Krondor Tear of the Gods

by Raymond E. Feist

  Suddenly William’s luck took a turn for the worse. His horse screamed and he felt it going out from under him. Without thinking, he kicked loose of his stirrups and let the horse’s momentum throw him from the saddle. He let go of his short-sword, but gripped his buckler tightly. He tucked in his chin and tried to roll on his left shoulder, using the buckler as a point of leverage, unable to use his shoulders because of the long-sword in the sheath across his back.

  The roll brought him to his feet behind a mercenary who was fighting one of William’s men. William bashed the man with his buckler, letting the other soldier kill him. In a flash he secured his buckler to his belt, then reached over his shoulder and drew his long-sword, ignoring the sting from his protesting, bruised muscles.

  William laid about him with two-handed efficiency. As always, the world contracted around him as he concentrated on staying alive. But through it all he still had a sense of the flow of battle and he knew things were not going well.

  A squad of Bear’s horsemen emerged from the woods, bloodied and looking over their shoulders. The eight raiders at the rear of the struggle had obviously done some damage, but now the battle was about to swing Bear’s way.

  William cut down a mercenary before him, and then stood still for a second. He sent one image with all his strength at the charging horses: Lion!

  He attempted to mimic the loud roar of the great lions of the northern forest and suggested the scent of the hunter on the wind.

  The horses went crazy, bucking and snorting, several throwing their riders.

  William turned and started hacking at another opponent. Moments later, he realized that the mercenaries were fleeing.

  William spun full circle and saw his men either chasing those who were running or converging on the single knot of Bear’s men who held fast and continued to fight. William felt a rush of exultation. The battle was on the verge of being won. And he now knew where his enemy stood. He ran forward, eager to engage Talia’s murderer, to dispense vengeance.

  As he closed on him, something caused his hair to stand on end, and he recognized that magic was in play. He recalled his experience as a boy at Stardock and instantly knew that his anticipation of victory had been premature.

  A Krondorian staggered toward William, blood running down his face. “William!” the man cried as he fell to his knees. “He’s immune to our weapons!” Then he collapsed.

  William saw other men falling away. Bear’s companions had no such immunity, and by the time William reached the conflict, Bear stood alone. Like his namesake creature brought to bay, Bear stood defiantly, surrounded by a circle of six Krondorian soldiers. “You call that an attack!” he shouted in defiance.

  Chills ran down William’s spine when he saw one of his men strike Bear from behind, only to see the blade of the sword glance off his back as if he wore invisible armor. Bear deftly reversed his sword, and stabbed backward, gutting the soldier. His one good eye was wide with madness. He laughed as if it were all a child’s game. “Who’s the next to die?” he shouted.

  While Bear’s sword was reversed, one Krondorian took the opportunity to lunge at him, but the blade glanced off his arm without leaving a mark. Bear didn’t even bother to pull his sword from the dying man behind him; he simply kicked the man in front of him in the face, sending him sprawling. “You puny excuse for a soldier! You wouldn’t last a day in my company!”

  William spied the amulet around Bear’s neck. He saw the red stone in the center aglow with a bloody light and knew that was where Bear’s power came from. William grabbed the shoulder of one of his men. “Get to his right side and distract him!” he ordered.

  William’s plan was desperate, but he could see it was his only choice; somehow he had to get that amulet off Bear’s neck.

  William looked as if he was hesitating, and at that moment the other soldier struck at Bear. Despite being invulnerable, Bear had human reflexes and he turned toward the blow. At once, William thrust with his long-sword rather than cutting, but instead of trying to skewer the man he attempted to get the point of his sword under the heavy chain around Bear’s neck. The links of the chain were large enough that William hoped he could flip the amulet like this, and then take great pleasure in killing him.

  Instead, Bear reacted with unnatural speed, reaching out and grabbing the heavy blade. Shock ran up William’s arms as the blade froze as if stuck in a vise. With an evil smile and a mocking laugh, Bear looked at William. “Smart one, are you?”

  Ignoring the frantic attacks by William’s men on his back and side, Bear moved toward William, forcing him to retreat or let go of his sword.

  William released the hilt of his sword and dove for Bear’s legs. He tackled the man at mid-thigh, and lifted. Bear’s own momentum added to William’s lift and sent the huge pirate flying over William’s shoulders. “Pile on him!” William commanded.

  Instantly a half-dozen soldiers obeyed, leaping atop Bear and attempting to pin him to the ground.

  “Get that amulet off his neck!” William shouted.

  Men clawed frantically at the chain as William ran around to try and seize the amulet. The pile of men heaved, but with unbelievable power Bear rose up, shaking the men from his back as a father might his playful children. He slapped William’s hand away and shouted, “Enough!”

  With evil glee, Bear reached out with his right hand and crushed the throat of one man near him, while smashing the skull of another with a backhanded blow from his left. William stepped back, his eyes wide with shock as Bear systematically killed every man within reach.

  The remaining two men backed away from behind Bear, and William shouted, “Run!”

  They needed no second command and turned to flee. Now Bear faced William. He took one step toward the young officer. William feigned a move to his left, but then leapt to his right; Bear countered the move, staying between William and the road.

