Wrath of a Mad God (10 page)

Kaspar saw that the nearest rider would be on top of him in only a few moments. He readied his belt as a weapon again, remembered with evil irony how he had stood just so a few years ago with a captive’s chains as his only weapon while nomads from the hills of Novindus had ridden down on him.

From his right came a voice. “I have an idea.”

Jim Dasher was standing at his side, holding two large rocks. Kaspar nodded, and took one.

Jim waited until the rider was almost on top of them, then pulled back his arm and threw.

His rock sped through the air and struck the rider full in the face. It passed through as if piercing smoke, but the rider flinched, pulling up with a startled cry.

“The wolf!” shouted Dasher. He picked up another rock and hurled it just as Kaspar unloaded his rock with as much strength as he could right at the creature’s muzzle. The wolflike mount snarled, a distant hollow sound, and the rock bounced off, causing it to falter.

Dasher hurled a rock at the creature’s foot, causing it to stumble and collapse on the trail. The rider might have been immune to Kaspar’s rock, but he seemed to abide by the same rules as any mortal rider when his mount stumbled for he flew over the creature’s haunches.

Kaspar shouted, “Run!”

He had bought those ahead of him mere seconds, but those seconds were the difference between safety and destruction. He saw Dasher scoop up one last rock, turn, throw, and then run. Realizing that the young thief was faster and not wanting to be the only one who failed to reach the gate, the former Duke of Olasko dug deep inside himself and found just enough strength to reach the threshold stride for stride with the younger man.

They leaped into the courtyard of the fortification and heard a howl of outrage from their pursuers, but while the gate was still open, the demonic creatures did not follow. The elf magicians hurried up ramps to the battlements above and, when they were in place, raised their staves as one.

A thrumming sound filled the air, much as it had down on the beach when they destroyed the elemental creature, and a wave of white light pulsed from the walls. Instantly the creatures on the road retreated, their angry shouts and cries reduced to hollow echoes on the evening wind.

Kaspar’s men sat on the ground, many near exhaustion. Several were now unconscious, wounded men who had succumbed to the demands of the retreat. Kaspar forced himself to remain on his feet, but even the resourceful Jim Dasher gave in to the need to sit down. Jommy and Servan looked at Kaspar expectantly, waiting for their general to tell them what was next.

As the elf leader came toward them, Kaspar said, “Well, then, we are here. We are your prisoners. What is to be done with us?”

“You will see our leader.”

“When?”

“Now,” he said, motioning for Kaspar to follow. “The others wait here.”

As Kaspar fell in behind the elf, “What am I to call you?”

The elf glanced over his shoulder. “Is that important?”

“Only if I live and have reason to address you.”

The elf smiled slightly. “I am called Hengail.”

“Why were there no archers on the wall to cover our retreat?”

Hengail hesitated, then said, “All our archers were with us. Only children and women were within the compound.”

As they climbed a path to a large building which dominated the community, Kaspar quickly took in his surroundings. The buildings were astonishing. There were swooping lines of wood beams supporting arching roofs, rather than the straight timbers he would have expected. Wood faces to buildings had been glazed and polished until the evening’s torchlight was reflected from every flat surface as if they were mirrors. Under the glimmering reflections, Kaspar could see that the wood had been allowed to age to deep hues of many colors, mostly deep reds and browns, but with unexpected shades of grey and even a hint of blue here and there. There were more than a dozen buildings scattered around this very large plateau, but most of them appeared empty. The doorways were all open. He glanced upward at one arching high above his head as he passed into the largest building.

The floors were also of highly polished wood, lovingly cared for from their appearance. The walls were as they were outside, magnificent in their simplicity, yet elegant as well. The building appeared to be laid out in a large cross, with a huge fire pit of stone dominating the center. High above, a large hole in the roof permitted smoke to exit, while a sheltering roof above it, supported by large beams at the corner, protected the hole from all but the most violent rainstorms.

Before the fire pit sat three elves, one obviously of great age, for among the ever-seeming youth of the others, this one
bore the ravages of many years: deep lines etching his face, hair white as snow, and a stoop-shouldered posture. Yet his eyes were bright and regarded Kaspar with suspicion.

Slowly he stood up. “Who are you to come to the land of the Quor?”

