of living with these people, the Demon Master now understood their pain and anger. Whatever had passed for normalcy before the vicious attack on Villa Beata, the death of Miranda, her son Caleb and his wife Marie, along with the murder of a score of students, that normalcy had never returned.
One of the few brighter moments over that year had been Brandos’ return a month previous. He had travelled back from their home near the city of Maharta in Novindus, with his wife Samantha. But even that unrelentingly cheerful woman had only been able to lift the constant pall of gloom of this place momentarily.
Pug and his surviving son, Magnus, would come and go from the castle, and at times they shared interesting discussions. Amirantha was forced to concede he had broadened his understanding of demons and the demon realm more in the last year than he had in fifty years of solitary study. Often they possessed similar information, but the magicians had misinterpreted its significance, and he had frequently helped Pug identify misapprehensions in his knowledge.
But those times were growing more infrequent as Pug and Magnus were away for longer stretches dealing with matters pressing upon the Conclave. Amirantha and Brandos had not been formally invited to join their organization, but there was a tacit understanding that they were nevertheless a part of it, willing or not. Amirantha had no doubt that the magicians had the means to ensure he didn’t leave the island with the vital knowledge he possessed, so he considered his choice in the matter a moot point.
He stood and stretched, then made a small motion with his head to indicate that Brandos should look out of the small window. The old fighter put aside the leather jerkin he had been cleaning and walked over to his friend. He now looked ten years the magic user’s senior despite being the younger of the two. ‘What?’ he asked softly.
‘The rain is going to play out soon,’ answered the Warlock as he looked out at the late afternoon murk.
‘You look bored.’
‘Constantly,’ said the Warlock. ‘When I first came here, I did so with great anticipation, I thought that for the first time in my life I might have colleagues with whom I could share my knowledge as well as learn from; that I might find kindred souls, and I did at first, but lately…Now, who do I have instead?’
‘Children.’
Amirantha smiled. The magicians who remained here with Pug and his son, Magnus, were hardly children, yet with one word Brandos reminded Amirantha of his tendency to be dismissive of almost everyone he met, because of his long life and the perspective it offered. Yet, Pug was even older than him, as were others who came and went from this island. Miranda, Pug’s late wife, had been one of those, and her sudden death had served as a grim reminder to Amirantha that his long life and vast experience was not a defence against mortality.
‘Hardly,’ said Amirantha. ‘But most of them are still in the formative stages of their education, training, and power. None of them have been practicing their arts for more than twenty years.’
Brandos returned to his stool and took up the leather he had been cleaning. Applying a generous dollop of soap to his weapons belt, he said, ‘It makes you wonder where all the grown-ups went, doesn’t it?’
Amirantha continued to stare out of the window. ‘Indeed.’ He craned his neck slightly. ‘I’m ready to go outside.’
Brandos sighed, looking at his unfinished cleaning. ‘Well, a short walk. I could use a leg stretcher.’ Looking at his friend, he added, ‘Samantha says that lately I’ve been as irritated as a bear woken from an early hibernation, so maybe it’ll do us both good.’
‘We’ve had four days of rain.’
‘It’s an island in the middle of an ocean, Amirantha. It’s late autumn. There’s going to be a lot of rain.’
Muttering as he opened the door, Amirantha said, ‘It’s not an ocean. It’s a sea.’
Brandos shook his head but said nothing.
While Amirantha descended the stairs that led to the common room, he let out a long silent sigh. He knew his foster son understood that his argumentative impulse was only borne of frustration. After the destruction of the villa there had been a flurry of activity. The dead had been cremated, the wounded tended to, and then the long conferences between Pug and his most trusted advisors had drawn to a close. Those discussions had animated the Warlock in a way he rarely experienced; they had made him happy.
Continuing down the stairs, Amirantha realized that some of his current irritation was brought forth by the contrast between that initial period of reorganization on the island, and what he was now forced to endure here. It had changed one night, two months ago; Pug and Magnus had simply vanished, along with more than thirty of their most powerful colleagues. What had been a somewhat crowded keep was all of a sudden occupied by fewer than a dozen souls.
The month Brandos had travelled south to fetch Samantha had been the loneliest time in Amirantha’s life, and he was vexed to discover how lonely he could feel. He had strong feelings on matters concerning his own conduct and appearance, and the extent to which he had missed his foster son did not sit well with them. He had cursed himself for such a feeling more than once. It was not wise to grow close to anyone, especially as he was destined to outlive most people, assuming he survived the approaching struggle.
Reaching the floor of the tower, they entered the common room and were met with an unexpected presence.
‘Jim Dasher!’ said Amirantha in greeting.
Jim turned and rose from his seat before the warming fire and said, ‘You’re still here, Amirantha.’ He extended his hand and they shook.
He exchanged greetings with Brandos, as Amirantha said, ‘My lingering was at Pug’s request. He can be most persuasive.’
‘Ah,’ said Jim, nodding. ‘He wouldn’t let you leave.’
Brandos snorted, and Amirantha said, ‘He was insistent, but truth to tell, I have found many things here interesting.’
Glancing around the stark hall, Jim said, ‘Really?’
Amirantha smiled, ‘Well, not so much lately, but the first nine months were fascinating.’
He motioned for Jim to move with him towards the large doors. ‘My quarters are adequate, but hardly commodious, so I thought to step outside for a breath of air now that the rain has nearly stopped.’
Jim nodded, pulled his boots on, and fell into step behind him. ‘I just came in from the…’ Jim began, and then stopped himself. ‘Actually, I’m supposed to report directly to Pug on this matter.’ He looked hard at Amirantha, then said, ‘Still, much of what I’ve seen concerns you, too.’
‘Really?’ said the Warlock. He said no more, content to let the mysterious noble-turned-spy speak when he was ready.
As they reached the entrance to the yard, they paused, feeling the occasional rain-drop blown in by the freshening wind, then continued on, leaving the relative warmth of the keep entrance for the soggy ground of the marshalling yard. The rain had almost stopped and the wind was freshening a little; it already felt dryer.
‘So, you were about to say?’
Jim appeared annoyed. ‘I can never tell who knows what around here.’
Amirantha laughed. ‘I can tell you this much, my friend: all of us here have some power and ability, despite appearances to the contrary. Pug ensured all the vulnerable students were safely away within a day of—’
‘The attack,’ Jim finished.
‘I was going to say the death of his wife and son.’ Amirantha sighed. ‘Never having had children, I can only imagine what he’s going through. I had little experience of him to judge what he was like before that, scant hours really, but…’ He shrugged.
‘You sense he’s changed,’ said Jim. He looked to the west where somewhere behind the clouds the sun was lowering toward the horizon. ‘He knew I was engaged on important business, and yet he has left no apparent means of contacting him; that is most unlike Pug. It’s as if he’s…’ Jim shrugged.
‘Distracted?’ offered Amirantha.
‘More,’ said Jim. ‘He’s distant in a way that troubles me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Jim smiled slightly. ‘I don’t expect you to. I hardly know the man well, despite our tenuous kinship.’
‘Kinship?’
Jim said, ‘My great-grandmother was his foster daughter.’
Amirantha raised his eyebrows in slight surprise. ‘Tenuous by blood perhaps, but otherwise?’
‘We are not close. It is a long story, a family matter, and really not pertinent to the discussion at hand.’
Amirantha shrugged. ‘Perhaps, but we have ample time to fill. Enlighten me.’
Jim stared off into the darkening afternoon gloom and said, ‘While Pug and I may not be close, I do know a great deal about him; his role in Kingdom politics has been significant, since long before I was born.’
‘Obviously,’ agreed Amirantha. ‘Given the rank and status of those who have visited here since I was first made aware of the Conclave’s existence.’
‘So in my other duties to the Crown, I’ve been required to study a great deal of history, much of it penned by my own forbearers. I know Pug to be a man of strong convictions and one who pays attention to detail. He is not the sort to let impor-tant things slip by. Yet lately…’ Jim took a deep breath.
‘I assume you mean this,’ Amirantha said, indicating the cold, nearly empty castle around them with a wave of his hand.
‘I would have expected the man I knew, the one I studied, to have begun reconstruction on the villa at once, defiantly, to let his enemies know that they would not prevail.’
Amirantha nodded, pursing his lips in thought. He remained quiet for a moment, then asked, ‘How much time do you think his enemies spend studying him?’
Jim inclined his head slightly as if conceding the point.
‘Would it not seem, given what has happened here, that Pug knows he’s under a great deal of scrutiny? By such accounts, his enemies have been coming at him for years, in one form or another.’
‘Only if you assume that there is a single intelligence behind the series of assaults on this world going, yes. But that can only be an assumption.’
‘A better one,’ observed the Warlock, ‘than thinking that this land has been beset by a string of coincidental afflictions.
