A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  Tomas used his ability to fly them over the water’s surface to the door of the tower. They pushed it open and entered.

  —

  Pug and Tomas spent a full five minutes discussing what they were likely to discover at the top of the tower. The stairway leading upward was narrow enough so that it could be climbed only single file as it wound along the inside wall of the tower. At last Pug said, “Well, we are as ready as we are ever likely to be. There’s nothing to do but go up.” He followed his friend as the white-and-gold-clad warrior mounted the steps. Near the top, Pug glanced down and discovered it a fair fall to the stones below as Tomas reached the trapdoor at the top.

  Tomas pushed open the door and vanished upward through the opening. Pug followed. There was a single room atop the tower, a simple setting of a bed, a chair, and a window. Sitting on the chair was a man, wearing a brown robe cinched at the waist by a whipcord belt. He sat reading a book, which he closed as Pug joined Tomas. Slowly he smiled.

  Pug said, “Macros.”

  Tomas said, “We’ve come to take you back.”

  The sorcerer stood, weakly, as if injured or tired. He faltered as he stepped toward the pair. He staggered. Pug moved forward to catch him, but Tomas was faster. He got his arm about Macros’s waist.

  Then the sorcerer bellowed an alien sound, as if a roar were being heard through a distant windstorm. His arm contracted, gripping Tomas in a rib-shattering hug as the trapdoor slammed shut. For a moment Tomas threw back his head and screamed in agony, then Macros threw him with stunning force against the wall. Pug froze an instant and began to mouth an incantation, but the sorcerer was too quick in moving toward him. The brown-clad figure reached out, picked up Pug with ease, and threw him against the opposite wall. Pug hit with a bone-jarring impact, his head striking stone, and fell hard to the floor. He slumped down, obviously dazed.

  Tomas was up, his sword drawn when Macros spun. Then in an instant the sorcerer was gone and a creature of nightmarish aspect stood poised for attack. In outline only was it seen, seven feet high and easily twice Tomas’s weight, with large feathered wings extending outward. As it moved, a vague hint of horns upon the head and large upswept ears could be seen. A featureless charcoal mask regarded the Valheru with ruby glowing eyes. Fully cloaked in smoky darkness, it had only a red-orange glow showing through the eyes and mouth, as if revealing some inner fire. Otherwise it was a thing of ebon shadow, each detail of face and form only a suggestion. Tomas struck outward with his sword, and the blade passed through the creature without apparent harm. Tomas retreated as the creature advanced.

  “Puny thing,” came a whispering voice, a distant echo caught upon mocking breezes.. “Did you think that which opposes you did not prepare fully for your destruction?”

  Tomas crouched, sword at the ready. Narrowed eyes under the golden helm regarded the thing as he said, “What manner of creature are you?”

  The whispering voice said, “I, warrior? I am a child of the void, brother to the wraith and specter. I am a Master of the dread.” With startling quickness, it reached out and seized Tomas’s shield, crushing it with a single twist and ripping it away from him. Tomas swung in answer, but it reached up and gripped his sword arm at the wrist. Tomas howled in pain. “I am summoned here to end your existence,” said the shadowy thing. Then with ease it yanked and tore Tomas’s arm from his shoulder. With a shower of blood, Tomas fell to the stones, screaming in agony.

  The thing said, “I am disappointed. I was warned you were to be feared. But you are as nothing.”

  Tomas’s face was white and drenched in perspiration, his eyes wide with pain and terror. “Who…” he gasped. “Who warned you?”

  “Those who know your nature, man-thing.” The dread stood holding Tomas’s arm and sword. “They even understood how you would come here, rather than seek the sorcerer’s true prison.”

  “Where is he?” gasped Tomas, seeming on the verge of fainting.

  With a whisper of evil the thing said, “You have failed.”

  Evidently near collapse, Tomas forced himself alert, almost snarling when he spoke. “Then you don’t know. For all your posturing you are nothing but a servant. You know nothing but what the Enemy tells you.” With contempt, he spat, “Slave.”

