A Crown Imperiled (40 page)

Miranda looked thoughtful. At last she said, ‘I don’t know how long we’ll be here. Perhaps it’s best we not dwell on such things as the past.’

Sandreena looked at her quizzically.

Miranda said, ‘We know we were . . . resurrected for a purpose.’

Nakor said, ‘And it is most certainly a critical one.’

‘But we do not know what that purpose is.’ She opened her hands. ‘I was hoping once I reached the island, met Pug . . . something would be revealed, our purpose made clear.’ She was silent for a moment, then said, ‘So we wait until Pug returns. I wish I could go to him.’

‘Why not?’ asked Amirantha, rubbing his forehead absently.

‘I have Miranda’s memories, but not her abilities. I have demon “tricks” as Nakor calls them.’

‘How did you throw that fireball in Ylith?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

‘It wasn’t a fireball,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I summoned a lesser fire demon – basically an elemental – and threw it at the Keshians. He roamed around randomly until enough of him dissipated that he couldn’t maintain cohesion and he returned to the demon realm.’

Nakor laughed aloud. ‘That’s a wonderful trick.’

Sandreena looked at Amirantha rubbing his forehead and said, ‘What is wrong with you?’

Amirantha realized what he was doing and said, ‘Sorry, it’s just a little tender where he smacked me with that orange.’

Miranda’s eyes narrowed. ‘Where did you get that orange, anyway?’

Nakor shrugged. ‘I just reached into the bag and there it was.’

‘But that “there” is a minor rift into that warehouse.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘And?’

‘You can’t do that trick.’

His face was alight with realization. ‘I just did it! I didn’t think about it, or try to do it, I just did it!’

He held up his right hand, his short sleeve falling to his elbow and moved his hand. Suddenly with a snap, a card appeared in it. He was almost giddy with delight as he made cards appear and started tossing them around the kitchen. Some of the students preparing the evening meal stopped to watch.

‘I just did it!’ he shouted, jumping up from his chair to do a little dance in a circle. ‘I just did it!’

Miranda smiled. She asked, ‘Once more? You just did it?’

‘I didn’t think. I just reached in and grabbed an orange!’ His glee was infections. Sandreena and Amirantha found themselves smiling broadly at his happiness.

Miranda closed her eyes for a second, and then said, ‘If you can, I can!’

Without warning she threw out her hand and a column of flames sprang from her palm. With a flick of her wrist and a back and forth motion, she made it vanish. She laughed girlishly. ‘Don’t think! Just do it!’

She stood up and looked at Nakor with deep appreciation. ‘Thank you.’ Then, suddenly, she vanished.

‘What?’ asked Sandreena.

‘Where did she go?’ asked Amirantha.

Nakor laughed out loud. ‘She went to find Pug,’ he said. ‘She didn’t think about it. She just did it!’ He continued his dance in a circle, and the two demon experts exchanged glances. They had never seen, nor could they imagine, a demon dancing for sheer joy.

Pug and Magnus were sitting quietly on cushions at a low table, drinking tea. ‘One thing that constantly amazes me,’ said Magnus. ‘There’s an illusion of scale that’s fluid. At moments I feel as if I’m standing outside a massive barrier, yet at others I feel almost god-like looking down on the most delicate and finely crafted miniatures crafted by a master toymaker.’

Pug nodded. ‘Since I returned for Kelewan and assumed the mantle of the Black Sorcerer from your grandfather, I have constantly been astonished at the resilience of the human mind. It interprets what it doesn’t understand. What we’re studying is a metaphor for some sort of complex energy . . .’ He shook his head. ‘This is the sort of thing that used to utterly delight Nakor.’ He smiled in remembrance. ‘I never met a man who so loved mysteries.’

Magnus nodded. ‘Have you come to any conclusions about this matrix?’

‘I suspect it’s a trap of some sort.’

‘If so, it’s very subtle.’

‘Those are the most dangerous,’ said his father.

‘Why did it suddenly manifest here? Why now? And why not at the other Sven-ga’ri location in the Peaks of the Quor?’

Pug chuckled. ‘Impatience?’

‘No, just frustration, I guess.’ Magnus fixed his father with a pale blue eye and said, ‘The hardest part here is not knowing if we’re making progress or wasting time.’

‘Something in there is familiar,’ said Pug. ‘Something that echoes . . .’ He stopped. ‘I find myself when we’re in there thinking of Tomas.’

Magnus was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Valheru?’