‘I may not be a master of magic on Pug’s scale, but I know enough about the other realms to suspect this is not a series of random occurrences.’ He paused, and Brandos recognized his expression. Amirantha was frustrated. ‘Over the last year I’ve heard frequent reference to things such as the Pantathian Serpent Priests, the Riftwar, the Great Uprising, and all the rest of it; enough of them to believe there is one agent behind all of this, one intelligence that has targeted this world, perhaps this very nation, even perhaps this island, for reasons known only to them; but irrespective of those reasons, the consequences for this entire world are bound to be dire.’
‘I agree,’ said Jim, ‘but explain your reasons.’
‘The Pantathians exist in the distant mountains to the west of my home, yet stories of them travel; they are a strange race, and their obliteration has been assumed numerous times, yet they linger.
‘They serve an ancient hate, a female idol they call “the mother of us all”. They kill without remorse any who refuse to serve her.
‘The Emerald Queen, whose army savaged my homeland before travelling half-way around the world to come to the Kingdom, was a demon in disguise.’ Suddenly Amirantha became animated. ‘Do you have any notion of how remarkable that is?’
Jim shook his head.
‘I will bore you with a long lecture some other time—’
‘And he will,’ interjected Brandos.
‘—But demon possession on that level, of a powerful magic user…It’s unknown to those of my calling.’
Jim said, ‘I still don’t see the connection.’
Amirantha seemed to fight for words. ‘I can’t explain. It’s as if I’m on the edge of understanding something important, but I’m not quite there yet. But it’s more than a feeling, Jim.’ He looked at Brandos and said, ‘Am I usually prone to leap to conclusions, Brandos?’
Brandos shrugged, then realized it wasn’t the time for more japes; it had been a serious question. ‘No, you’re occasionally too convinced of your own brilliance, but you are hardly rash.’ He paused, and then added to Jim. ‘He’s miscalculated and almost killed us several times, but at those times he was wrong, not impetuous. If he says he’s on the edge of understanding something huge, I’d believe him.’
‘Well, then,’ said Jim Dasher. ‘Is there any way I can help?’
‘Only if you can supply me with more information than I’ve been privy too lately.’
Jim was silent for a long moment as he stared out into the fading light.
Brandos cleared his throat and said, ‘I’m going to go inside; I will ask Samantha to rustle up something for you to eat. I imagine you’re hungry.’
Jim smiled. ‘Thank you, Brandos. That would be wonderful.’ After the old fighter had left, Jim said, ‘He should be a diplomat.’
Amirantha laughed. ‘Hardly, but he can be discreet at times.’
Jim paused, then said, ‘Very well. I expect that Pug will ask you to listen to my report anyway, as you are the demon expert.’
Amirantha nodded. ‘That elf, Gulamendis, is the only being I’ve met who knows as much, possibly more.’
Jim looked uncomfortable. ‘Those Star Elves make my skin itch. But they’re a matter for another time.’ Jim told the Warlock what he had witnessed in the distant Jal-Pur desert and when he was finished, he asked, ‘What do you think?’
Amirantha said, ‘I think we need to find a way to fetch Pug back here as soon as possible.’
‘Why?’
Heading back towards the keep, Amirantha said, ‘Come with me.’
He didn’t wait to see if Jim followed, but hurried inside. He glanced around the common room and asked the four younger magicians there, ‘Where is Jason?’
One of them pointed towards a door that led to a small room Pug occasionally used as a private office. Amirantha went to the door, knocked once and then opened it. Jason sat behind the tiny desk in the former storage room, squinting at a paper under the dim glow of a single candle. The tiny window above hardly admitted any light on the brightest of days.
‘Yes?’ he asked, apparently untroubled by the sudden entrance.
‘Pug,’ said Amirantha. ‘You need to summon him at once.’
Jason sat back. ‘And how am I supposed to do that, given that I have no idea where he is?’
Amirantha gave Jim a sidelong glance, then said, ‘I count Pug many things, but a fool is not one of them. Even if you don’t know where he is, I’m certain that he’s left you with the means to contact or summon him, should the need arise; and such a need has arisen.’
‘Really?’ asked the younger magician. He looked at Jim for corroboration.
‘I think so, as well,’ said Jim.
‘Very well,’ said Jason, rising from behind the small desk. ‘Come with me.’ He picked up the candleholder.
He led them out of the room and across the floor of the keep’s great hall. Brandos stood near his wife beside the large hearth where a pot of stew was simmering. The old fighter shot a questioning look at Amirantha, but with a nod of his head the Warlock indicated that he should stay where he was.
Jason led them up a flight of stairs to the upper floor of the main building and down a long hall that traversed the building to the tower opposite Amirantha’s residence. The single candle Jason held provided the only light on that floor. To the best of the Warlock’s knowledge, the tower stood empty, save for the enchantment on the top floor that caused the ominous blue light to glow whenever a ship came within sight of the castle.
They climbed a circular staircase to the second to last floor and Jason opened a door. Inside the room was bare, save for a construct of wood: two curving poles sat on top of a base that looked metallic. Amirantha glanced at Jason and said, ‘Tsurani?’
The young magician said, ‘In design, yes. Pug built it.’
‘What is it?’ asked Jim.
‘A rift gate,’ said Amirantha. ‘What our friends the Star Elves call a portal.’
Jason went to a small shelf near a shuttered window and pulled down a small cloth bag. He handed the candle to Jim, then knelt and carefully opened the bag. Reaching inside he pulled out an odd looking device: a square box covered with odd designs, strange levers and wheels.
‘This was created by an artificer of Tsurani descent, in LaMut. It’s a little ungainly compared to the old Tsurani devices.’ He shrugged as if what he was saying was simple trivia.
He then placed the device on the metallic base between the two poles, tripped one of the levers and stood back. ‘I have no knowledge or ability when it comes to rift magic,’ said the young magician. ‘It is difficult and outside of my interests. Only Magnus and a few others know much about it, although no one knows as much as Pug. He had this constructed should the need arise to summon him.’
Suddenly a whooshing sound filled the room, then a crackle of energy, followed by a shimmering between the poles. A grey void appeared, scintillating colours ran faintly over its surface, like oil refracting light on water.
‘Pug will receive the alert in a moment. He should appear as soon as he is able.’
‘Do you know where he went?’ asked Jim.
Jason said, ‘We only know what little he tells us.’
Long moments dragged by, then, suddenly a figure stepped through the rift. A short man with a closely trimmed beard, Pug still wore the ancient fashion of the Tsurani Great Ones: a simple black robe and cross-gartered sandals. ‘What is it?’ he asked as soon as he was through.
Jason inclined his head towards Jim and Amirantha, and it was the Warlock who spoke. ‘We’re being played for fools, Pug.’
Pug’s brow furrowed as he asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ll explain,’ said Amirantha, ‘when Jim has told you what he saw a few days ago in the Jal-Pur, but it would help if we had another with us.’
‘Who?’
‘We need an expert on death.’
Pug looked slightly bemused. ‘I know just the fellow.’ He turned and held up his hand. The Warlock could feel shifting magic in the room, though Jim only felt his ‘bump of trouble’ start to act up. After a moment, Pug said, ‘You two, follow me.’ To Jason he said, ‘Put the toy away when we’re through.’ He stepped into the rift.
Jim turned and said, ‘Please send word to Captain Jenson to weigh anchor and make for Krondor. I’ll find him there.’ He turned and followed Pug.
Just before he entered, Amirantha turned to Jason and said, ‘You might also tell Samantha that Jim and I will be missing supper tonight.’ He then followed the other two men into the rift.

• CHAPTER THREE • Sergeant-Adamant (#ulink_e7e139ac-7464-5d93-9f6b-150049e74585)
CREEGAN GESTURED WITH HIS HAND.
Sandreena entered his quarters still covered in dust from the road and feeling hunger pangs. Once she had given care of her horse over to the stable boy, she had paused only long enough to drink deeply from the well behind the temple, but she hadn’t eaten anything but a handful of dried fruit and some nuts since leaving Land’s End. Her order was mendicant and there was no dedicated shrine or temple in Land’s End, so she had survived on what she had purchased in Durbin with the last of her coin.
The moment she handed her documents to the Father-Bishop she knew something was wrong, something that had nothing to do with the message she had delivered to him. He waved her to sit in a chair opposite his desk and said, ‘The Grand Master has passed.’
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and made a short prayer to the Goddess to care for the old man on his way to Lims-Kragma’s domain. He had been a good man, almost saintly, and Sandreena had no doubt that he would be rewarded with a higher place on the Wheel of Life.
The Father-Bishop remained silent while she prayed; when she opened her eyes, she discovered him staring intently at her. ‘Father-Bishop?’