“Kaspar, formerly Duke of Olasko, now in the service of the Kings of Roldem and the Isles, and the Emperor of Great Kesh.”

The old elf was silent for a long moment, then he chuckled. “Something dire must be afoot for those three vain princes to be in harmony.” He studied Kaspar, then said, “Tell me why three mighty rulers of the human lands send soldiers to the Peaks of the Quor, and tell me true, for your lives depend on what you say.”

Kaspar looked around the room. Two other elderly elves sat nearby, watching intently, and the elf named Hengail stood silently at their right hand. Two other guards stood by the door, but otherwise the large cross-shaped hall was empty. “What do I call you?”

“I am called Castdandur. In your tongue it means ‘caretaker against the darkness.’ I had a young name, once, but that was so long ago I fear I do not remember it.”

Kaspar took a moment to reply. “Perhaps we may be of some help to you. It wouldn’t do to kill out of hand those who would be your friends.” He looked the old elf directly in the eyes. “You do appear to need friends.”

Castdandur smiled. “Now, why do you suggest we are in need of friends?”

Kaspar said, “Only a blind man or a fool can’t see that this once was home to hundreds, and now there is only a handful. You need help. You are a dying people.”

M
agnus dived behind a wall.

Bringing up the rear, Pug stole a quick look over his shoulder, hoping not to see the Deathknights who had suddenly appeared just moments before. Three humans and three Lessers all crouched down behind a low wall, more of a boundary than a barrier. One of the Deathknights turned his varnin—a cross between a big lizard and a horse—and started toward their place of concealment. Pug dived behind the wall, landing next to Magnus.

He risked discovery by rising just high enough to gain a clear line of sight to a point behind the approaching riders and cast a spell, hoping it would function here on Omadrabar as it had in his native realm. He had spent
so much time learning how to adapt magic that it was almost as much second nature to him in these alien conditions as it was at home. Most of the time he judged correctly, but occasionally he had had unexpected results.

This time things went as desired, and a sudden commotion behind the riders caused them to look around. A particularly fine illusion appeared some distance away: that of women and children fleeing in the opposite direction from where Pug and his companions hid. The Deathknights reacted in true Dasati fashion, howling their war chants and giving chase.

Pug signaled for everyone to wait until the Deathknights were safely gone. In most confrontations with a small band of armed men—or Dasati in this case—Pug had little concern for his own safety. He could easily dispose of the dozen or so riders who were now chasing the mirage. But he had no desire to take Dasati lives unnecessarily, even those bent on killing every member of his race—they were a people bent by dark forces which were beyond their power to control. And he knew that tonight was not just a circus of random slaughter, but a planetwide ceremony, a massive ritual of blood and death, and each killing gave more power to His Darkness. Even if he could deny only half a dozen lives to the Dark God, Pug would do it.

Pug considered this deity, this supreme god of evil. From what he had studied about the nature of the gods on Midkemia over the years, he knew this was the fate that awaited his home world if the Nameless One gained ascendancy. Still, that possibility was far less immediate a worry than keeping His Darkness out of Pug’s native realm. If he could aid in the destruction of this Dasati Dark God, he would be saving the Dasati as well as every human on Midkemia and Kelewan.

Pug knew they had gained only a few moments and that the Deathknights would quickly realize the ruse and return. He wanted to avoid a confrontation if at all possible. Moreover, he desperately wished to avoid any chance that their true nature might be discovered. If he employed magic to destroy the Deathknights he would have to ensure than no one, including any hidden Lessers nearby, could reveal their presence. He, Macros,
Magnus, and Nakor combined could hold off a veritable army of Deathknights, killing thousands if need be, but while each of them might be a match for two or three Deathpriests or Hierophants, even they couldn’t withstand an assault by a score or more determined to obliterate them and unconcerned about their own lives. His years with the Tsurani had taught Pug all he wanted to know about the danger of foes willing to die for their cause.

Nakor signaled back that the way was clear and the fugitives hurried along a path near the roadway. They were still within the boundaries of the great city, but in one of the miles-wide open enclaves called a
raion
, an administrative district devoted to agriculture within the city proper, but under its own rule. Macros had not taken the valuable time to explain the subtle points of Dasati civic administration, but he had left Pug with the impression that while
raions
were less dangerous environments than the rest of the city under normal circumstances, these were no normal circumstances.