  Suddenly William knew he had no other choice. Bear had been playing with his men the entire time. They had routed his mercenaries, but he himself was invulnerable, and he had lured them close enough to kill as many as possible with his bare hands.

  William turned and ran straight for the cliffs. Bear hesitated, then gave chase. William didn’t look behind him, for he knew even a half-step could be the difference between escape and death. A leap off the cliffs would give him a chance, albeit a very slim one.

  Reaching the edge of the cliffs William resisted the urge to slow and look down. Trusting to blind chance, he ran off the cliffs, kicking out as far out as possible, hoping he could hit the deepest part of the river below, a fall of nearly one hundred feet, for otherwise the rocks would surely kill him.

  The fall seemed to last forever, with Bear’s curses ringing in his ears. Then William struck the water and crashed into darkness.

  SIXTEEN

  Temple

  James hesitated.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded to himself. The pattern he had discovered in the rock face matched with what he remembered Hilda telling him. He took the ash-covered artifact and touched each plate in sequence, then waited.

  They felt a low rumbling through the soles of their feet, then a section of the wall moved back, and slid to the left. James took out a torch and lit it.

  They moved slowly into a dark entrance hall. It appeared to be carved out of the stones of the cliff, a rough tunnel somewhat resembling an abandoned mineshaft.

  “Wait,” James said as they went through. He watched the door, silently counting. After a little more than one minute, it slid shut. He examined the wall around the door and found the release mechanism. He tripped it and the door slid open. Then he motioned for them to continue to wait and counted again. At approximately the same interval as before, it shut. James knelt and put the artifact back into his pack. “Just in case there’s another lock down the passage.”

  Kendaric said, “Well, it’s good to know we can get through there in a hurry without it, if need be.”

&nbs
p; “Agreed,” said Solon.

  They started to walk slowly down the corridor, two abreast. James and Jazhara were in the lead, Solon and Kendaric close behind them. After traveling a hundred yards, Solon said, “Hold a moment.” He pointed to a spot on the wall and said to James, “Hold your torch there.”

  James did so and Solon inspected the wall.

  “This tunnel is ancient,” he said. “Centuries old. It was carved out of the rock long before the Kingdom came to these shores.”

  “How do you know?” asked Kendaric.

  “You spend your boyhood with dwarven lads, you pick up a thing or two about mining.”

  “But these tracks aren’t old,” James said as he turned his attention to the ground beneath them.

  Kendaric looked down. “What tracks?”

  James pointed to odd bits of sand and mud at various intervals. “There’s no dust, but these bits are fresh, no doubt from boots that have been past here recently.” He peered into the darkness ahead. “Keep alert.”

  Kendaric said, “As if you need to tell us, Squire.”

  They proceeded slowly, and moved deeper into the cliffs below Widow’s Point.

  They walked in tense silence for ten minutes until they reached a portal that opened into a large chamber that they entered with caution. The firelight from James’s torch cast eerie shadows on the rough-hewn rock walls. Solon’s hand flew reflexively to the hilt of his warhammer when he spied the first skeleton. Nine niches had been carved into the walls at intervals around the chamber. In each stood a skeleton wearing an ornate suit of armor; all had weapons and shields at their sides. A complex set of symbols had been carved into the stone floor, just deep enough to be seen in the flickering torchlight, without fully revealing their pattern.

  As best as James could judge, the chamber was nearly thirty feet in height, a vast half-circle dominated by the far wall. As they approached the wall, its bas-relief design was revealed.

  “Gods!” Kendaric whispered.

  Creatures of nightmare were depicted in myriad ways, many of them involved with humans, frequently being sacrificed. The depravity of the scenes was abundantly clear.

  Solon said, “Hike yer torch up, laddie!” in the thickest brogue they’d heard so far.

  James lifted his torch to throw more illumination as they neared the wall.

  “Abide!” instructed Solon, as he reached out toward Jazhara. “Lass, another brand! Hurry!” Jazhara unwrapped a torch and handed it to the monk, who lit it from the one James held. He handed it to Kendaric and said, “Stand ye over there!” pointing to the left.

  “What?”

  “Ah said, stand over there, y‘ stone-crowned loon.”

  Solon took another pair of torches from Jazhara and lit them. He gave a torch to Jazhara, and instructed her to stand over to the right. He raised a torch himself and walked forward. As he did so, the entire panorama of the carvings was revealed.

  “By the Holy Saints and Heroes of Ishap,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” asked James.

  “Ya see the center, lad?” Solon pointed to a blank area that looked like a round window, around which the most horrible of the creatures knelt in worship.

  “Yes,” James said, “it’s empty.”

  “Nay, ‘tis not empty, m’friend. It’s occupied by somethin’ ye canna see.”

  Solon paced back and forth along the wall, stopping occasionally to study closely one detail or another. Finally, he wedged his torch into a pile of rocks, and motioned to the others that they could lower their arms.

  “What is this all about?” asked Kendaric.