Creegan smiled; it was not a friendly or warm expression, but rather the smile of a man finding humour in a very dark place. ‘The end of life is not necessarily a cause for sorrow, daughter,’ he said using the address usually reserved for minor members of the order, clearly communicating the difference in their ranks. She was uncertain why he felt the need to emphasise it, but knew he did nothing without a reason. ‘The Grand Master served the Goddess well, for many years and has earned his final rest.
‘But the timing is…inconvenient.’ He stood and said, ‘I must leave at once for Rillanon, for the convocation is to be held only a week after the funeral, and the selection of the new High Priest is more critical than is usual.’
She knew he was referring to the matter of the demon host: the ‘Legion’ as it was called, was out there somewhere, threatening to bring its ravages upon this world. Few people within the temple, and even fewer outside, knew that the threat existed. Sandreena was aware of it only because of the confidence in which Father-Bishop Creegan held her. And fewer still knew of the relationship between the Father-Bishop and the Conclave of Shadows led by the magician Pug.
She merely nodded her head and said, ‘I understand.’
‘I know you do, Sandreena.’ He rose from the desk, and sat on the corner, looking down at her. ‘I have never told you, but there is a beauty to you that few notice.’
She was a little startled by the statement. There had always been an underlying tension between them, she found him a very attractive and powerful man, but his reputation as something of a womanizer, and their respective ranks, had always kept any inappropriate behaviour in check.
He held up his hand before she could speak. ‘I don’t mean your physical beauty—as impressive as it is when you choose to let others glimpse it—but rather a beauty of strength and purpose, what you’ve overcome and managed to achieve despite a desperately difficult beginning. It is most admirable.’ He stood up and moved to the window. Looking out, he said, ‘We may get more rain.’ The rain along the coast had made her trip even more difficult, so she hoped he was wrong.
‘I am leaving you in charge of the Order while I’m away.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Me?’
‘I’ll send Father-Bishop Bellamy back, to assume my duties, but in the interim, you will take my place here.’
‘Take your place?’
Creegan shrugged as if it were of no importance, but said, ‘I will be the new Grand Master.’ The way he said it, she realized it was a fait accompli. He glanced over and smiled. ‘It was decided long ago. So, I will dispatch Bellamy as soon as the convocation is over, and you will then return to your duties, to do whatever he asks, for he will be speaking for me. Until then, you must take charge here.’
‘Why me?’ she asked softly.
‘You are the only one I trust, Sandreena.’ He came back and sat behind the desk. ‘Only a few know of what is really goingon out there. I’ll leave you a list of names; do not trust anyone who is not on it. You’ve also earned the honour. Almost getting yourself killed isn’t ideal, but you kept your wits about you when you realized the enormity of the political reality that has swept you up without warning.
‘Few members of the Order would have coped so well with demons and secret alliances.’
‘The High Priestess?’ she asked.
Creegan smiled. ‘She’ll object, of course, but as she has no standing within the Order, I’ll smile, nod, and suggest that she should pack if she’s to leave with me on the ride to Salador.’
Sandreena nodded. The High Priestess Seldon had ambitions of her own and would be actively seeking a nomination to the office of High Priestess of the Grand Temple once the convocation began.
Creegan said, ‘I suspect she’ll dismiss you quickly and begin the endless flattery I will be subjected to on the journey.’
Sandreena couldn’t help but smile. The High Priestess might be pleased to see Creegan leaving Krondor—their relationship had always held a contentious element—but his elevation to the highest calling in the Order, would make him an even more important voice in the temple, and he would have a great deal of influence over the succession when the current High Priestess stepped down.
‘You’ll only need to make one quick courtesy call, which I suggest you do now, before I let her know of your promotion.’
‘Promotion?’
‘Of course. I can’t leave a Knight-Adamant in charge of the Order in the Western Realm. Effective immediately, you are now a Sergeant-Adamant of the Order, but will bear the office rank of Adiuvare. It’s an old title we rarely use, but it’s still recognized. So your official title will be Adiuvare-Sergeant-Adamant. Once Bellamy arrives, you will become just another Sergeant.’
She tried not to smile. ‘Just another Sergeant,’ he said. As a rule, Knight-Adamants had to serve for twenty years to obtain the rank of Sergeant and few lived long enough. She was certain she not only was the youngest Sergeant in the Order, but perhaps in the history of the Order.
‘I will do my best not to disappoint you, Father-Bishop.’
‘If I thought there was even a remote possibility of that, I would have given the job to someone else,’ said Creegan. ‘Now, go make your call on the High Priestess, get something to eat, and rest. I think you’ll discover the post is not as easy as you think.’ He motioned to the pile of papers and said, ‘More men have been defeated by reports than all the steel throughout history.’ Then he made a dismissive gesture and she rose, bowed slightly, and left his quarters.
Under normal circumstances, she would have been elated by the promotion, for it would have been a signal that the Goddess had found her service worthy. In this particular circumstance it felt not like a gift, or reward, but a heavy burden. Then she chided herself: if an even bigger burden had been placed on her, it simply meant that the Goddess deemed her able to meet the demands of office.
Still, she thought as her stomach growled, she wished she could get something to eat before visiting the High Priestess.
Sandreena made her call on the High Priestess, who was, as Creegan predicted, distracted by her preparations to leave the next day for the arduous ride to the port of Salador where she and Creegan would take ship to Rillanon to attend the convocation to elect the new Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak. The High Priestess had no official duties regarding the Order, but as every prelate of rank would be in attendance while they conducted their ceremonies and elected Creegan, everyone else would be playing temple politics. Sandreena was glad that she was to remain behind, even if she had been handed responsibility for the Order in Krondor, which involved supervising the Order in the entire Western Realm of the Kingdom of the Isles.
After she had finally eaten, Sandreena returned to the common barracks of the order and gave her dirty tabard and clothing to a servant to be cleaned. She preferred to care for her own arms and armour. She went to the communal baths and, pleased to find it empty, gave herself over to a completely thorough cleaning.
While she scrubbed her filthy hair, she considered her feelings about Creegan’s departure; his promotion was as good as ordained since she had first met him, yet there was always this feeling. She sighed.
Encountering Amirantha after that near fatal attack on Sorcerer’s Isle, had reignited feelings she would rather ignore. Creegan had the same effect on her. But, although her intimacy with Amirantha was something she wished had never happened, she suspected it was something she would regret with Creegan.
Her order was not celibate, though like most people given over to an important calling, personal issues were always of lesser importance; but, as a woman in her prime, she felt certain needs assert themselves from time to time.
She had never considered family a blessing, given how she grew up, yet now she often wondered about being a mother. She knew nothing about raising a child; her mother had been lost to drugs, drink and men, and no permanent father had been at hand. Being ill-used by men since she had begun to blossom had given her a very unforgiving perspective on them.
There were only two men she had come to care for, Brother Mathias who had rescued her from her Keshian slave master, and Father-Bishop Creegan, who had been her mentor, but now she was beginning to think he was more important to her than that.
There were two men she wished dead: A black hearted rogue called Jimmy Hand by some, Quick Jim by others, who had controlled the brothel where she had served as a high priced whore when she was little more than a girl, and who had sold her to the Keshian; And Amirantha. He had charmed her, lied to her, and used her, and had lived up to her general judgment on the worth of men.
A tiny pang told her she didn’t truly wish Amirantha dead, but rather she wished that he had told her the truth. Even when she had lashed out and knocked him to the floor she had felt instant regret. She wished she could have told him that he had hurt her, but that would make her look weak.
Picking up a bucket she poured water over herself, cleaning away the dirt and soap, then bent over and ran a comb through her hair. The water was hot, but the air was cold after the passing storms and she felt gooseflesh on her skin.
She decided to forego the meditative steam room and retired to the barracks. She donned a simple white shift and turned in early. She was a sound sleeper and should others of her order enter, she was sure they would not wake her. All she wanted for this night was a sound sleep with no dreams.
Morning brought the departure of the group travelling to Salador, led by the High Priestess and the Father-Bishop. As Creegan had predicted, Seldon was being as deferential as humanly possible to the prospective Grand Master of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, to the point of being cloying.
When she had awakened, Sandreena had discovered a new uniform laid out for her across the chest at the foot of her bed, and on top of it a new tabard, this one emblazoned with a chevron and crown above her heart, signifying her new rank of sergeant. She couldn’t resist smiling as she beheld it. She was not a prideful woman by nature, but she did like how this badge of honour made her feel.
She had dressed and postponed a morning meal to be in the marshalling yard for the Father-Bishop’s departure.
Creegan smiled when he saw her, and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘The fate of the Order in the west is in your hands now, Sandreena.’ He leaned in so no one else could over hear his words and he said, ‘There’s something on my desk that you need to read; it’s the report you brought to me. Act on it at once. I’m not telling you what I would do; this must be your decision.’
Impulsively, he kissed her goodbye; but rather than a mere brush of lips, he lingered slightly, pulling back just before it became something both of them needed to worry about. ‘May the Goddess go with you,’ he whispered.