Because the outer perimeter of the
raion
was encompassed by the city itself, most of the usual wild animals had been hunted out years ago, but that didn’t mean there were no other dangers. Night-flyers, while not common in this region, were not unheard of, and occasionally larger land predators somehow found their way inside. Moreover, tonight every Dasati who wasn’t with them was their enemy. Bands of Lessers who normally wouldn’t consider aggressive behavior were roaming the byways, availing themselves of the rare opportunity to indulge in the Dasati appetite for violence. A foolish Deathknight who became separated from his society brethren could find himself dealt with harshly by those who normally lived or died at his whim. Even lords of great houses had to limit those in their presence to only their most loyal and trusted retainers.

For the demand of the Dark God during the Great Culling was that the weak must fall. Any Dasati unable to survive was by definition weak and must be given up by blood and fire to His Darkness.

They ran along a pathway just wide enough for a cart, Pug
constantly checking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. As they hurried down the narrow lane, sheltered from view for almost a mile by a tall grain crop called
sellabok
, the sky above was beginning to lighten. Pug called for a halt. “Wait.”

The others turned and Pug softly said, “Listen.”

The predawn air was still, and only the distant sounds of night creatures punctuated the silence. Then a distant shout from behind them signaled the location of the Deathknights they had encountered earlier. “How far?” Pug asked Macros.

“Another two hours if we don’t encounter any delays will put us outside the area known as Camlad, at which time we must either decide to circle it along the outer reaches of the city, adding several hours of journey time, or to cut though to the heart of the district. The latter is preferable, but the danger is much greater.”

“Why?” asked Nakor.

“The first spate of bloodletting will have occurred within hours of the call for the Great Culling,” said Macros. He was more out of breath than normal and Pug realized that his illness was beginning to manifest itself, probably as a result of the exertions of the previous night. “To put it in Dasati terms, the stupid, weak, rash, and foolish perish within hours. Traps will have been sprung, and skirmishes fought. Then after a lull of perhaps an hour or two, the more reckless and bold will clash with one another. That band of Deathknights we just eluded were bloodied, most likely after an encounter with another like band they vanquished.

“Those who are left are dangerous, tough-minded killers looking for prey. The blood frenzy is now at its highest and will continue that way throughout the morning. Later in the day,” he added softly, “things will quiet down as even the most bloody-handed murderers will start to sense the coming sundown and realize that only their like remain out there, in other words, those adept at killing and those equally adept at hiding.

“At that point, everyone will hunker down and wait for sunset—anyone moving through any part of the city will be an easy target for ambush. So, that means our first need is
to get through Camlad and into the next
raion
before noon. Once we are out of the city again we will be mere hours from the Grove of Delmat-Ama. The White controls the Grove and most of the district around it completely; there we will be safe and there we can wait to find out just what this latest butchery signals.”

Magnus asked, “What do you think it signals?”

Macros was silent for a moment, pondering the question. “A beginning,” he said at last. “His Darkness is a covetous god. He demands blood, but when he hungers greatly, it usually heralds a great change.” The Dasati who was once human sighed. “I cannot imagine that invading a higher realm is an easy thing, even for a god. It may be that he himself intends to follow his army.” He looked from face to face. “Come, we can discuss this in more detail once we’ve reached the Grove of Delmat-Ama.”

As one they and the three servants turned and hurried along the path once again as the sky in the east brightened with the approaching dawn.

The open fields of the
raion
came to an end when they reached a wide boulevard bordered on the opposite side from where they stood by a seemingly endless wall of buildings which rose up ten to twelve stories. Macros said, “There. Over to the right is a servants’ tunnel.” He glanced around. “Don’t let the silence mislead you. There are eyes behind every window and knives concealed at every hand. Right now at least a dozen Lessers are considering how dangerous we are—are we bold and powerful, or foolish and weak—and what their chances might be at an ambush. We must proceed cautiously. Once through Camlad we will reach the Grove of Delmat-Ama.”

“Didn’t you suggest we circle to the outside of this precinct?” asked Nakor.

Macros began walking. “We’ve lost too much time.” Three times since midnight they had hidden, once for over an hour, to avoid confrontation with the Dasati.

Magnus asked, “Is there much magic in use today?”

