A Darkness at Sethanon

by Raymond Feist

  Arutha slowly raised his hands. “I am Arutha, Prince of Krondor.”

  There were several laughs and the officer in charge said, “And I’m your brother the King. Nice and bold, renegade, but the Prince of Krondor lies dead in his family’s vault in Rillanon. If you’d not been running weapons to the goblins you’d have heard.”

  Arutha shouted back, “Get me to Brian Highcastle.”

  The leader of the horsemen rode up next to the Prince and said, “Put your hands behind you, there’s a good lad.”

  Arutha removed his right gauntlet, and held out his signet. The man studied it, then shouted, “Captain! Have you seen the Royal Seal of Krondor?”

  “An eagle flying over a mountain peak.”

  “Well, whether he’s the Prince or not, he’s wearing the ring.” Then the man looked at the others. “And he’s got an elf with him, too!”

  “An elf? You mean a Dark Brother.”

  The soldier looked confused. “You’d better come down here, sir.” He said to Arutha, “We’ll get this straight in a minute…Your Highness,” he added in a soft voice, just in case.

  The captain took several minutes to reach the floor of the gap, then came to stand next to Arutha. He studied the Prince’s face. “It’s a good likeness, I’ll warrant, but the Prince never wore no beard.”

  Then Guy said, “As thick-headed as you are, it’s no wonder Armand sent you to Highcastle, Walter of Gyldenholt.”

  The man regarded Guy for a long moment, then said, “Bloody hell! It’s the Duke of Bas-Tyra!”

  “And this is the Prince of Krondor.”

  The man called Walter kept looking back and forth; he said, “But you’re dead, or at least that’s what the royal proclamation said.” He turned to Guy. “And it’s your head to return to the Kingdom, Your Grace.”

  Arutha said, “Get us to Brian and we’ll straighten this out. His Grace is under my protection, as are these others. Now, can we stop this foolishness and ride on? There’s an army of Dark Brothers and goblins a day or so behind us, and we think Brian would appreciate hearing about it.”

  Walter of Gyldenholt motioned for the man who led the company to turn around. “Take them to Lord Highcastle. And when it’s all sorted out, come back and tell me just what the bloody hell is going on.”

  —

  Arutha put down the razor. He ran his hand over his again clean face and said, “So we left the elves and rode straight here.”

  Brian, Lord Highcastle, commander of the detachment at Cutter’s Gap, said, “An incredible tale, Highness. Were I not seeing you here with my own eyes, with du Bas-Tyra sitting there, I’d not have believed a word. The Kingdom thinks you dead. We had a day of memorial in your honor at the King’s request.” He sat observing the weary travelers as they cleaned up and ate, in the barracks room he had given over to Arutha and his companions. The old commander was stiff in posture, as if he were constantly at attention. He looked more a parade ground soldier than a frontier commander.

  Amos, who was busy gulping a flagon of wine, laughed. “If you’re going to have one of those, it’s best to do it before you’re dead so you can enjoy it. Shame you missed it, Arutha.”

  Guy said, “Have you many of my men with you?”

  Highcastle said, “Most of your officers were sent to Ironpass and Northwarden, but we’ve two of your better ones here: Baldwin de la Troville, and Anthony du Masigny. And a few remain at Bas-Tyra. Guiles Martine-Reems rules in your city now, as Baron du Corvis.”

  Guy said, “He’d like to be Duke, no doubt.”

  Arutha said, “Brian, I’d like to evacuate back to Sethanon. That’s Murmandamus’s obvious target and the city could benefit from your soldiers there. This position is untenable.”

  Highcastle said nothing for a long moment, then said, “No, Highness.”

  Amos said, “Say no to the Prince? Ha!”

  The Baron cast a sidelong glance toward Amos, then said to Arutha, “You know my charter and charge. I am vassal to your brother, no one else. I am given the security of this pass. I will not abandon it.”

  “My gods, man!” said Guy. “Will you not take our word? An army of more than thirty thousand is marching and you’ve what, one, two thousand soldiers spread over hills from halfway to Northwarden to halfway to Tyr-Sog. He’ll overrun you in a half day!”