Words failed her, she could only nod in response. As he mounted his horse, she only just managed to return the benediction. ‘May the Goddess go with you, Father-Bishop.’
The High Priestess was fussing over her mount, a mild palfrey but still spirited enough to make the older woman show concern as she sat uncomfortably on the small horse. It was obvious that Seldon would have preferred a litter, but the need to be in Rillanon by the date of the convocation prevented the more sedate mode of transport. She would be very sore and unhappy by the time they reached Salador.
The party moved out and as soon as they cleared the gate, Sandreena hurried to Creegan’s office. On top of his desk lay two letters and the bundle she had carried from Durbin.
She looked at the first paper, which had her name on it. She opened it and read:Sandreena, if the Goddess wills it, we will meet again. Know the trusts rests with you and I have faith you will discharge the duties I’ve given you as well as if I understood them myself. I’ve left you a list of those who you may rely upon—she knew he meant those who could be trusted in dealing with the Conclave—and a report you must attend to at once. May the Goddess go with you. It was signed onlyCreegan.
She examined the list and saw only five names on it. Four were priests and one was the orderly assigned to this office, the only members of the Order of the Shield who apparently knew about the Conclave of Shadows.
She looked up to see the man named on the list, a Pryor of the Order, Brother Willoby. He was a round-faced, stocky man with a constantly worried expression. He said, ‘Sister? May I be of service?’
She sat down in Creegan’s chair and said, ‘I will let you know, brother.’
‘I will be outside if you need me,’ he answered. Unlike the Knights, the clerical branch of the Order worked within the temples, as lay priests, but they were not administrators by choice. They were men and women who had wished to serve the Goddess, but found they lacked the strength of arm to serve in the field. Like most of the Knights, Sandreena hardly gave the pryors a moment’s thought, but she suspected that she would come to appreciate them much more as she looked at the rest of the documents beside the desk that required her attention.
She took the list of names and folded it up. She had already memorized the names and would burn it later.
Then she opened the report given her by the nameless Kingdom noble and read it. She put it down, picked it up again and read it for a second time.
Standing up she shouted, ‘Willoby!’
Within a moment, the cleric appeared, ‘Yes, sister?’
‘Three things: First, do I have a second-in-command?’
The question seemed to startle him for a moment, as she was known to be the Father-Bishop’s second. ‘Why, no,’ he said, ‘I mean, you are the second-in-command, but with the Father-Bishop gone…I mean, no, there’s no designated person now.’
‘Very well,’ she replied. ‘You are my second, as of now.’
He blinked, then said, ‘I suppose that’s all right.’
‘Well, since I am currently the highest ranking member of the Order west of Malac’s Cross, you can be sure it’s all right.’
He seemed to take her forcefulness in stride as she stood up and put the report under her tunic. ‘Next, have my horse made ready with a week’s provisions.’
‘Your horse?’ asked the clerk.
‘Yes,’ said Sandreena. ‘I need to depart on a mission today.’
‘But who…?’ he began, then saw her looking at him.
‘You’re in charge until I get back,’ she said.
‘Me?’ He was almost speechless, but nodded and said, ‘I’ll have your horse made ready, Sister.’
She waited until he was gone then allowed herself a low growl of frustration. ‘You bastard,’ she said softly with Creegan in mind. She had mistaken his kiss as a signal of the passion they had withheld over the years, but reading the report had rid her of that notion. It was merely a kiss of apology.Of course he wouldn’t tell me what he would do about this, she thought. Sandreena had no choice other than to do exactly what he would have done anyway: send herself on a mission that would most likely get her killed.
Swearing at the curse men had proved to be in her life, she moved out of his office and headed to the armoury to see if her newfound rank would provide her with better armour and weapons.

• CHAPTER FOUR • Death Magic (#ulink_99d54600-7052-5610-8f05-b27d13caa8dc)
PUG HELD UP HIS HAND.
The two black armoured guardsmen at the door to the ancient temple were startled to see the three men appear out of a grey void that had not been there moments before.
Pug said, ‘We’re here to see the High Priest.’
Amirantha looked up at the sky and saw a clear, starry night. ‘We’re somewhere in the east, aren’t we?’
Jim said, ‘Rillanon. This is the temple of Lims-Kragma.’
Amirantha said, ‘That makes sense.’
On the world of Midkemia, no one had more knowledge of dying and the dead than the High Priest of the Goddess of Death. The two guards still looked unsettled by the sudden arrival of the three men, but their duty was to defend the portal only when there was an obvious attack underway. Their time was usually spent making sure that those arriving to offer prayers for their dearly departed remained orderly. Finally, one of them indicated that Pug and his companions were free to enter with a wave of his hand.
They passed through a large antechamber, replete with frescos of the Death Goddess. The exquisite brush strokes portrayed the final judge of every mortal being as a warm, benevolent figure, welcoming them into the vast hall of the main cathedral. Benches for contemplation and prayer by the faithful had been erected along both sides, while against the back wall two large shelves held hundreds of votive candles, most of which were alight; each flame had been placed to light the way of a loved one into Lims-Kragma’s halls.
Pug took a moment to regard the heroic statue, some twelve feet tall, of the goddess, that dominated the cathedral. She held out one hand in a welcoming gesture, and in the other held a silver net. The symbolism was obvious: no one escaped the drawer of nets, but she welcomed all equally. Personally, Pug found the sentiment slightly ironic, since he had proved very adept at avoiding her embrace so far, although his bargain with the goddess was taking its toll on his mind and heart.
Three priests prayed before the statue, while on one side several petitioners seeking the goddess’s mercy for a recently departed loved-one lit candles and offered prayers. As the three men approached, one of the priests turned and rose to greet them.
‘Pug,’ he said, in a neutral tone. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I need to speak with High Priest Marluke,’ said Pug. ‘The matter is most urgent.’
‘It always is, isn’t it?’ said the Priest, dryly. ‘Yet I am certain the Holy Father will consider it urgent as well. Please, follow me.’
He led them past the statue to a small door between the base of the edifice and the first row of burning candles. He opened it and motioned for them to go through, then followed, closing the door behind.
The priest led them down a long hall and into a large room devoid of decoration. The only items in the room were four chairs and a simple wooden table. ‘I’ll inform the High Priest that you are here,’ he said.
At that moment, a door opposite the one through which they had entered opened, and an elderly man in a simple black cowled robe, entered the room. ‘He already knows,’ he said. ‘You may leave us,’ he instructed the priest.
He was tall, but starting to stoop a little with age, and he was slender to the point of gauntness; his hair was light grey, almost white, but his dark eyes were alert and keen and he had an engaging smile.
As the younger priest departed, the old prelate held out his hand to Pug and they shook. ‘As if you could pop into my temple without me knowing it,’ he said. Then he added, ‘Ah, Jim Dasher, or is it Baron James today?’
Jim shook his hand as well and said, ‘Today it’s Jim.’
‘And who is this?’ asked the old man, waving at the three of them to sit.
‘Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria,’ said Pug.
The High Priest’s eyebrows rose. ‘A warlock!’ He sat as soon as the others had taken their seats. ‘I’ve sent for wine and food, if you’re hungry.’
Jim nodded his approval.
Looking at Amirantha, the High Priest said, ‘Leave the serious discussion until my servant has left us. Until then, let us become more acquainted. I thought the Satumbria were obliterated.’
‘All but me,’ said Amirantha without emotion. ‘We were always a small nation. Just a loose confederation of villages, really, scattered around the northern grasslands of Novindus. The Emerald Queen’s army ended our existence.’
‘Ah,’ said the High Priest as his servant entered. All four men sat silently as food and wine was served; then the servant withdrew.
The High Priest looked at Pug and said, ‘No matter how many years pass, you look no different.’ He turned to Amirantha and said, ‘When I first met our friend here, I was a young priest, just ordained, and working in the temple at Krondor. While I was there, this fellow had several encounters with the High Priestess.’ He looked regretful. ‘A wonderful woman, really, when you got to know her; she was my mentor. It’s because of her that I had this impossible office thrust upon me.’
He looked again at Amirantha. ‘I suspect he will look the same years after I’ve gone to meet our Lady.’
Amirantha only nodded politely in response to the High Priest’s musing.
Then the old man’s manner changed. ‘Enough reminiscing. What brings you here at this late hour?’
Pug said, ‘I am not sure, myself. Amirantha, Jim?’
The Warlock turned to Jim, ‘You begin.’
Jim had just bitten off a large hunk of bread and cheese, and was forced to wash it down with red wine; after almost choking a little, he said, ‘Very well.’ Again he shared his experiences in the Jal-Pur desert, describing the scene of slaughter and self-sacrifice as best he could. Given his years of training in observing detail, the narrative lasted almost half an hour.