Macros hesitated. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

“So far we have been concealing our powers to prevent detection.”

“Yes,” agreed Macros. “We could have destroyed everyone in our path, but only Deathpriests on this world employ magic—at least only those sanctioned by His Darkness—and the presence of unknown practitioners of magic would certainly attract attention.”

“But with Deathpriests and Hierophants among the roving bands, the presence of magic itself would hardly draw notice.”

“What do you intend?” asked Pug.

Magnus’s features, though Dasati, still revealed his mood to his father. Unlike his mother, Magnus was adept at holding in his feelings, even more so than his father at times, but when frustration reached a certain point, he took on a tone and a set of features that was familiar to Pug. Magnus was feeling frustrated.

“I am not suggesting we cast off our guises, and boldly walk into the canton, defying all in our path. That would be folly. But can we not use our arts to fly above this madness and hide ourselves from view?”

Macros laughed. “The boy is wiser than both his father and grandfather. It never occurred to us to combine invisibility with flight—”

“Because no magician we know of can do both at once,” finished Nakor. He grinned, and the familiar expression, although in an alien visage, reassured everyone. “But we have more than one magician in this party.”

“I can lift us all,” said Magnus, indicating the three other magicians and the three Lesser servants—all of whom now revealed an apparent terror at the idea of flying.

“I can shield us from scrying and other arcane detection,” said Macros.

“And I will ensure we are not seen,” said Pug.

A brief discussion of how they would manage this feat was followed by the two older magicians chanting their spells, and then Magnus began his.

Soon everyone was invisible, but voices out of thin air indicated that the three servants were unable to endure the experi
ence silently. Pug realized it must be an unnerving experience for them to feel themselves picked up by invisible forces and be suspended above the ground.

Magnus directed them to where Macros had indicated the best route lay, and they began to speed over the city. Pug found looking down exhilarating, as much for the novelty as for the view; he couldn’t remember the last time he had flown without having to employ his own abilities. He didn’t much care for the experience, as it always left him fatigued and with a mild headache. But this time his son was doing all the work, and he was free simply to enjoy the journey. Macros had a harder task: concentrating on discovering any scrying magic and counteracting it as quickly as possible, but with Pug’s spell for rendering them invisible now in place, he had no work left to do.

The scene below again drove home to Pug just how alien the Dasati were. He had called many places on both Midkemia and Kelewan home, and had visited a dozen worlds containing intelligent beings exotic in both appearance and nature, but the strangest race he had so far encountered looked like family compared to these people.

The city stretched on for miles in all directions. Pug couldn’t begin to imagine the labor required to build these…he couldn’t call them buildings, for every single one was interconnected, all appearing to be of a piece. He was certain that sections had been added over centuries, but in such a way as to make everything appear seamless, integrated, without boundary. Completely lacking were the endless varieties of design found in even the most homogeneous culture—the Tsurani, whose city buildings were almost all uniformly painted white, indulged in a vast variety of murals and good luck symbols. But here…everywhere the eye traveled, there were edifices of stone; dark grey blackened doorways which were almost perfectly uniform, the only relief being a play of subtle energies throughout the stone that would have been invisible to the human eye. If you looked more closely you would find scintillating hot reds and deep vibrating purples and plays of gleaming sparkles that looked like tiny reflections of sunlight on mother-of-pearl, glimpsed for a moment, then fad
ing. Pug thought that such touches would have been beautiful if they were not adorning such grim surroundings. Other than that, the Dasati architecture was very formalized. There were six windows set between each doorway, with a tunnel into the heart of the building every four doorways. Above the street, each story had a landing and a balconied walkway; the design was repeated over and over. The monotony was disrupted only by vast interconnecting walls that had broad boulevards upon their spines, highways hundreds of feet above the ground upon which much of the travel and commerce of Dasati society depended.

Among the buildings were areas of open plaza or parkland. Each open space, be it parkland, hunting range, agricultural
raion
, or marketplace, was miles long on each side. But even these, Pug could observe as they rose higher, were uniform in placement and design.

Aloud he said, “The Dasati lack originality.”

“Not entirely,” said Macros, “but they do have a decided tendency to stick with something once they judge it to be useful. As densely packed as the population can be toward the city center, these arrangements of parklands and agricultural districts provide an efficient system of getting goods to market.