  “So you say, Guy. I have no firsthand knowledge that what you say is true.”

  Arutha was stunned, while Amos said, “Now you’re calling the Prince a liar!”

  Brian ignored Amos. “I have no doubt you’ve seen some heavy concentration of Dark Brothers up north, but thirty thousand seems unlikely. We’ve been dealing with them for years and our best intelligence is there couldn’t be any force of them larger than two thousand in the field under one commander. We can easily handle that many from this position.”

  Guy spoke in controlled fury. “Have you been daydreaming while Arutha’s been speaking, Brian? Didn’t he tell you we lost a city with a sixty-foot-high wall, approachable from only one side, defended by seven thousand battle-tested soldiers under my command!”

  “And who has long been recognized as the finest military mind in the Kingdom?” asked Arutha.

  Highcastle said, “I know of your reputation, Guy, and against Kesh you’ve performed well. But we Border Lords face unusual situations as a matter of course. I’m sure we can deal with these Dark Brothers.” The Baron pushed himself away from the table and moved toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my duties to see to. You may continue to rest here as long as you wish, but remember, here I am the supreme commander until the King decides otherwise. Now I judge you all need rest. Please feel free to dine with my officers and myself, in two hours. I’ll send a guard to wake you.”

  Arutha sat down at the table. After Highcastle had left, Amos said, “The man’s an idiot.”

  Guy leaned forward, chin in hand. “No, Brian’s just doing his duty as he sees fit. Unfortunately, he’s no general. His patent came from Rodric, as something of a joke. He’s a southerner, a court noble with no prior battle training. And he’s had little trouble with the goblins up here.”

  “He came to Crydee once when I was a boy,” said Arutha. “I thought him a dashing fellow. The Border Lords.” The last was said with bitter humor.

  “He’ll do as he wishes,” said Guy. “And he’s had mostly troublemakers like Walter of Gyldenholt sent to his service. Armand sent him here five years ago for stealing from the company treasury. He had been a senior Knight-Lieutenant before that.

  “But,” added Guy, “because of politics, some good men are here as well. Baldwin de la Troville and Anthony du Masigny are both first-rate officers. They had the misfortune to be loyal to me. I’m sure it was Caldric who suggested to Lyam they be sent to the border.”

  Amos said, “Still, what good? Do you propose we incite a mutiny?”

  Guy said, “No, but at least when the butchering begins, the garrison will die under some competent officers along with the fools.”

  Arutha leaned back in his chair, feeling fatigue course through his body. He knew they must do something soon, but what? His mind spun with confusion, and he knew it was dulled by lack of sleep and by tension. No one in the room spoke. After a moment Locklear rose and made his way to one of the bunks and lay down. Without words to the others, he was quickly asleep.

  Amos said, “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in weeks.” He made his way to another bunk and, with a deep groan of satisfaction, settled into the soft embrace of the down comforter. “I will see you at supper.” The others followed his example.

  Soon all were asleep except Arutha, who tossed and turned, his mind visited by visions of hosts of goblins and moredhel overrunning his nation, killing and burning. His eyes refused to stay closed, and at last he sat up, a cold sweat upon his body. He glanced about and saw the others were all slumbering. He lay back and waited for sleep to come, but he was still awake when the call for supper came.

&
nbsp; SIXTEEN

  CREATION

  Macros opened his eyes.

  The sorcerer had entered a trance within minutes of discovering they were in the time trap, and had been motionless since. After watching him for several hours, Pug and Tomas had grown bored and turned their attentions to other matters. They had tried to discover all they could about the Garden, but as it was a mixture of alien plant and animal life, much of what they saw was difficult to understand. After what seemed days of exploration, the sorcerer hadn’t stirred and they had resigned themselves to waiting.

  “I think I’ve thought of a solution,” Macros said, stretching. “How long have I been in trance?”

  Tomas, who sat nearby on a large rock, said, “I estimate about a week.”