  Solon fixed each of his companions in turn with an unsmiling stare. “You must all remember what I say now. Engrave it upon your memories as you have nothing else in your lives.” He turned and pointed to the wall. “This wall tells the history of a very cruel time.” He stopped, and took a deep breath. “It is taught in the Temple that after the Chaos Wars, a period of great darkness descended upon parts of the world, as the forces of good and evil fought for a balance. Places like this have been found before, homes to demons and other ill-natured creatures, beings not of this world which must be banished whenever they are encountered.

  “This wall tells a story. The details are not important. What is important, and what must be conveyed to my temple, is the news of this place, the very fact of its existence. No matter what else occurs, there are two things that we absolutely must do.

  “First, we must return to tell my order so that they can cleanse it and seal it for all time. And, whatever else you may forget, you must remember to describe what you call the ‘empty window,’ and to tell the High Priest that I was certain it was the work of those who follow the Nameless.”

  “The Nameless?” asked Kendaric. “Who is that?”

  “If fate is kind to you, lad,” said Solon, “you will never know.” He glanced around. “Though I fear that fate is being anything but kind to us now.”

  “You said there were two things,” observed James. “What’s the other?”

  “That we must not fail in fetching home the Tear of the Gods. For not only would its loss prove crippling to us, I now know why it is being sought and by whom.”

  “Why?” asked Jazhara.

  Pointing to the blank space on the wall, Solon said, “To open a portal much like that one, and should that portal ever be opened, woe beyond imagining will fall upon us. No human, elf, or dwarf- not even the Dark Brothers, goblins, or trolls -nothing mortal will be able to withstand it. The mightiest of priests and magicians will be swept away like chaff before the wind. Even the lesser gods will tremble.” He pointed to the carvings showing inhuman creatures eating or raping humans and added, “And such would be the fate of the survivors. We would be as cattle, raised for their appetites.”

  Kendaric’s face drained of color.

  James said, “You faint again and I’ll leave you here.”

  Kendaric took a deep breath and said, “I’ll be all right. Let’s just get on with this and find whatever is blocking my magic.”

  They moved to a large pair of closed doors to their left. “They’re locked,” James said as he inspected them, and pointed to a pattern of jewels set in the door.

  “Can you open it?” asked Kendaric.

  “I can try,” said James. He inspected the device then said, “It’s a . . . magical lock, I think.” He swore. “Those are always the worst.”

  “Why?” asked Kendaric.

  “Because,” said James, “mechanical locks only stick poison needles in your thumb or blow up with a fireball if you make a mistake. I once had to open one that shot a nasty blade out that would cut your hand off if you didn’t move it in time, but magic locks can do . . . anything.”

  Kendaric stepped back. “Are you sure you want to be . . . fiddling with this?”

  “I’m open to other suggestions,” said James impatiently. He studied the lock closely. “There are six gems. And six holes with a faint color around them. Something that looks like a ruby, and a red hole. A green gem and a green hole.” He leaned in toward the doors, almost putting his nose to the lock. “There are tiny mirrors around the edge.” He sat back on his heels. He touched a small white gem in the middle. Suddenly light shot out in six spokes. “Oh, damn!” he said. He began frantically to move the tiny mirrors around the edge of the circular lock.

  “What is it?” asked Kendaric.

  Jazhara said, “I think James has to move each gem and mirror so that the light moves through the gem, changes color, and is reflected into the right hole.”

  James said nothing, as he desperately tried to do just that.

  “What’s the problem?”

  Jazhara said, “Given James’s concentration on the problem, I suspect there may be a limit on how much time one can spend on it.”

  James was about to move the sixth mirror-gem combination when suddenly the light went out.

  Nothing happened.

  Then from behind them came a
sound.

  Solon had his warhammer raised and James his sword out by the time they turned.

  Within all nine niches, the skeletal warriors were picking up their weapons and shields and stepping down to the floor.

  “This is bad,” Kendaric whispered.

  William lay in darkness.

  His last memory had been of striking the water and being swept along by the raging currents, then hitting his head against a rock.

  He stood up and found himself dry. He looked at his hands and down at his body and saw no wound. He tentatively touched his face and head and felt no injury. No soreness or ache, not even a cut or bruise.

  For a moment he wondered if he was dead and was somewhere inside Lims-Kragma’s Hall.

  “William!”

  He spun and found that he was standing inside the Rainbow Parrot. Before him, Bear held Talia by the throat, shaking her as a terrier shakes a rat. The huge man tossed her aside and she slammed hard against the wall. Her attacker hurried off through the door leading to the rear of the inn.

  William attempted to move toward the girl, but something held his feet in place. I’m dreaming, he thought.

  A pillar of flame erupted around Talia and she rose up from the floor screaming in agony. Creatures of flame, demons with animal heads, appeared and surrounded Talia’s flame-prison. “William!” she screamed.

  Suddenly he found he could move. He was wearing armor and carrying a sword of blinding light. He struck the first demon from behind and it shrieked in pain.

  All the creatures turned as one and began to move in concert against William, who stood resolute, refusing to concede a foot to them, and laid about with his sword. But for each one he cut, another took its place. Hot talons struck at his shield and armor. He felt pain and heat, yet the armor remained intact. He found that his arm was tiring and his legs were growing shaky, but he continued to stand fast and deal out injury with every thrust.