  With a muted howl of glee, the dread spoke. “I stand high. I know where the sorcerous one is hidden. He abides where you should have expected: at that place most unlikely to be a prison, therefore the most likely place. He lives in the Garden.”

  Suddenly Tomas jumped to his feet, grinning. The thing faltered, for the arm it was holding faded into insubstantiality as it reappeared upon Tomas’s body, while the shield untwisted itself with metallic complaint and sped across the room to rest again upon his left arm. The thing moved toward Tomas, but the warrior in white slashed out with his sword with blinding quickness and this time the blade bit with fury, exploding on contact with a spray of golden sparks and a loud hiss. Bitter smoke came from the contact, and the creature shrieked its muted cry of pain. “It seems I am not the only one given to arrogant presumption,” said Tomas as he drove the thing back with a fury of blows. “Nor are your masters the only ones capable of casting illusions. Foolish thing, don’t you know that it was I along with my brethren who cast you and yours from this universe? Do you think that I, Tomas called Ashen-Shugar, fear such as you? I, who once vanquished the Dreadlords!”

  The thing cowered in terror and anger, its cries distant echoes. Then, with a musical tinkling, glowing clear crystalline gems erupted in the air about the creature. Each elongated rapidly, forming a latticework of transparent bars around the creature. Tomas grinned as Pug finished the mystic cage about the night-black being. The dread lashed out and sounded a muted howl of agony as it touched the transparent bars. Pug got up from where he had feigned unconsciousness and came to stand next to the creature, which attempted to reach between the glasslike bars, but recoiled instantly it touched one. It shrieked and howled, its alien voice an odd raucous whispering. “What is this thing?” asked Pug.

  “A Dreadmaster, one of the Unliving. A thing whose nature is alien even to the essence of our being. It comes from a strange universe at the farthest reaches of time and space, one that only a few beings can breach and survive. It eats the very substance of life, as do all its kind when they enter this universe. It will wither grass should it step upon it. It is a creature of animated destruction, second in power only to the Dreadlords, who are beings even the Valheru are cautious of. That this thing was even brought to the City Forever shows that the Enemy and Murmandamus have callous regard for the potential destruction they might unleash.” He paused, a look of concern on his face. “It also makes me wonder what more is involved with this Enemy than we have understood so far.” He looked at Pug. “How are you?”

  Pug stretched and said, “I think I broke a rib.”

  Tomas nodded. “It was lucky that was all you broke. Sorry, but I expected to keep it busy.”

  Pug shrugged and winced. “What do we do with it?” He indicated the softly howling creature.

  “We could drive it back to its own universe, but that would be time-consuming. How long will that cage stand?”

  Pug said, “Normally, centuries. Here perhaps forever.’

  “Good,” said Tomas, starting for the door.

  A terrified cry erupted from the thing of blackness. “No, master!” it shouted. “Don’t leave me here! I will wither for ages before I die! It will be constant pain! Even now I hunger! Release me and I will serve you, master!”

  Pug said, “Can we trust it?”

  Tomas said, “Of course not.”

  Pug said, “I hate to visit torment on anything.”

  “You always did have a tender side to your nature,” said Tomas, hurrying down the stairs. Pug came after as shrieks and curses followed them. “Those beings are the most destructive in the universes,” said Tomas, “anti-life. Once set free, the common dread are difficult enough to deal with; the Dreadmaster
s are impossible to control.”

  They reached the door and went outside. Tomas said, “Do you feel up to getting us back to the surface?”

  Pug stretched slowly, testing his tender side. “I’ll manage.”

  He incanted his spell and, holding Tomas’s hand, rose into the air, insubstantial again as they passed into the rock ceiling of the cavern. With their departure the only sound in the vast cave was the faint inhuman screams that came from the top of the tower upon the island.

  —

  “What is the Garden?” asked Pug.

  Tomas said, “It is a place which is of the city, but apart from it.” He closed his eyes, and shortly after, Ryath descended from the sky. They mounted and Tomas said, “Ryath, the Garden.”

  The dragon beat into the sky and soon they were again speeding over the odd landscape of the City Forever. More alien buildings rolled by beneath them, hinting at functions but not revealing them. In the distance, if distance could be judged in this impossible place, Pug saw seven pillars rising from the city. At first they appeared black, but as they drew closer, Pug could see tiny flecks of light contained within.