  Pug moved from where he had been observing, at Ryath’s side, and said, “Or it could be more. It’s hard to tell.”

  Macros blinked and stood up. “Moving through time backwards does make it somewhat academic, I’ll admit. But I had no idea I’d been contemplating so long.”

  Pug said, “You haven’t given us much idea of what is going on here. I tried several things to discover what is occurring about us, and have only gained a little notion of how this time trap works.”

  “What have you learned about the trap?”

  Pug’s brow furrowed. “It appears the spell was designed to reverse time in a field about us. As long as we’re in that field, we are subject to its effect and cannot change it. We’re carried along with the Garden, moving at a leisurely pace backward through the timestream.” Frustration showed clearly in his tone. “Macros, we’ve plenty of fruit and nuts, but Ryath is hungry. She has managed to get by on some of the small game around here, and even has managed to eat some nuts, but she can’t go on this way much longer. Within a short time she’ll have hunted out the game, and then she’ll begin to starve.”

  Macros looked over to where the golden dragon lay in a doze, to conserve energy. “Well, we must get out of here, then, by all means.”

  “How?” said Tomas.

  “It will be difficult, but I expect you two will be up to it.” He managed to smile, returning to something of the confidence he had exuded when both had known him before. “Any trap has some weakness. Even something as simple as a rock dropped from above has a design flaw: it can miss. I think I’ve found the flaw in this trap.”

  Pug said, “It would prove refreshing. I’ve thought of a dozen things to do, if I were outside the field of this trap. Ryath has tried to take me outside and we’ve failed. And I can’t think of a thing to do from the inside to fight our flight back through time.”

  “The trick, dear Pug, is not to fight the flight backward through time but to accelerate it. We must travel faster and faster, moving at rates undreamed of.”

  Tomas said, “To what ends? We move back further from the conflict. What do we gain?”

  “Think, Milamber of the Assembly,” Macros said, using Pug’s Tsurani name. “If we go back far enough…”

  Pug said nothing for a while, then understanding began to dawn. “We go back to the beginning of time.”

  “And before…when time had no meaning.”

  Pug said, “Is this possible?”

  Macros shrugged. “I don’t know, but as I can’t think of anything else to try, I’m willing. I’ll need your help. I have the knowledge but not the power.”

  Pug said, “Tell me what to do.”

  Macros motioned for him to sit, and sat opposite him. Tomas stood behind his friend, observing with interest. Macros reached out and placed his hands upon Pug’s head. “Let my knowledge come into you.”

  Pug felt his mind fill with images…

  …and the universe as he knows it shudders. Only once before has he known this sense of panoramic awareness, that time he stood upon the Tower of Testing when he entered the ranks of the Great Ones. A more mature, more knowledgeable observer watches this time and understands so much more of what he sees: the symmetry, the order, the stunning magnificence that spin about him, all tied together in some plan beyond his ability to perceive. He stands in awe.

  He casts his awareness about and again is astonished at the wonders of the universe about him. Now he again swims between the stars, again perceiving the mystic lines of force that bind together all things in the universe. He detects a tugging on those lines, and sees something striving to enter this universe from another. It is foul, a cancerous thing that threatens the order of all that is. It is a darkness, a blotting out. It is the Enemy. But it is weak and cautious. He ponders its nature as it falls away from his understanding. He is moving backward in time.

  He observes the Garden. He can see himself sitting before the sorcerer, his boyhood friend behind. He knows what he must do. The flow of time about the Garden is stately, moving at rhythms matching the normal rhythm of space and time about him, but reciprocal in flow; for each passing second, a second in the Garden flows backward.

  He reaches out, his mind finding the key to the time flow, as real to the touch of his spirit being as a stone to his hand. He caresses it and feels the beat of the universe, the secret of the illusory dimension. He sees and he knows. He understands and manipulates that flow, and now for each second of passing time in the universe, two seconds pass in the Garden. He feels a calm joy, for he has just accomplished something that only recently he would have judged beyond the ability of any mortal magician. He puts aside his pride and concentrates on the task at hand. Again he manipulates, and for each true second, four now flow about Tomas, Macros, and himself. Again, and again, and again he duplicates his feat, and now for each hour that the universe ages, they flee backward more than a day. Again, and it is two days, then four, then more than a week. Thrice more, and they move at better than a month for each true hour. Again, again, and again, and soon they pass a year for each hour. He pauses and sends forth his awareness.