None of the others spoke until he was finished. Pug said, ‘That is horrible, indeed.’ He looked at Amirantha, ‘You demanded that we have an expert in death present. Now, what other than the obvious sickening detail, troubles you? What are we missing?’
Amirantha had been preparing for this question since he had first heard Jim’s account. ‘Nothing that Jim observed really makes sense. I will explain, but first let me ask the Holy Father, how much demon lore he understands?’
‘Little, truth to tell,’ answered the old man. ‘Here our concerns lie in preparing the faithful for their eventual journey to our Lady. We are put upon this world to help a fragile humanity understand that this life is but a part of a more profound journey; to let them know that if they live a just and honourable existence our mistress will place them upon a proper path towards ultimate enlightenment. Beyond that, our knowledge is gathered piecemeal; we share what we know with others,’ he acknowledged Pug with an inclination of his head, ‘and have in turn been given the benefit of their wisdom.’ He laughed. ‘Besides, I was told to work with Pug.’
Amirantha looked surprised. ‘Told to? By whom?’
‘By Our Lady herself,’ said the old priest. ‘It is rare to have a visitation, but it does occur. Usually it’s a revelation for the faithful and is proclaimed throughout the land, but in this case I was simply told to help Pug in whatever way I could and to keep my mouth shut about it.’ He laughed. ‘I may be the only leader in the history of the temple to have had a personal revelation and be unable to boast of it.’
Amirantha said, ‘Then to understand what I must tell you, I shall have to tell you a story I have already shared with Pug and Jim.’
Amirantha detailed his childhood, describing his existence on the fringes of Satumbria society, his mother’s role as witch and her being tolerated by the villagers because of her skill with potions and unguents. ‘She was also very beautiful, and as a result, she bore three children by three fathers, none of whom would claim us.’
He went on to compare his brothers, explaining how the eldest, Sidi, had murdered their mother for pleasure. He painted the next eldest, Belasco, as a man obsessed with surpassing his brothers in any endeavour, spurred into rage by the mere thought of being bested, and as someone who had, for reasons Amirantha only vaguely understood, been trying to kill his younger brother for the last fifty years.
‘I can’t even begin to guess which slight, real or imagined, set Belasco on his quest for my death, but it hardly matters.’ He paused to sip some wine to ease his dry throat.
‘You possess a most interesting family, certainly,’ the High Priest observed. ‘But I’m failing to see how any of it is connected to Jim’s report.’
‘I’m getting there, Holy Father,’ said Amirantha. ‘I recount my history so that you’ll understand fully what it is that I believe to be behind that murderous exercise in Jal-Pur.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘My eldest brother Sidi, whom you may also know by the name Leso Varen, was mad even as a child, and only got more insane as he grew. By the time he killed our mother he had become a remorseless monster with no sense of humanity. His obsession was death magic.’
The old priest nodded. ‘I recognize the name Leso Varen; he was a necromancer of prodigious art and from all reports, a font of evil.’
‘Whatever you have read would not have done the man justice,’ said Amirantha as Pug nodded his agreement. ‘If there ever existed a shred of humanity in his being, it was extinguished long before he became a player in this monstrous game we find ourselves in.
‘But Belasco was different; he was consumed by envy and rage, jealous of any feat completed or skill attained by my brother or I. But unlike either of us, he had real talents, although he often neglected them in order to best our achievements. I can well imagine him dabbling in necromancy or demon lore, but the murderous scene that Jim described is…It’s not something he would normally be party to. Nor is playing servant to a demon, no matter how powerful it is.’
‘Why?’ asked Pug.
Sipping his wine again, Amirantha said, ‘Because Belasco would choose death before he would willingly serve anyone or anything.’
‘There’s more,’ said the High Priest, and it wasn’t a question.
‘Belasco would also refrain from using this sort of death magic. Here’s the conundrum: death magic is not used by those who consort with demons.’
Pug suddenly became very interested, and looked as if he wished to say something or ask a question, but instead he said, ‘Go on.’
‘Holy Father,’ asked Amirantha, ‘what use has death magic?’
Pug realized Amirantha had asked the question in order to clarify a point he was about to make.
‘It’s an abomination,’ said the prelate. ‘Death magic and necromancy are misnomers, for the foulest form of life magic. At the moment of death, when life leaves the empty shell of our bodies, an energy is released. That energy, called theanima by some, and soul by others, is the fundamental core of being. Our bodies are transitory and will fail eventually, but the life force is eternal.’ He held up a finger for emphasis, ‘Unless…something prevents that energy from translating to Our Mistress’s hall.’
Amirantha appeared impatient. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Holy Father, but the heart of my question is what can be done with that energy if it’s trapped, bound, or intercepted somehow?’
The High Priest was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘An excellent question, but one beyond my knowledge.
‘What little information we have on necromancy had been gathered during our extensive efforts to stamp it out; preventing a soul from returning for judgment is an abomination against our Mistress.’ He turned in his chair and shouted, ‘Gregori!’
A moment later his servant appeared, and he said, ‘Ask Sister Makela to join us, please.’
Gregori bowed and left, and the High Priest said, ‘Makela is our Archive Keeper. If she doesn’t know something, she always knows where to find out about it.’
‘I have already searched the archives of the Ishapian abbey at That Which Was Sarth.’ Amirantha insisted.
The old prelate smiled and shook his head. ‘The Ishapians are a noble order, and we venerate them, but despite their authority and knowledge, they tend to vanity from time to time. Their library is prodigious, but hardly exhaustive. Not every tome finds its way into their library.’
‘But they have into yours?’ observed Jim.
Smiling even more broadly, the High Priest said, ‘We all exercise our prerogatives. Our discoveries remain ours unless we choose to share them.’ Then his mood turned sombre. ‘And much of the knowledge we choose not to share surrounds the area of which we now discuss; some matters are best kept secret or at least closely guarded by those who understand it best.’ He turned to Amirantha. ‘While we wait, why don’t you continue with the other points you wished to make?’
‘You’re perceptive, Holy Father. Discounting my ignorance of the nature and purpose of death magic, or as you called it, the stealing of life force, I have never found any connection with it and the demon realm in my studies.’
Pug said, ‘There is something about my past that should be mentioned now.’ He looked at the three other men and said, ‘When the Emerald Queen’s host sailed across the ocean from Novindus to invade the Kingdom of the Isles and sack Krondor many years ago, their regent had been replaced. A demon named Jakan was wearing their queen’s guise.’
Amirantha tilted his head slightly, pondering Pug’s words.
‘What remains unknown to all but the few of us who were there, is—’ He hesitated for a moment as he realized that his late wife, Miranda, had been among those present during the events he was about to describe, and he felt a pang. ‘I was about to say, it was not simply about conquest, but rather a massive assault designed to reach the city of Sethanon.’
Jim’s brow furrowed. ‘Why? Sethanon had been abandoned since the end of the Great Uprising. There was nothing there.’
Pug said, ‘Even your Kingdom annals were not privy to what took place at that time, below the old city, after the Battle of Nightmare Ridge.
‘During the Chaos Wars, the Dragon Lords fashioned a mighty artifact, called the Lifestone. I never had the opportunity to study it properly, it was deemed too dangerous, so we left it—’ He considered the wisdom of revealing the exact whereabouts of the Oracle of Aal, and decided to not burden his companions with the information, ‘—hidden, in a deep cavern below the city.’ He looked at the High Father and said, ‘But, I believe the Lifestone was constructed from captured life force, as you have described.’
The High Priest snorted. ‘Ishapians! I knew they were keeping something from us. Long have we been curious about what happened at Sethanon, at the end of the Great Uprising, and why King Lyam never attempted to rebuild that city. The official reason only stated that it was no longer an important trade route stop, and rumour said it was cursed.’ He shook his head and sighed.
‘The Ishapians knew only what we told them,’ confessed Pug. ‘And we only knew the Lifestone to be a vessel of great power, one that the demon Jakan was determined to reach.’
‘But why?’ asked Amirantha. ‘What use would a demon have for such an artifact, no matter how powerful it is?’
‘If we could deduce that,’ said High Priest Marluke, ‘then we might understand why your mad brother is so interested in slaughter and death magic, and what that has to do with this demon he seems to serve.’
Amirantha sat back and sighed. ‘Perhaps, but I don’t think so.’
‘Why?’ asked Pug.
‘Let me ponder it a while longer before I offer any more speculation,’ answered the Warlock.
‘Can’t we—I mean, you—study the Lifestone now?’ asked Jim.
Pug shook his head in the negative. ‘It was destroyed before the demon could reach it.’
The High Priest’s face took on an expression of distress. ‘Destroyed?’
Pug raised his hand in a placating gesture. ‘Perhaps that’s the wrong word. The elf queen’s son, Calis, managed to unbind the confining magic and the trapped life energy within was set free.’