  Noticing his interest, Tomas said, “The Star Towers, Pug.” He sent a mental command to Ryath, and the dragon banked, coming very close to one of the pillars, which were arranged in a circle around a mighty, open plaza, easily miles across.

  As they passed, Pug was astonished to discover that the pillars were composed of tiny stars, comets, and planets, miniature galaxies swirling within the confines of the pillar, locked in a void as black as true space. Tomas laughed at Pug’s astonishment. “No, I don’t know what they are. No one does. It may be art. It may be a tool of understanding.” He paused and added, “It may be the true universe is contained within those pillars.”

  As they flew away, Pug looked back at the Star Towers. “Another mystery of the City Forever?”

  Tomas said, “Yes, and not even the most spectacular. Look there.” He pointed to the horizon, where a red glow could be seen. As they raced toward it, it resolved into a wall of flames, topped by a heat shimmer that distorted everything seen beyond. As they passed over the flames, waves of scorching heat rose to meet them.

  “What was that?”

  Tomas said, “A wall of flames. It runs roughly a mile along a straight line. It has no apparent purpose, no reason, no use. It’s simply there.”

  They continued their flight until they approached land free of buildings of any sort. The dragon descended toward a green area. As they dropped in altitude, Pug could see a dark circular shape outlined against the grey of rift-space, floating at the edge of the city. “It is the oddest feature of this very odd place,” said Tomas. “Had I your discerning nature, I might have thought of the Garden when we first came here. It is a floating place of plants. Assuming Macros’s powers have been neutralized, this is the last place from which he could escape. There are many unexpected treasures hidden throughout the City Forever. Besides gold and other obvious items of wealth, there are alien machines of vast power, arcane items of might, perhaps means to return to true space. But even should means of return to Midkemia exist in the city, Macros can’t get there.”

  Pug looked down. They were a thousand feet above the city and descending rapidly. Beyond the boundaries of the City Forever, the grey of rift-space could be seen. As they approached the border of the Garden, Pug could see misty falls of water descending from several points along the edge. The Garden was surrounded by what Pug could think of only as a moat. But instead of water flowing along the edges of the Garden, there was literally nothing—the void of rift-space.

  They passed above the edge of the Garden, and Pug could see that somehow a large circle of land floated beside the city. Atop this circle of earth a garden of lush vegetation sat, fully covering every inch of the surface. It brimmed with meandering streams, which spilled over the edge. Fruit trees of every description could be seen. Pug said, “This is indeed a most improbable place.”

  Tomas indicated a stone artifact. “A bridge should stand there.” At once Pug could see that a span had indeed once arched above the moat. It had been shattered, leaving a stone foundation on the ground. Across the moat, the twin of that foundation squatted. “If this place once existed upon some real world, then whoever or whatever brought it here neglected to include the river that ran around the Garden. With the bridges destroyed, there’s no way to leave the Garden.”

  They began a search, skimming over the trees. Not only the varieties known to Pug from Midkemia, but also many he knew from Kelewan were planted there, along with a host of bowers from other worlds, never seen before. They flew past one stand of large tubular plants that began a haunting fluting, almost a musical sound, in the wind from the dragon’s wings. They sped above a wine-colored stand of flowers that exploded in white, as seed pods were thrown skyward to drift upon the breeze of their passing. And as Tomas had predicted, other bridges along the perimeter of the Garden were also shattered.

  Small animals could be seen scurrying below the brush, hiding from the potential predator that flew above. Then another shape appeared in the heavens, heading toward them.

  Faster than an arrow’s flight, something hurtled through the sky at them. In the instant before it closed, Ryath bellowed a bone-wrenching battle cry. It was answered.

  A giant black dragon attacked, claws extended, head craning forward with sheets of fire exploding from its maw. Tomas erected a barrier that prevented Pug and himself from being harmed by the flame.

