For weeks the skies were angry and without substance, as the stuff of creation flowed from horizon to horizon. Madness was without limit in the universe, as the Valheru rose up to challenge the new gods. Time was without meaning, and the very fabric of reality rippled and flowed, and in the center of his hall, Ashen-Shugar brooded.
Then he summoned Shuruga and flew to that odd place on the plain, that city of Draken-Korin’s making. And he waited.
Mad vortices of energy crashed across the heavens. Ashen-Shugar could see the very fabric of time and space rent and folding in upon itself. He knew it was almost time. He sat quietly upon the back of Shuruga and waited.
A clarion sounded, that alarm he had erected in concert with the world, which told him the moment he had awaited was upon him. Urging Shuruga upward, Ashen-Shugar searched for what he knew must appear before the mad display in the skies. The dragon stiffened under him and he saw his prey. The figure of Draken-Korin grew discernible as he slowed his black dragon. An odd something appeared in Draken-Korin’s eyes, something alien. The other voice said, It is horror.
Shuruga sped forward. The great dragon roared his challenge, answered by Draken-Korin’s black. Then the two clashed in the sky.
Quickly it was over, for Draken-Korin had surrendered too much of his essence to create the madness which filled the skies.
Ashen-Shugar landed lightly near the twisted body of his foeman and came to stand over him. The fallen Valheru looked up at his attacker and whispered, “Why?”
Pointing upward, Ashen-Shugar said, “This obscenity should never have been allowed. You bring an end to all we knew.”
Draken-Korin looked heavenward, where his brethren battled the gods. “They were so strong. We could never have dreamed.” His face revealed his terror and hate as Ashen-Shugar raised his golden blade to end it. “But I had the right!” he screamed.
Ashen-Shugar severed Draken-Korin’s head from his shoulders, and suddenly both body and head vanished in a hiss of smoke. Leaving no trace, the fallen Valheru’s essence returned skyward, to mix with that mindless thing of anger which battled the gods. With bitterness Ashen-Shugar said, “There is no right. There is only power.” Alone of his kind, he could understand the mocking irony in his words. He retired to his cavern to await the final outcome of the Chaos Wars.
Time was without meaning as time itself was a weapon used in battle, but in some sense it passed while the new gods warred with what had been the Dragon Host. Then the gods moved in concert, those who had survived the internecine warfare whereby each established his place in the hierarchy of things, and they focused their unified attention upon the Valheru. They moved as a force of power beyond the maddest dream of Draken-Korin, and as a body they cast the Valheru from the universe. They cast them into another dimension of space and time and moved to deny the Valheru a way back. In near-mindless rage the Valheru sought to return home, to reach that thing left against this day, that thing denied to them by one of their own. Ashen-Shugar had prevented their victory, and now they were being blocked from their homeworld. In their anger and anguish they turned their might upon the lesser races of the new universe. From world to world they rampaged, destroying anything and everything in their path. From world after world they tore the essence of life, the secrets of magics, and the powers of suns. Before them lay warm, verdant worlds circling living suns; behind them lay frigid, lifeless orbs spinning about burned-out stars. In their frantic attempt to return to the world of their nurturance, they delivered utter ruination to all they touched. Lesser races banded together, attempting to oppose this raging thing. At first they were swept away, then they slowed it, then at last they found a way to escape. One lesser race, called human, turned its full attention to escape, and ways were found to flee. Mankind and other races discovered a haven. Gates were opened to other worlds, and the races fled, scattering themselves through time and space.
Great holes in the fabric of the universe were opened. Dwarves and men, goblins and trolls, all came through the cracks in reality, the rifts between one universe and another. New races, new creatures, came to Midkemia, and upon this world they sought a place.
Then the gods moved to close off the world of Midkemia to the Dragon Lords for eternity. They turned to the rifts they had allowed to form, and they sealed them. Suddenly the last route between the stars closed off. A barrier was erected. The Dragon Host tried in vain to penetrate this curtain, but to no avail. They were denied return to Midkemia’s universe and they raged in frustration, vowing to find means of entrance.
Then it was over. The Chaos Wars, the Days of the Mad Gods’ Rage, the Time of Star Death: by whatever name it would come to be called, the clash between that which was and that which followed was finished. When it was over, and the skies had again been cleansed of insanity, Ashen-Shugar left his cavern. Returning to the plain before the city of Draken-Korin, he observed the aftermath of the mightiest struggle recorded. He landed Shuruga, then allowed the dragon to hunt. For a long time he silently waited for something, he couldn’t be sure what.
Hours passed, then at last the other voice spoke. What is this place?
“The Desolation of the Chaos Wars. Draken-Korin’s monument, the lifeless tundra that was once great grasslands. Few living things abide here. Most creatures flee to the south and more hospitable climes.”
Who are you?