The High Priest appeared delighted at that news. ‘A blessing! The souls were freed to resume their journey to Our Mistress!’ He looked eagerly at Pug. ‘What was it like?’
‘It was difficult to describe, Holy Father. The Lifestone looked like a crystal, one that pulsed with green energies, but when it was…unravelled…a flurry of tiny green flames floated away, in all directions.’
The High Priest sat back and said, ‘Throughout our temple’s history, no such manifestation of the actual act of translation has been documented. The best we have are occasional reports that one of our priests, priestesses, or lay brothers and sisters might have glimpsed a tiny green flash.’ He sighed in resignation. ‘There are so few overt signs of what we do. Those of us who have been blessed by a visitation from our goddess…’ He looked into his wine cup and took a sip. ‘At times, it is difficult to convince the faithful. So few actually have experienced the divine.’
Pug resisted the urge to remark that he had experienced more than his fill of the divine. Several encounters with both the death goddess, Lims-Kragma, and Banath, the God of Thieves, Liars, and a host of other malfeasances had made it clear to him that the gods were as real as the chair upon which he sat; his faith was never an issue, but he certainly felt like their creature at times, and that thought left a sour taste in his mouth if he dwelled upon it too long.
The door opened and an elderly woman dressed in the garb of a priestess entered, followed by a younger woman in similar attire. ‘You called for me, Holy Father?’
‘Sister Makela, we have need of your knowledge.’
‘I am at your disposal,’ she said as Jim rose to offer the old woman his chair. She smiled, nodded her thanks and took the seat. She was as old as the High Priest, and frail in appearance, but she also shared the same lively gaze.
The High Priest outlined what had already been discussed. When he had finished, he asked, ‘Have there been any exhaus-tive studies on the exact nature of necromancy, specifically what use the stolen life force might have to a necromancer?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, the old woman said, ‘Exhaustive, no. Several volumes of opinion exist, and I can have them brought up from the archives if you wish, Holy Father. The evidence suggests that necromancers usually have one of two goals. The first is to control the dead, harbouring enough life energy to animate corpses and direct them.’
‘Why?’ asked Jim.
‘A dead servant holds several advantages,’ suggested the librarian. ‘It is impervious to death, obviously, and so can only be stopped by the utter destruction of the body. These “undead” can make prodigious bodyguards or assassins, and can be sent to places where the living can not long survive; for example, they can stay under water for a few hours, or in a cursed room, protected by poisonous vapour, or some other trap harmful to the living. Moreover, they can kill with plague or infection as well as weapons.
‘The difficulty they present is that they decay, as do all the dead, though life magic can be employed to slow their deterioration for quite some time.’
‘What’s the other reason to use life magic?’ asked Pug.
She sighed, as if she found the subject distasteful. ‘They may also use it to extend their own life, even after death; they could preserve their consciousness in their mortal shell, rather than journey on to our mistress to be judged.’
‘A lich,’ said Amirantha.
‘Yes,’ agreed Makela. ‘It is the ultimate act of defiance against our mistress and the natural order. But the toll is great, for the mind of the magic user who extends his life this way is always the first casualty of such evil; liches are mad from all our reports.’
‘Madness does not exclude cunning and purpose,’ observed Pug.
‘True,’ said the High Priest.
Amirantha looked at the librarian and said, ‘Is there any mention in the annals about ties between such magic and the summoning or controlling of demons?’
The woman regarded the Warlock in silence for a moment, then said, ‘Demons are creatures of the other realms; they are not answerable to the natural laws of our own world. We have had little experience of such practices, they are the province of other orders who serve Sung the Pure, or Dala Shield of the Weak.
‘They may possess such knowledge, but I do not.’ She looked at the High Priest. ‘Is there anything else, Holy Father?’
‘I think not, Makela. Thank you for your help.’
She rose, bowed slightly before the High Priest, then moved towards the doorway where her aide waited. As she reached it, she turned and said, ‘I have thought of one other thing.’
‘What?’ asked the High Priest.
‘A passing reference, nothing more: In ancient times a war was fought against a cabal of necromancers—which was a strange enough occurrence in itself since they tend to be solitary types—but it was their name that was most odd. They called themselves the Demon Brothers.’
Amirantha said, ‘Is there more explanation?’
‘No, only their name.’ She tilted her head slightly as she thought. ‘It was something I have always found strange.’ She looked from face to face as she said, ‘We always assumed it was simple propa-ganda, a name used to describe the cabal as evil. But the more I think on it, the more I believe it may have been more than this, for the accurate translation of their ancient name would be Brothers to Demons.
‘I hope this helps.’ She nodded, as her assistant opened the door for her, and they departed.
The High Priest said, ‘Perhaps this is of some use to you?’
Pug said, ‘A great deal, perhaps, thank you.’ He rose and Amirantha followed.
Gregori appeared and ushered them from the room, and then left them to their own devices in the large main hall of the temple. Jim asked, ‘What next?’
‘We go to Sarth,’ said Pug. ‘The Ishapians are usually accommodating, but not particularly helpful regarding this area, but now we have something specific to investigate.’
‘The Brothers to Demons,’ said Amirantha. ‘A very odd name for a group of necromancers.’ To Pug he said, ‘Do we need to advise those waiting for us at the island that we’re not returning immediately?’
Pug said, ‘I’ll see to it after we reach Sarth.’
‘Good,’ said the Warlock. ‘Samantha becomes very cross with me when I fail to show up for meals on time.’
For the first time in recent memory, Pug laughed loudly. Everyone in the temple turned to stare at the sound, and several of those before the votive candles glared, for laughter was not frequently heard in the temple hall.
Jim said, ‘Now would be a good time to depart, I think.’
‘Stand close,’ said Pug and he held out his hands. Each man gripped Pug’s forearm, one to each side, and suddenly they were in another place.

• CHAPTER FIVE • Legacy (#ulink_228cf644-d8e1-502f-9503-918c1336b6a7)
AMIRANTHA GAWKED AT THEIR SURROUNDINGS.
Jim also was astonished by the room but managed to retain a shred of decorum. Pug motioned for them to follow and led them deep into the vault.
‘Vault’ was the only word Jim could think of to describe the room in which they stood, for the ceiling receded into a gloom that prevented the naked eye from perceiving its exact height. Around them, massive columns rose to support the invisible ceiling, and row upon row of shelves joined them in an orderly fashion. The aisles they formed, and the intersecting rows between them, produced a layout like a chess board. At each junction a slender stand had been erected, graceful ironwork that bent, swan-necked, and ended in a hook from which a small crystal hung from a metal chain. The crystal provided just enough illumination to allow those in the room to see to the next lamp.
‘Amazing,’ said Amirantha, as he regarded the row upon row of books.
Jim echoed his tone when he said, ‘I’ve been to the Royal Archives in Rillanon, but this library dwarfs them in scope. How many volumes are here, Pug?’
‘I’m sure I have no idea,’ said the magician as they moved between the shelves; some vanished into the gloom above, and most held ladders set on rails along the wall. ‘Perhaps the librarian can tell you.’
‘This is Sarth?’ asked Amirantha.
‘That Which Was Sarth,’ corrected Pug.
‘I don’t follow,’ said the Warlock.
Turning with a wry smile, Pug said, ‘Before the invasion of the Emerald Queen’s army, the Ishapians abandoned their abbey near the town of Sarth.’
‘I still am not clear,’ said Amirantha following Pug down a long narrow passage between vaults.
Pug stopped and said, ‘The Ishapians have a prophecy, or perhaps had is a better choice of words. It said that a great upheaval would come upon the land, and after the destruction of the west, only That Which Was Sarth would remain.’
Amirantha looked at Jim, then Pug, and said, ‘Was Sarth destroyed during the Emerald Queen’s invasion?’
‘Essentially,’ said Pug, ‘though the old abbey itself survived relatively intact; how it would have fared had the brothers still occupied it…?’ He shrugged.
‘So, they made the prophecy come true,’ said Amirantha, as Pug resumed walking.
As the Warlock and Jim caught up, Pug said, ‘Perhaps. Or perhaps there is more destruction headed our way, and only this place, That Which Was Sarth, is destined to survive it.’
‘Exactly where are we?’ asked Amirantha. ‘I assume somewhere underground, as I did not notice anything resembling a window in the last two vaults we passed through.’
‘We are very deep underground,’ said Pug. ‘As to where, I promised the monks I would never reveal their location unless I have their leave. You were transported here by magic outside your understanding, so I can safely assume that you have no way of returning here after our visit.’
Amirantha chuckled. ‘Indeed.’
They reached a large door and Pug pulled it open. The room behind it was small, a table occupied half its area, over which stood a white-haired magician in black robes. ‘Father,’ said Magnus to Pug as they entered. Then he greeted Amirantha and Jim.
