At the Gates of Darkness

by Raymond E. Feist

  He sent a skull-crushing overhand blow at her and overextended slightly. In that moment, she noticed a talisman hanging from a leather cord around his neck. It was a foul thing with red glowing stones for eyes and that’s where the demon stench originated.

  She danced away and rather than take his head from his shoulders—the opening was there—she turned her blade and struck him with the flat of her sword on the side of his head. It was like hitting a tree bole and the shock that ran up her arm nearly numbed it to the shoulder.

  The dwarf barely blinked and came straight at her. She hesitated only a moment, then leaped to her left, right into the dwarf’s next blow, but rather than take it anywhere vital, she crouched under it—no mean feat against a foe barely taller than five feet—then came up behind him.

  Before he could turn, she reached out and snatched at the leather thong holding the talisman in place. She ripped it from him and tossed it away.

  It was as if she had struck him between the eyes with the hammer he was holding. He stumbled, half-turned, then fell backward, landing on his rear. He sat in the dust, blinking as if blinded by brilliant lights, then let out a long sigh. His eyes finally focused and he looked up at her and said, “What…who are…?” He looked around, and Sandreena followed his gaze.

  No one on the wall had witnessed the confrontation, but more workers were coming into view. Instead of coming to his feet and alerting the others of an intruder, the dwarf crawled toward her, reaching up to grab her by the leg and hissed, “Get down, for the gods’ sake!”

  Sandreena kneeled, but kept her sword pointed at the dwarf. “You going to keep trying to kill me?”

  The dwarf looked confused. “Kill you? Woman, I don’t know who you are, but if you’re not working for them”—he pointed toward the fortress—“then you’re my new friend.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m Keandar, son of Kendrin of Dorgin.”

  She nodded, motioning for him to crawl with her back under the shelter of the wagon. Dorgin was the dwarven city closest to their current location, a tiny city-state on the border of Great Kesh and the Kingdom of the Isles.

  “What is this place?”

  “That’s a long tale, one I would prefer to recount as far away from here as possible.” He glanced under the wagon and said, “Some of my kin are in there, and I mean to get back to Dorgin, tell the King, and return with every war-hammer we can raise.”

  Sandreena knew it would take more than even a small army of dwarves to deal with what was forming here, but decided that debate could wait. “Can you tell me what is going on in there?”

  “Aye, some,” he said, “but only a bit. I was a guard, mostly, though those of my people with skills—the engineers, smiths, and mongers, and the stonemasons—they were given jobs inside. But we spoke a little while we ate, when we ate.”

  “Come on,” she said, glancing at the position of the Little Moon. “I have a horse and we can ride double, but it’s some distance from here and we need to reach it by sunrise.”

  “Sunrise?”

  “Else one of my order will be taking it back to Durban without me.”

  “Ah,” said the dwarf. “You’re not alone?”

  “No,” said Sandreena. “There are two others.”

  “Well, let’s have a leisurely chat after we’re miles from here. You lead, I’ll follow.”

  Sandreena nodded once and crouched, then scampered from the wagons to the first pile of rocks, and began the long return to the gully that would take her past the guardhouse. When she reached it, she turned to Keandar and said, “We need to slip past that guard.”

  “Why not just go there and quickly kill him? It’s only an elf.”

  “We may have them after us when you don’t turn up,” she said, “but we most certainly will if they find a dead sentry in that post.”

  He sighed, as if he were disappointed, then said, “Very well. They don’t keep close track of us, mostly because those things they make us wear…it saps our will and makes our minds…muddled.”

  “Tell me about it later,” said Sandreena, and Keandar nodded. To herself she muttered, “If there is a later.”

  Dawn found a very nervous Farson waiting in the designated spot, all three horses tacked up and ready to ride. He had his sword out as Sandreena hove into view, and was about to strike when she called him by name.

  “Sergeant?” he asked, looking at the dwarf.

  “This is Keandar of Dorgin. If anything happens and I fall, you get him to Sorcerer’s Island.”

  Farson’s eyes widened. “Sorcerer’s Island? Sergeant, no one goes…”

  “Sorcerer’s Island.”

  “But Krondor…”

  Firmly, she said, “Sorcerer’s Island.” She looked around, then asked, “Jaliel?”

  Farson shook his head.

  “We wait until the sun clears the horizon, then we leave without him.” She knew he was probably lost; even coming from the other side of that fortification, had he been close to being on time, they would have encountered each other in the gully or on the upper trail. Still, she honored her word to him to wait.

  And they waited. The sun rose, and when she could see it full above the horizon, she said, “Goddess, watch over him.” She took the reins of Jaliel’s mount and handed them to the dwarf. “Do you need a leg up?”

  The dwarf grinned. In the morning sun his hair and beard looked especially red and his eyes were a glinting blue. He was, like most of his race, barrel-chested and broad of shoulders, with powerful arms and thick legs. “I’m short,” he replied, “not a child.”

  His vault into the saddle was impressive and he took the reins in hand like a practiced rider.

  Farson and Sandreena mounted and she took one last look around, half-hoping to see Jaliel come into sight. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, “Durban!”