Ashen-Shugar felt amusement. Laughing, he said, “I am what you are becoming. We are as one. So you have said many times.” His laughter ceased. He was the first of his race to laugh. There was a sadness underlying the humor, for to understand humor marked Ashen-Shugar as something beyond any Valheru, and he knew he was witness to the beginning of a new era. I had forgotten.
Ashen-Shugar, last of the Valheru, called Shuruga back from his hunt. Mounting his steed, he glanced at the spot where Draken-Korin had been defeated, marked only by ash. Shuruga took to the skies, high above the aftermath of destruction.
It is worthy of sorrow.
“I think not,” said the Valheru. “There is a lesson, though I cannot bring myself to know it. Yet I sense you do.” Ashen-Shugar closed his eyes a moment as his head throbbed. The other voice had again vanished from his mind. Ignoring the wonder of this odd personality who had come to influence him over the years, he turned his attention to his last task. Over mountains the Valheru rode, seeking those things enslaved by his kind. Within the forests of the southern continent, Ashen-Shugar raced over the stronghold of the tiger-men. In a voice loud enough to be heard, he cried, “Let it be known that from this day you are a free people.”
The leader of the tiger-men called back, “What of our master?”
“He is gone. Your destiny is in your own hands. By my word I, Ashen-Shugar, say this is so.”
Then to the south, to where the serpent race created by Alma-Lodaka resided, he went. And there his words were greeted with hisses of terror and anger. “How may we survive without our mistress, she who is our goddess-mother?”
“That is for you to decide. You are a free people.”
The serpents were not pleased and set about to discover means how their mistress could again be recalled. As a race they made a vow, that until the end of time they would work to bring back her who was their mother and their goddess, Alma-Lodaka. From that day forward, the priesthood became the ultimate power within the society of the Pantathian serpent people.
Around the world he flew, and everywhere he passed, the words were spoken: “Your destiny is your own. All are a free people.” At last he reached the strange place fashoned by Draken-Korin and the others. There gathered were the elves. Landing upon the plain, the Valheru said, “Let the word go forth. From this moment you are free.”
The elves looked among themselves, and one said, “What does this mean?”
“You are free to do as you wish. No one will care for you or direct your lives.”
The spokesman bowed and said, “But, master, those who are wisest among us have gone with your bre
thren, and with them go the lore, the knowledge and the power. We are weak without the eldar. How, then, will we survive?”
“Your destiny is now your own to forge as best you may. Should you be weak, you will perish. Should you be strong, you will survive. And mark you well, there are new forces let loose upon the land. Creatures of alien nature are come here, and with them shall you strive or make peace, as you will, for they also seek their destiny. But there will be a new order, and in it must you find a place. It may be you shall need raise yourself above others and exercise dominion, or it may be they will destroy you. Or perhaps peace is possible between you. That is for you to decide. I am done with you all, save this one last command. This place is forbidden, upon pain of my wrath. Let none enter it again.” With a wave of his hand he fashioned mighty magic and the small city of the Valheru slowly sank under the ground. “Let the dusts of time bury it and let none remember it. This is my will.”
The elves bowed and said, “As it is willed, master, so you will be obeyed.” The eldest of the elves turned to his brethren and said, “None may enter this place: let none approach. It is vanished from mortal eye; it is not remembered.”
Ashen-Shugar said, “Now you are a free people.”
The elves, those who had lived most removed from their masters, said, “We shall go, then, to a place where we may live at peace.” They moved to the west, seeking a place where they could live in harmony.
Others said, “We shall be wary of these new beings, for we are those who have the right to inherit the mantles of power.”
Ashen-Shugar turned and said, “Pitiful creatures, have you not observed how power means nothing? Find another path.” But the moredhel were already leaving, his words unheard, as they began to dream the dreams of power. They had set foot upon the Dark Path even as they began to follow their brothers to the west. In time their brothers would drive them off, but for now they were as one.
Others moved silently away, ready to destroy any who opposed them, not content to seek out their masters’ power, certain of their own ability to take by force of arms whatever they wished. Those elves had been twisted by the forces let loose during the Chaos Wars and were already drawing away from their brethren. They would be called the glamredhel, the mad elves, and as they set out for the north, they turned suspicious eyes upon those moving westward. They would hide themselves away, using science and sorcery plundered from alien worlds to build giant cities in imitation of their masters, to protect themselves from their kindred, while plotting to make war upon them.
Disgusted at their behavior, Ashen-Shugar returned to his hall, to reside until that time when he was to leave this life, preparing the way for the other. The universe was changed, and within his hall Ashen-Shugar felt himself alien to the newly forged order. As if reality itself rejected his nature, he fell into torpor, a coma-like sleep, where his being grew diffused and began to suffuse his armor, the power being passed into artifacts, to await another who would come to wear his mantle.