Next to Magnus stood a monk dressed in the simple light brown robes of the Ishapians. He was a nondescript man of middle years, with a round head topped with a thatch of brown hair cut in a tonsure. He inclined his head in greeting and said, ‘Pug. You bring us guests?’
‘Brother Victor, these are our friends; may I introduce James, Baron of the King’s Court in Rillanon, and great grandson of Lord James of Krondor, also known as “Jimmy the Hand”.’
The monk smiled. ‘We possess a wonderful story about your ancestor that you may not have heard before,’ said the monk.
‘And this is Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria, a people from across the great ocean. He is something of an expert on demons and I have need of his wisdom.’
‘Your vouching for them grants an indulgence,’ said the monk. ‘But the Father Superior may not be so kindly disposed.’
‘Which is why I came straight here,’ said Pug with a nod.
The monk smiled. ‘So I should mention your visit when? An hour or so after you depart?’
‘That should be ample time,’ said Pug. ‘We don’t plan to stay long, unless the need arises.’
‘Well then,’ said the monk wearing a wry expression, ‘what do you seek this time?’
Magnus turned to Amirantha and Jim, ‘We’ve been testing Brother Victor’s vast knowledge on every subject imaginable.’
The monk held up his hands, palms outward, and said, ‘Hardly that.’
‘He is the living index of where everything in this vast library is to be found,’ said Pug.
Amirantha said, ‘Simply, prodigious; but don’t you keep some sort of written record here, too?’
‘Of course,’ said the monk, ‘and a dozen of our brothers labour ceaselessly to update our records as new material is gathered, but until they complete their task, we make do with cobbled together notes, and this.’ He tapped the side of his head with his forefinger.
‘What do you know of the Demon Brothers?’ asked Pug.
The monk’s expression stilled. After almost a minute, he closed his eyes. ‘I believe there has been mention of them…’ His eyes widened. ‘Wait! I’ll be right back.’ And Brother Victor hurried from the room.
The four remaining men exchanged curious glances, which became expressions of deeper puzzlement as they continued to wait. Half an hour passed before the monk finally returned, a dusty, old, leather-bound volume in his hand.
‘It should be in here,’ he said as if he had only just stepped out of the room then reappeared.
‘What is it?’ asked Pug as the monk laid the book down on the table and opened it gently.
‘It’s the chronicle of one Varis Logondis, a Quegan trader who lived about four hundred years ago. He was a compulsive journal keeper who believed every detail of his life deserved to be recorded.
‘In fact, most of his life was unremarkable, unless you happen to be an aficionado of travelogues, long discourse on mercantile trends, or the state of Varis’s digestive health on any given day during his life. But, he does remark in passing on many contemporaneous issues, which are useful in providing corroboration or refutation of other histories and accounts of the same period.
‘But one of his remarks has stuck with me over the years.’ He scanned the page. ‘Ah, there it is. Let me read it out loud, the dialect is somewhat antiquated and his spelling is atrocious. “In the evening, we came upon a village, by name, Hamtas on Jaguard, whereupon we were welcomed at an inn by name, The Restful Station. There did we encounter soldiers of the Empire, at their ease after a battle.
‘“I remark upon this for two counts,”—I am certain he meansreasons here—‘“the first, that they were not of the militia, but were legionaries from Queg that had been haste posted to this region, and the last, that they had struggled mightily against the Demon Brothers and their living dead.”’
‘Four hundred years ago, most of the Bitter Sea was still under control of the Empire of Great Kesh,’ Pug remarked.
‘What is truly interesting about this passage, Pug, is that its timeline supports two other sources that we are aware of, one of which is in our possession.’ He looked at the magician and his two companions with a satisfied smile. ‘Varis wrote sixty five volumes over his lifetime, so I had to skim a couple before I could locate this passage.’ He pointed to the page and said, ‘The other source we possess on that struggle is a fairly standard tally of captured goods returned to Queg by the expedition Varis encountered. We know that he was surprised to find Imperial Legionaries in that town instead of local soldiers, and both accounts imply that something significant was being undertaken. Legionaries were only stationed in three garrisons around the Bitter Sea at that time: Durbin, Queg City, and Port Natal. They were not used elsewhere unless there was an uprising or some other menace of equal weight.
‘If we look at what that expedition brought back with them, we discover an unusual list: besides a remarkably short inventory of precious metals, livestock and slaves, we also see a very long list of idols, books, and scrolls.’
Pug looked interested, but unsure of what Brother Victor was implying. ‘It sounds as if they raided a library.’
The monk smiled. ‘There were no libraries nearby, neither imperial, nor any maintained by the religious orders known to us at that time; no libraries existed west of Malac’s Cross or north of Queg! Oh, there were perhaps some rooms full of books here and there, but nothing on a scale that would have required a detailed catalogue that the Empire was so famous for at that time.’ There was a merry glint in his eyes as Brother Victor’s smile broadened.
‘What is it?’ Pug said, unable to resist returning the man’s smile.
‘It’s your Demon Brothers!’
‘According to this inventory of booty, over a score of the volumes seized came from the “frateri demonicus”, which is a very bad Quegan spelling for Demon Brothers.’
‘The necromancers?’ asked Pug.
‘Not a common name by any measure,’ said Brother Victor. ‘And there’s more.’
‘More?’ asked Magnus a moment before Jim echoed him.
‘The title of one of the volumes…At that time, legionaries were not much better educated than the common Keshian Dog Soldiers of today. Their officers could read and were literate—a necessity for the giving and receiving of orders—but the common soldiers were not. This list must have been complied by a relatively uneducated officer, or possibly the task was given to a lower ranking soldier who was barely educated. In any event, the title they have recorded isLibri Demonicus Amplus Tantus and translated as “Really Big Demon Book.”’
Amirantha laughed. ‘I speak Quegan, and that’s not a phrase I recognize.’
‘It’s four-hundred years old. I originally assumed that the scribe didn’t understand that amplus and tantus have similar meanings—ample and large—but it now occurs to me that our less-than-scholarly-scribe was simply trying to describe two of the book’s aspects: that it’s a large volume, but also that it’s important. “Tantus” can mean “of such great size”, but “amplus” can be read as “of great importance”, as well as meaning “ample”. So, what you may wish to consult next is this very large, very important book concerning demons, which was written by a necromancer four-hundred years ago.’
‘I don’t suppose you have that volume here?’ asked Amirantha.
‘No,’ said Brother Victor with a regretful expression. ‘I wish we did. It sounds fascinating.’
‘But you know where we might find it?’ suggested Magnus.
The monk nodded. ‘Indeed, if it still exists.’
‘The Imperial library in Queg, perhaps?’ suggested Magnus.
Pug said, ‘If the book remained among the property seized by the legionaries, and if they didn’t loot the library when recalled to Kesh during the abandonment of the north…’ He tapped his chin in thought. ‘It’s possible. They might have taken the gold and other valuables south with them, but books and scrolls? Not as likely. It’s as Brother Victor said, ‘I must leave you now, as evening prayer is about to begin. I assume you do not need me to show you out?’ His merry expression revealed that he already knew the answer.
‘No,’ said Pug. ‘Thank you my old friend.’
‘No, thank you for all you have given us. Too few people realize how much they owe you, Pug.
‘Until we meet again,’ he finished, turned and left the four visitors alone in the library office.
Magnus said, ‘We have a new problem, Father.’
‘I know,’ said Pug. He turned to Jim and said, ‘Queg is the one court in which we have no friends.’
Jim sighed as he anticipated what was coming next. ‘I thought you had agents, or at least friends, everywhere?’
Pug gave him a tight smile. ‘Queg is strategically unimportant. We manipulated some information during the invasion of the Emerald Queen, so they believed they were attacking a foreign treasure fleet; instead they ran into her armada, half the Imperial Keshian Fleet, and the Kingdom Navy. Not wishing to attack nations they were at peace with, they did their best to loot a few ships which instead of treasure held angry soldiers. It made them distrustful of information that doesn’t come from reliable sources.
‘To the point, they resisted all attempts to infiltrate their intelligence.’
Jim smiled ruefully. ‘I know. I have had the same problem.’
‘What about Kesh?’ asked Magnus. ‘Have they placed anyone within the Quegan Court who might prove useful?’
Jim slowly shook his head. ‘No, they’re just as frustrated by their small neighbour as the Kingdom is. If Queg didn’t possess such a formidable navy, they’d have been reabsorbed by the Empire, or conquered by the Kingdom, a century ago. There aren’t many resources on the island worth seizing, but they are a serious annoyance; while they may not be strategically important to you, Pug, controlling Queg would prove a significant advantage to Kesh or the Kingdom.’
‘Which is why neither of them will let the other gain influence,’ finished Magnus.
Amirantha said, ‘Back to the point, if you don’t have anyone at court to help with the search, how do you propose we discover if this tome exists there?’ He smiled dryly. ‘Are you just going to appear one day and ask to browse the shelves?’