  They turned their horses and rode to the north.

  CHAPTER 9

  WAR

  Gulamendis leaped.

  The lizard scuttled away, but not before the Demon Master seized it and with a single motion, bashed it hard against the rocks. He hurried back to the cave where his brother waited. A small fire burned in the back and the Conjurer was huddled before it, trying to stay warm in the early morning chill.

  The nights on this world were bitter cold and the days scorching hot. The sun had just begun to rise on the seventh day of their being stranded on this alien planet. They had found fresh water in a small stream down the side of the hill, and there were lizards and birds they had contrived to catch, subsistence, barely, but despite being filthy, tired, and hungry, they were still alive.

  About the demons they were more puzzled than when they’d first arrived. They had rested a day, then ventured to look down upon the massive army twice since then. Both times they had proceeded cautiously and avoided detection. Something was stirring down in that valley, but they were uncertain of what it was. Had this been an elven army, they might have guessed its behavior, but demons organized in this fashion was outside their experience and knowledge.

  The brothers barely spoke, as they had talked out everything they could about this situation over the first few days. They knew they had not ported into the demon realm, as they would have perished in minutes had that been the case. They might not be on the world they called Home, but they were in that same sphere of experience. Despite the less than hospitable surroundings, the air was breathable, the water drinkable, and the wildlife edible. Though one of the reptile varieties they had encountered had induced severe stomach cramps and other unpleasant reactions.

  Gulamendis held out his hand as he reached the back of the cave where his brother waited.

  “Lizard,” said Laromendis dryly. “How unexpected.”

  His brother ignored the quip and started cleaning the small carcass with his battle knife. It was a clumsy tool, but a few days’ practice had given him some ability to not totally destroy their supper before it was cooked. After cooking, it
would provide less than a few ounces of meat and a tiny bit of fat, but it would be enough to keep them alive another day. They had both slowly gained back enough strength that they could mount a single defense should they be discovered, but neither had the energy for a prolonged combat.

  So lying in wait was their current tactic, but both really knew they had a limited expectation for survival. They quickly devoured their meal and Gulamendis said, “The thing I find the most annoying about this, at the moment, is the need to walk down to the stream every time I get thirsty.”

  “Then don’t get thirsty,” replied his brother. “Or find us a damn jar or bucket or something to fetch water back.”

  “I suggested using your boot…” said the Demon Master, in a weak attempt at humor.

  His brother made a face indicating what he thought of that notion. “How long can we sit here wondering?” asked the Conjurer.

  “I don’t know,” said his brother, on the border of exasperation. “There is so much here that makes no sense to me.”

  Laromendis had heard this all before, from the first moment they had spied the demons over the rise, but asked, “Perhaps if you outline, one more time.”

  “To what end?” asked his brother, now showing his frustration. “Everything I know of demons is wrong, or at least flawed. Both that human Warlock, Amirantha, and I lost our ability to trust our conjurations. The rise of the Demon King made it uncertain we could trust any creature we summoned to not turn on us. Or to vanish back to their realm and report what we saw.

  “More, until we got here, our experience with the demons has been that if they were not confined by magic they were out of control. The attacks on our people on every world taught us they were a horde of monsters, unrelenting, unforgiving, but without any sort of strategy save to assault, assault, assault.”

  “We saw those captains on Andcardia,” reminded his brother. “They were giving orders.”

  “It looked like they were herding livestock, directing the flow of a stampede, not directing a coordinated attack.” He sighed. “But that camp…” He shrugged in resignation. “I can’t explain it. I have no idea who is commanding them, but they are unlike any group of demons I have ever heard of, let alone come in contact with.”

  His brother said, “I understand. Someone has changed the governing laws of your art, without bothering to tell you.” Starting to rise, he said, “Let’s get something to drink and then we can decide if we want to watch the demons do nothing tonight.” As he started to rise, the ground suddenly heaved beneath them as a loud explosion echoed outside.

  Laromendis was knocked back on his rump while his brother said, “What was that?”

  Both looked up at the ceiling of the dark cave, barely illuminated by the light coming through the entrance, fifty feet away, as dirt came showering down on them. “Get out!” shouted Gulamendis. “This thing is collapsing.”

  They staggered as the ground under their feet shook and reached the entrance amid a shower of dirt and loose rocks. Once outside they looked around, as Laromendis said, “Earthquake?”

  Another distant boom, followed by another lurch in the ground, and Gulamendis said, “I don’t think so.”

  They could see nothing, but quickly realized all the noise was coming from the other side of the ridge. Motioning for his brother to follow him, Gulamendis tried to half climb, half crawl up the shaking hillside. As they neared the crest, they could hear the sounds of battle ringing in the distance, punctuated by more ground-shaking explosions.

  Peering over they could see only chaos.

  Smoke and dust filled the air as thousands of demons were roiling out of their encampments to meet the onslaught of…more demons.