  Ryath answered the attack and the two creatures joined in battle. They grappled with claw and fang as they hovered above the Garden. Tomas slashed out with his blade, but could not reach the other dragon. “This is an ancient beast,” shouted Tomas. “His kind no longer exist upon Midkemia. No greater black has lived there in ages.”

  “Where did it come from?” shouted Pug, but Tomas seemed unable to hear the question. Pug felt the buffeting of the black’s wings, but Tomas’s spellcraft was sufficient to keep them both safely seated. They would have difficulty only should Ryath not win the contest, for while Pug thought he had some idea of how the beast flew between worlds, he didn’t wish to have to put those theories into practice. If Ryath fell, they might be stranded here.

  But the golden dragon was equal in might to the black and Tomas punished the black every time it came close enough to be struck. Pug incanted and launched an attack of his own. As crackling energies struck the enemy dragon, the beast screamed in rage and pain, throwing back its head. Ryath seized the opening and bit upon the black’s neck, bringing claws up to rip at the less protected belly. The golden dragon’s fangs could only dent the heavy scales of the neck, not break them, but the claws were doing considerable damage to the black’s underside. The battle carried the two mighty dragons away from the heart of the Garden, until they hovered near the moat.

  Now the black sought to escape, but Ryath’s jaws held tight. Pug and Tomas felt the gold falter and begin to be dragged down. Then suddenly they were moving upward again. The black had collapsed, ceasing its hovering. The sudden added weight had pulled Ryath down, but she had released in time to prevent them all from being dragged downward.

  Pug watched as the black fell past the edge of the Garden, to vanish into the moat between it and the city. As he watched, the black dragon continued to fall, below the city, until at last it was simply a spot of black against the grey, then at last gone from sight. Pug heard Tomas say, “You fought well, Ryath. I have never ridden one so accomplished, even the mighty Shuruga.”

  Pug felt the beaming pride the dragon projected as she said, Thou art fairly spoken, Tomas. I thank thee for thy words. But that one was an ancient male, one less mighty than I, so it was less a contest that it appeared. Had thou and Pug not crouched upon my back, I would have been less cautious. Still, thine aid and Pug’s counted much.

  They circled above the island in the sky and began their search again. It was a large place, and the foliage was dense, but
at last Pug pointed and shouted, “There!”

  Tomas followed his friend’s direction and there, in the center of a clearing, a figure jumped up and down, waving his arms above his head. They waved back as Tomas instructed the dragon to descend. The figure staggered back, covering his eyes from the wind the huge wings caused. He was holding a staff and wore the familiar brown homespun. It was Macros. He continued to wave at them as they came to land.

  His face registered resignation as the dragon touched ground. There was an odd, strangely quiet moment, and they could hear him sigh. Then he said, “I wish you hadn’t done that.”

  The universe collapsed and came crashing down upon them.

  It felt as if the ground had fallen out from under them. Pug staggered a moment, then righted himself and saw Tomas doing the same. Macros leaned upon his staff, looking about, then sat down upon a rock. The falling sensation slowed, then ceased, but the sky above changed, as the grey of rift-space was replaced by a dazzling display of stars in an inky void. Macros said, “You should do something about the air above this island, Pug. In a moment we’ll not have it.”

  Pug didn’t hesitate but incanted quickly and closed his eyes. Above them the others could see a faint glowing canopy come into existence. Pug opened his eyes again.

  Macros said, “Well, you couldn’t have known.” Then his eyes narrowed and his voice rose in anger. “But you should have been clever enough to have anticipated this trap!”

  Pug and Tomas suddenly both felt such guilt as they had when boys, being reprimanded by Tomas’s father for some failing in the kitchen. Pug shrugged off the feeling and said, “We thought it all right, seeing you waving to us.”

  Macros closed his eyes and leaned his head against the staff a moment, then heaved a deep sigh. “One of the problems with being my age is you look at everyone who is younger as children, and when everyone else around you is younger, it means you live in a universe of children. So you tend to scold more than is proper.” He shook his head. “I am sorry to be so short with you. I was trying to warn you off. If you’d thought to use one of the abilities you learned from the eldar, we could have spoken despite the noise of the dragon. Then Tomas could have lifted me up to the dragon, and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”