‘Perhaps. The Sun Elves told us they were placed to protect the Quor by the Dragon Lords. These Pantathians were created by a Dragon Lord, perhaps to also protect the Sven-ga’ri.’

Pug fell silent, pressing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger.

‘Are you all right?’ asked his son.

‘Just tired. This is exciting work, but I’m not sure how much it bears on all the other troubles we’re facing. I’m trying not to let it become a distraction from our other problems.’

‘You’re doing all you can. Have you identified those who betrayed us in the Conclave?’

‘A few of those who are primarily allied with Keshian factions in the Academy,’ said Pug. He stretched and suppressed the urge to yawn. ‘No one critical appears to have been involved in any acts of betrayal.’

Magnus thought about this, then said, ‘Many of our sources have been cut off. Jim Dasher’s organization in the Isles is still somewhat effective, though his agents in Kesh are non-existent. Roldem’s intelligence is minimal. Kesh’s is non-existent.’

‘Only magic could have turned that many loyal agents disloyal.’

‘It had to be subtle,’ agreed Magnus. ‘And it had to be practised over a long time.’

Pug chuckled as he stood up. ‘The only time we’ve ever faced this sort of subtle, long-term planning, the Pantathians were behind it.’

‘The Great Uprising,’ said Magnus. ‘You’ve spoken of it many times.’

‘Disguising a Serpent Priest as a dark elf . . . that alone is a prodigious feat. Moredhel shamans are like elven spellweavers; they’re in touch with basic elements of magic and can sense disruption. Moreover, the false Murmandamus had a Pantathian Serpent Priest as a servant, which would instantly arouse suspicion, yet he not only withstood scrutiny by the clans of the north, he rallied them and led them against the Kingdom.’

Magnus studied his father. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’m thinking that in all our dealings with the Pantathians directly, little about them is subtle.’ He held up the porcelain cup he was drinking from. ‘This is subtle, finely made by a craftsman in Kesh. Part of the trade bounty these people have with their neighbours to the north. This is unexpected. These Pantathians might not be capable of fashioning such a fine cup, but they appreciate its beauty beyond utility, because otherwise we’d be drinking out of a stone or metal cup.

‘They appreciate beauty,’ he said waving his hand around the room, filled with richly embroidered cushions and tapestries. ‘Craftsmanship,’ he added, putting his hand on the exquisite lacquered table.

‘But these fine beings have no magic,’ said Magnus.

‘Yes, they have no magic,’ his father echoed. ‘The Shangri, on the other hand are prodigious artificers of magic, yet they are nearly mindless and do only what they are instructed to do. They need constant supervision.’

‘And the Serpent Priests are somewhere in the middle,’ added Magnus.

‘Which leaves us with a final question,’ said Pug. ‘Who is telling the Shangri what to do and the Serpent Priests when to do it?’

‘And you suspect the answer has something to do with that familiar feeling you experience with the matrix, that echo of magic that reminds you of Tomas?’

‘Yes, somehow the Valheru are still involved in all this.’

Magnus was also silent for a while. Then he said, ‘We need more information.’

‘Obviously,’ said Pug with a fatherly smile. ‘So many times I thought we were passed this or that problem, only to have it reassert itself in a different form. There is some hidden entity behind all of this, perhaps going back as far as the creation of the Lifestone by the Valheru.’

‘What?’

Pug laughed. ‘If I knew, it wouldn’t be a mystery.’

‘You’re tired,’ said Magnus. ‘Perhaps we should cease examining the matrix until tomorrow?’

‘The sun just set, we can work another—’

Suddenly they both felt a flash of very familiar energy. Magnus rose from his cushions and his eyes widened in amazement. ‘Mother . . . ?’

Pug was speechless. Seemingly out of the air his dead wife appeared, now fully restored to life. It was impossible. He had seen her die, her neck torn open by a demon’s jaws, her life spilling on the ground before he could react. He had stood silently by, his heart breaking, as Miranda and their son Caleb and his wife Marie, or what had been left of their mortal remains, had been consigned to a funeral pyre. Now she stood before him as he remembered her. He was stunned, unable to move or otherwise react.

As Miranda started to speak, ‘I’m not—’ Magnus drew back his hand and began a spell.

‘That’s not Mother!’ he shouted, and cast a bolt of purple energy that would stun and imprison her.