  “What is this?” asked Laromendis, not bothering to keep his voice down. Everywhere they looked demons of all stripes and fashion were engaging others. The oddest quality of this mad scene was that the demons who were already encamped wore armor of a roughly uniform fashion—dull silverfish breast armor and helms, some with spaulders or pauldrons, others with no shoulder protection. Some wore greaves or boots, while others—those with massive feet ending in claws—went barefoot. But it could be quickly ascertained they fought under the same banner. And that banner was raised high atop a long pole in the center of the camp, a massive black cloth with a red design upon it, impossible to see in detail at this distance.

  The attackers were likewise armored in a haphazard fashion, but their armor was a uniformly dark blue-grey color and they flew no banner in the field. Still, they were clearly holding the advantage in surprise and ferocity.

  Even without armor and weapons, demons were lethally effective fighters; with arms they were even more terrifying. The slaughter was without pause, and on every hand demons went down in screams of pain, fountains of smoking blood, and body parts sailing through the air. It was butchery in every sense of the word.

  Gulamendis replied, “I have no idea. A demonic revolt, by the look of it.”

  “There,” said the Conjurer, pointing across the valley to the ridge opposite the one they hid behind.

  In the distance, Laromendis could see what had caught his brother’s attention. Atop the ridge rose a massive figure, dwarfing those around him. Still it was impossible to make out details at this distance. But enough could be seen to make it clear that group atop the distant ridge was orchestrating the assault on the demon horde encamped in the valley below.

  Fliers from below rose up to meet those already overhead, and the two elves now saw the source of the massive concussions and explosions. The attackers’ flying demons were carrying large objects that they released on the ground forces below and when they struck the ground, a massive amount of energy was released, throwing a tower of earth, smoke, flame, and bits of destroyed demons into the air. The early assault must have included assaults on positions closer to where the brothers hid, for these impacts were less severe.

  Down three gullies from outside the valley a stream of attacking monstrosities came flooding. They rolled into the encamped army, caught up in the throes of panic, and the slaughter began in earnest.

  “What is going on?” asked Laromendis.

  “Can you conjure enough cover if needed for us to remain unseen?” asked his brother.

  “Not for long.”

  “If what I think is happening is happening, we won’t need long. Come, we must hurry.”

  The Demon Master headed off at a trot, staying just below the ridge and following it around the rim of the valley. Occasionally the ground shook, but the air assault ceased as the two opposing forces became entwined in hand-to-hand combat. Every so often, Gulamendis would peer over the edge, then motion for this brother to follow along.

  They reached an outcropping of rocks, from which they could observe what went on from a better vantage, and Laromendis asked, “Do you recognize any of them?”

  By them he meant those demons perched on the rim of the valley. Now they were close enough that Gulamendis could make out some details. The demon in the center was massive, perhaps twenty or twenty-five feet tall, with gigantic wings folded behind him. He might have been a true flier once, or the wings might just be for a more impressive visage when he unfolded them, but the Demon Master doubted the creature could truly fly without magic. On either side waited demons of a type Gulamendis had never encountered before, black-skinned monstrosities that were roughly half human from the waist up and some sort of lizard creature below. Long tails dragged behind and they were constantly watching in all directions.

  “I think those two,” he said softly, pointing to the half-lizard demons, “are guards or companions of some sort.” He made a small circular motion with his finger as he pointed. “The rest are battle demons, but I’ve never seen them standing motionless, and never have seen them wearing armor and bearing arms.”

  He kneeled and said, “We’re seeing something very new here.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll tell you when we have a little more leisure,” s
aid Gulamendis. “The big one is either the Demon King, Maarg, or someone who looks a great deal like the description Pug gave me.”

  “Didn’t Pug also tell you Maarg was found dead on some other world?”

  “Well,” said Gulamendis, “there’s dead and then there’s dead. I’ve been dispatching demons back to their own realm for years, and have even destroyed a few in this realm, but I can’t really say if they died or just went back where they came from in a messier fashion.” He glanced back over the rocks. “If I’m right, we should find a way out of there down behind those monsters.”

  “We’d better move, because this battle is going to be over soon, and I don’t want to be here when the victors start looking around for more things to chew on.”

  The Demon Master nodded. “Be ready to make us look like rocks if needed.”

  “I’ll try,” answered his brother.

  They moved slowly, checking their progress every ten yards or so, and then suddenly Gulamendis halted his brother. “Something’s not right.”

  “What do you mean,” asked the Conjurer.

  “I can sense demons all over this valley. It’s like a throng shouting at me, but from ahead…nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “If I close my eyes, there are no demons up on that ridge.”

  Laromendis peeked over the rise and studied for a moment, then said, “Something is odd.”

  “What do you see?”

  “Be silent, but watch for a few minutes, then tell me what you see.”

  The two brothers ventured another look at the demons on the ridge, now less than a couple of hundred yards away. Even from this distance the forms were massive and could clearly be seen.

  The Demon King stood with his arms crossed over his obscenely large stomach, his face a mask of evil glee as he glared down on the struggle with burning red eyes. Suddenly his hand shot up into the air and he motioned, as if urging his followers onward, but no more reinforcements were coming. “Why is he signaling the attack when it is almost done?” asked Laromendis.