  His mind soars across the cosmos like an eagle upon the wing, speeding between stars like the mighty bird of prey gliding past the peaks of the Grey Towers. He spies the hot and green-tinted star that is so familiar to him and for a brief instant understands. He is upon Kelewan, discovering the lost lore of the eldar. A year and more back in time have they moved. As fast as the time to think, he returns his consciousness to his personal here and now.

  Again he manipulates the time flow, and now it is two years per hour, then four, eight, sixteen. Again he pauses and regards the universe.

  The stars revolve in orderly fashion, hurtling through a cosmos so vast that their blinding speed appears little more than a crawl. But they move in odd pattern, their motions inverted, their travels reversed. He considers and again works upon the time frame. He is now master of this practice, possessing abilities to dwarf the wildest ambitions of even the most arrogant member of the Assembly. He is now certain of his own nature, so much more than he had thought, and he manipulates the time flow with ease. A wild thought passes through him: this is to be like a god! Then years of training surge up with the warning: beware pride! Remember, you are but a mortal, and the first duty is to serve the Empire. His teachers at the Assembly did their job well. He ignores the intoxication of his power, rediscovering his wal, the perfect center of his being, and again manipulates the time flow. A year passes in reverse for each second in the true universe. Again and again he works his skills upon the time trap of the enemy, accelerating it beyond the expectations of those who fashioned it. Now a decade passes each second and he knows he lives before the time of his birth. In the time it takes to draw breath, he has passed back before the time when Duke Borric’s grandfather invaded Crydee. He works another pass of time, and now the Kingdom is only half its future size, with the holdings of Baron von Darkmoor marking its western boundary. Twice more he accelerates the time factor, and the nations of his lifetime are little more than villages, peopled by simpler folks than those who will give rise to nations. Again and again he works his magic.

  Then the universe rocks. The very fabric of the reality
is rent. Energies impossible to fathom explode about him, violent beyond his ability to apprehend, and he—

  —

  Pug opened his eyes. He felt a strange dislocation about him and for a moment his vision blurred. Tomas came to stand beside him and said, “Are you all right?”

  Pug blinked and said, “Something out there…changed.”

  Tomas looked skyward. “There’s something happening.”

  Macros regarded the heavens. Odd patterns of energies whirled madly across the firmament while stars wobbled in the course. “If we watch, we’ll see things calm down in time. We’re seeing this from back to front, remember.”

  “Seeing what?” asked Pug.

  Tomas answered, “The Chaos Wars.” There was a haunted look in his eyes, as if something in what occurred touched him deeply in a place he had not expected. But his face remained a mask while he watched the mad skies above.

  Macros nodded. Standing up, he pointed heavenward. “See, even now we are passing into an epoch before the Chaos Wars, the Days of the Mad Gods’ Rage, the Time of Star Death, and whatever other colorful names myth and lore have conjured up for that period.”

  Pug closed his eyes and felt his mind cold and numb, his head throbbing with a dull ache.

  Macros said, “It appears we are moving at rate of three, four hundred years a second in reverse time.” Pug nodded. “So for every three seconds, about a millennium passes.” He calculated. “That’s a good start.”

  “Start?” questioned Pug. “How fast need we move?”

  “By my best calculation, billions of years. At a thousand years per second, we’ll get back to the beginning in our lifetime. But just barely. We need better.”

  Pug nodded, clearly fatigued, but he closed his eyes. Tomas looked skyward. The stars could now be seen to move, though, given their vast distances, it was still a slow movement. But even seeing this much motion was disquieting. Then their movement seemed to accelerate, and soon it was noticeably faster. Then Pug was again with them.