Except that Miranda held up both hands and the purple energy seemed to wash around her like wine splashing over a bubble of glass. Globules of energy spun off like spray to dissipate into the air. When the blast finished, Miranda flicked her hands as if shaking water off of them and said, ‘I taught you that spell, Magnus! When you were seven, trying to catch that wild kitten you wanted as a pet. Remember what happened? She scratched you until you let her go!’

The voice was his mother’s, the memory was hers, but the scent of her magic was wrong. Magnus had an ability both his parents lacked, to sense the author of magic if he or she was known to him, a lingering ‘scent’ as he thought of it, and while everything else seemed to be his mother returned from death, that scent was not only wrong, it felt inhuman.

‘What are you?’ Magnus asked hoarsely while Pug stood rooted, motionless, unable apparently to speak.

‘I’ll tell you everything,’ Miranda said, tears welling up and running down her face as she stood before the two people she loved more than life itself. ‘Everything,’ she repeated. ‘But first . . . I have every memory and feeling . . . I . . . I have missed you both so terribly.’ Now crying openly, she said, ‘And I miss Caleb so very much.’

Pug could barely restrain himself from crying as well. His eyes glistened as he slowly walked over to the demon-turned-human and stood before her. She whispered his name, barely able to speak, and he reached out and touched her cheek, then he slowly reached out and gathered her into his arms.

Magnus watched, his face a mask as he wrestled with equally powerful feelings. He knew in his mind this was not his mother, yet in his chest he felt powerful feelings rising and threatening to overwhelm him.

The being that appeared to be his mother sobbed uncontrollably, saying ‘I’m so sorry,’ over and over again.

They stood in silent tableau for a full minute, then Miranda stepped back, still holding Pug’s hands. ‘It’s a . . . difficult story to tell.’ She almost added ‘my love,’ but as much as she longed to express feelings, she knew those feelings were not hers, but those of a dead woman who meant the world to these two men.

She let go of his hands and looked at Magnus, but his expression was unreadable. ‘I am not your mother . . . but I am,’ she added as she saw his face tighten ever so slightly in a signal that he was growing angry, something few people would notice but a mother did. She held up her hand. ‘Keep your temper, Magnus. You were always slow to anger, but when you did you always reacted too harshly. What did I tell you when you hurt those boys bullying Caleb?’

‘Stop it!’ he shouted, colour rising in his pale cheeks and his eyes narrowing. ‘You didn’t tell me anything. My mother did, and she is dead! I saw her die! I lifted her body onto a funeral pyre and saw my father light it! My mother was ash before my eyes!’

‘Stop. You’re right. I’m not your mother. But I do remember everything as if I lived it.’ She looked around, wiping tears from her face and said, ‘Tea?’

Pug spoke, his voice full of emotion. ‘Yes.’

‘May I have a cup?’

He motioned for her to sit down, then poured a cup of tea and joined her.

‘Where to begin?’ she said after she had taken a sip. She glanced around. ‘Before I start, where are we?’

Pug explained about the Pantathians and after he finished, she said, ‘My story is stranger, but only by a little. Peaceful Pantathians? That’s . . . unexpected.’

‘As are you,’ Magnus said coldly. ‘How did you come to be this seemingly perfect duplicate for my mother?’

‘A long story. Perhaps you’d care to sit?’

He shook his head and she smiled. ‘Stubborn as always.’ Before he could object, she turned to Pug and said, ‘Remember what you spoke of to me about the seeming resurrection of my father as a Dasati?’

Pug’s eyes widened and he said, ‘Ban-ath?’

She nodded. ‘It is my and Nakor’s best guess.’

‘Nakor!’ said Pug and Magnus simultaneously.

‘He’s here, too?’ asked Pug.

‘He’s back at home with Sandreena and Amirantha, discussing as much of demon lore as he can.’

Suddenly Magnus’s suspicion and anger were replaced by curiosity. ‘How did you both come back from the dead? Nakor died on another world, another plane of reality.’

She took a deep breath, then said, ‘We come from the Fifth Realm, or Circle, the demon realm of the lower hell, as some call it.’

‘You’re a demon?’ asked Magnus, his suspicion and anger returning two-fold.

She nodded. ‘Let me begin by telling you about the Fifth Circle.’

Pug gazed at the perfect image of the woman he had loved and lost, his emotions churning and roiling in ways that confounded and alarmed him. He was torn equally between a desire to take this creature into his arms, to return to the safest place he had ever experienced, the bonding of his own soul’s with another, and the desire to push her away, to drive her from his sight.