Pug’s expression became distant for a moment, and then he smiled slowly. ‘That may be just the thing.’
‘What?’ asked Jim. ‘I was certain that you were going to ask me to swim ashore, sneak into the library and steal the book.’
‘No,’ said Pug, looking amused at the suggestion. ‘You’re going to use your rank to get the Prince of Krondor to send you, with three advisors,’ he indicated the three of them, ‘on a scholarly delegation, with the intention of correcting distortions of the truth in Kingdom history—which will appeal to Quegan vanity when you explain that in the process their glorious past will be forever enshrined in our annals. You will then seek permission for your three scholars to spend a few leisurely days browsing the shelves of the Imperial Library.’
Jim’s face went through a spectrum of emotions, from surprise, to doubt, to agreement, then delight. ‘Play to their vanity!’
‘Yes,’ said Pug. ‘Then, if we find out that they have the book, you can sneak into the library and steal it.’
Jim rolled his eyes. ‘Can’t we just study it there for a while?’
‘No,’ said Amirantha. ‘We will need to examine it closely, and that could take weeks. If it’s written in some ancient variant of the Keshian language, we’ll need to find a scholar who can help us understand it.’
‘And the Quegans may become interested in why we are focusing on one ancient, obscure text about demons when we were supposed to be looking at their histories,’ finished Magnus.
Amirantha said, ‘It would be helpful if you could convince the Star Elves to let their Demon Master return once we hold the book.’ Shaking his head slightly as if he hated making the admission, he added, ‘He knows much that I don’t. I taught him a few tricks when he was on the island, but I think we’d work faster if Gulamendis was with us.’
Pug looked at Magnus. ‘Have we heard any more from the taredhel?’
Magnus shook his head in the negative. ‘Only through Tomas. He and his Queen are still in contact with the Regent Lord, but you know how elves are about taking their time.’
‘All too well,’ conceded Pug. ‘Let’s worry about getting the book first.’ He looked at Jim. ‘Can you do it?’
‘Of course I can. The Prince is an eastern caretaker who doesn’t have any sense of, or much care about politics. He’s content to hunt, drink, chase serving girls and allow me to reassure him that all is well. Then he reports the assurances back to the King, that all is well in the west.
‘I’ll have my personal scribe draw up the messages to the Emperor of Queg and…will sign them. If you think it would help, I can use the royal seal to suggest that the documents come from the King, himself.’
‘Forgery?’ said Pug with newfound respect. ‘Is there no end to your larcenous skills?’
‘I have a few limits,’ said Jim with no hint of modesty. ‘It will take a couple of weeks, and the sooner begun, the sooner done.’
Pug said, ‘Very well. Magnus get us to the island, please, and then take Jim to Krondor.’
As they assembled to transport to Sorcerer’s Isle, Amirantha said, ‘I wonder how that demon loving elf and his brother are doing.’

• CHAPTER SIX • Survivors (#ulink_6eb09709-9165-5a1e-ae69-d7b29099d8d5)
THE DEMONS ATTACKED.
Gulamendis drew back his hand; his brow furrowed in concentration as he watched his brother from the corner of his eye. Laromendis had conjured a battle demon illusion that was all talons and teeth, muscles like iron lay over skin hard like dragon scale. Ignoring the less threatening taredhel magicians, the three demons facing the brothers threw themselves upon the most obvious danger. Demon logic was simple: dispose of the most dangerous foe, then turn your attention to the lesser. Logic was not a prerequisite for the harrying demons, those whose job it was to seek out hidden prey and drive them to where the demon captains waited. All they saw was a rogue demon, not of their cadre, in front of them and never for one moment considered the improbability of the situation.
As long as the demons believed in Laromendis’s conjuration, they were subject to damage from it, and it attacked them with frantic mayhem, slashing and biting, tearing and gouging. From bitter experience, Gulamendis knew the illusion would hold for only a moment or two longer, before the real demons recognized it for what it was. Laromendis had never smelled a demon nor experienced its magic aura, so those components were lacking in the conjuration, and as soon as the demons recognized the fraud, the two magicians would be assaulted.
Gulamendis held his wand at the ready. It was a treasure, gained by guile and subterfuge, part of the hoard the elves had brought from Andcardia to E’bar, the city they had constructed on the ancient planet the Star Elves called ‘Home’.
The wand had been the only thing that had kept the two brothers alive over the last few days, a period beyond the expectation of the Regent Lord and other members of his Meet who had wished to see the two brothers dead sooner. Only Tandarae, the new loremaster of the taredhel was kindly disposed towards the Demon Master and Conjurer, but he wasn’t in a strong enough bargaining position to keep them from being dispatched to the Hub World.
They were holed up in a relatively defensible position: a cul-de-sac of abandoned cottages in the city. They were taking full advantage of the one approach, and had created a series of tripwire alarms and alerts so they could rest periodically. Their orders had been to remain there until recalled to Midkemia, but both knew that the summons was unlikely to come, so they had secured their position and only fought when the demons managed to catch sight or wind of them.
The three that now battled Laromendis’s conjuration were minor demons, any one of whom the brothers could have bested in a hand-to-hand fight should the need arise, but together, they were enough to give the elves pause in engaging them directly.
This was the third time they had used this ploy, the other two instances had taught them how to refine the illusion and ready themselves for the moment they would truly engage the demons in combat.
Gulamendis took his eyes from the struggle for a moment; his brother had to concentrate on the illusion, so it was up to the Demon Master to stay alert for unexpected intruders while they stood exposed in the open, on top of the rise that led to the highest cottage on the small street.
Behind the struggle, he saw something flicker in the distance, near the entrance to the portals. He hoped it was the other elves here, answering a recall that he and his brother had yet to hear.
The Hub World was where the portals—what the humans called rifts between the worlds—were clustered. In ancient times, for reasons that in retrospect now seemed the height of prudence, a Regent Lord had decreed that only one portal from each world would provide access to this otherwise nondescript world. It had been home to barely a thousand elves, just enough to ensure the portals were operating as they should.
The portal to Andcardia had been breeched a long time ago, and shut down. Only one had been maintained from Hub, to the world of Locre-Amar, and from there, back to E’bar. Once that portal was closed, there would be no access to Midkemia for the demons; at least no access the taredhel were aware of. Unless the Brothers could keep the demons who still roamed this world from reaching the last remaining rift—and also get to it before them—the two magic users would be stranded here forever, with the hungry demonic castaways.
And Gulamendis’s knowledge of demons told him there were too many to give the brothers much hope of survival.
Then the conjuration failed and Gulamendis extended the wand. A sphere of silver light with pink and blue colours scintillating across its surface expanded around him; as soon as it touched the demons they shuddered, went rigid, and fell to the ground at Laromendis’s feet. They remained in spasm, and the brothers knew they needed to act quickly.
At first they had simply used the wand against the demons, but a couple had recovered quickly, and that had taught the magic users to weaken them first, in order to extend the period they were stunned.
The brothers drew their large battle knives and began to cut the demon’s throats as fast as possible. Gulamendis reminded himself that even though this method was not as dramatic or immediate as using his magical abilities, it sufficed for these circumstances. The demon’s essences would return to their realm, but to the best of his knowledge, the portal to the demon realm had been sealed, and by the time these three were reborn, their problem of escape from this planet would long be decided.
It was over in a few moments. The two tall elves stood covered in dark demon blood, their eyes watering from the stench of carrion and sulphur. ‘That bought us a few minutes,’ said Laromendis.
His brother nodded. ‘I sense some more to the south, but they’re not coming closer yet. We should probably make our escape now.’
‘Which way?’ asked Laromendis.
Both were tall, nearly seven feet in height, but had similar proportions to the lesser elves. Their massive shoulders narrowed to trim waistlines above their powerful hips and legs. Neither was a warrior by trade or inclination, but both had been forced to learn to kill and had become adept at it. It helped that Gulamendis understood each demon’s vulnerabilities and always communicated what he could to his brother.
‘That way.’ Gulamendis pointed to the northeast. ‘There should be an alley leading to the broad street; the last portal should be there.’
‘I thought it was the other way,’ said Laromendis, pointing to the northwest.
His brother smiled. ‘So does everyone else.’
‘You have a plan?’
‘Always,’ said his brother jogging in the direction he’d indicated.
The small city that had been the home of those left to care for the portals was a simple place to navigate under normal circumstances; but an invasion by the Demon Legion was hardly normal.
They carefully made their way between buildings, stopping at every corner to make sure they were unobserved. There were a small number of demons that could hide well, becoming almost invisible, but Gulamendis’s sensitivity to any demonic presence usually alerted them to their proximity.
They reached to the last stretch of open ground before the building that contained the entrance to the hub portal and Laromendis swore. ‘Flyers!’ Circling above it like vultures were half a dozen flying demons.

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