At the last he stirred and said, “Have I erred?”
Now you know doubt.
“This strange quietness within, what is it?”
It is death approaching.
Closing his eyes, the last Valheru said, “I thought as much. So few of my kind lived beyond battle. It was a rare thing. I am the last. Still, I would like to fly Shuruga once more.”
He is gone. Dead ages past.
Ashen-Shugar struggled with vague memories. Weakly he said, “But I flew him this morning.”
It was a dream. As is this.
“Am I then also mad?” The thought of what was seen in Draken-Korin’s eyes haunted Ashen-Shugar.
You are but a memory, said the other. This is but a dream.
“Then I will do what is planned. I accept the inevitable. Another will come to take my place.”
So it has happened already, for I am the one who came, and I have taken up your sword and put upon your mantle; your cause is now mine. I stand against those who would plunder this world, said the other.
The one called Tomas.
—
Tomas opened his eyes and then closed them again. He shook his head, as if clearing it. To Pug he had been silent for only a moment, but the magician suspected that many things had passed through Tomas’s mind. At last Tomas said, “I have the memories now. Now I understand what is occurring.”
Macros nodded. He said to Pug, “In all my dealings with the Ashen-Shugar-Tomas paradox, that most difficult of all was how much knowledge to permit Tomas. Now he is ready to deal with the greatest challenge of his existence, and now he must know the truth. And you as well, though I suspect you have already deduced what he has learned.”
Softly Pug replied, “At first I was misled by the Enemy’s use of ancient Tsurani when it spoke in Rogen’s vision. But now I realize that was simply because that was the language of humans it knew at the time of the Escape across the golden bridge. Once I discarded the idea that the Enemy was somehow linked to the Tsurani, when I considered the presence of the eldar upon Kelewan, then I understood. I know what we face, and why the truth was hidden from Tomas. It is the worst possible nightmare come to life.”
Macros looked to Tomas. Tomas looked long at Pug, and there was pain in his eyes. Quietly he said, “When I first remembered the time of Ashen-Shugar I thought I…I thought my heritage had been left against the Tsurani invasion. But that was only a small part of it.”
“Yes,” said Macros. “There is more. You now know how a dragon thought extinct for generations—a great black—could guard me.”
Tomas’s expression was openly one of doubt and worry. With an almost resigned note, he added, “And I now know the purpose of Murmandamus’s masters.” He waved his hand around them. “The trap was less to prevent Macros from reaching Midkemia than it was to bring us here, keeping us away from the Kingdom.”
“Why?” asked Pug.
Macros said, “For in our own time Murmandamus commands an army and strikes into your homeland. Even as you searched for me in the City Forever, I wager he was overrunning the garrison at Highcastle. And I know his purpose in invading the Kingdom. He needs to reach Sethanon.”
“Why Sethanon?” asked Pug.
“Because by chance that city is built over the ruins of the ancient city of Draken-Korin,” answered Tomas. “And within that city lies the Lifestone.”
The sorcerer said, “We’d best continue walking while we discuss these problems, Pug, for we’ve got to return to Midkemia and our own era. Tomas and I can tell you of the city of Draken-Korin and the Lifestone. That part you are ignorant of, though you know the rest: the Enemy, that thing you learned of upon Kelewan, is not a single being. It is the combined might and mind of the Valheru. The Dragon Lords are returning to Midkemia, and they want their world back.” With a humorless grin he said, “And we’ve got to keep them from taking it.”
SEVENTEEN
WITHDRAWAL
Arutha studied the canyon.
He had ridden out before first light with Guy and Baron Highcastle to observe the advancing elements of Murmandamus’s forces. From the spot where he and his companions had been intercepted by Highcastle’s men, they could see campfires in the distance.
Arutha pointed. “Do you see, Brian? There must be a thousand fires, which means five, six thousand soldiers. And that is only the first elements. By this time tomorrow there will be twice that number. Within three days Murmandamus will be throwing thirty thousand or more at you.”
Highcastle, ignoring Arutha’s tone, leaned forward over his horse’s neck, as if straining to see more clearly. “I see only fires, Highness. You know it is a common trick to build extra fires, so the enemy can’t gauge your strength or disposition.”
Guy swore under his breath and turned his horse around. “I’ll not wait to explain the obvious to idiots.”
“And I’ll not sit and be insulted by a traitor!” Highcastle shot back.
Arutha rode between them, saying,
“Guy, you swore no oath of fealty to me but you’re alive this minute because I’ve accepted your parole. Don’t let this become an issue of honor. I don’t need duels now. I need you.”
Guy’s one good eye narrowed and he seemed ready for more hot words, but at last he said, “I apologize…my lord. The rigors of a long journey. I’m sure you understand.” At the last he spurred his horse back toward the garrison.
Brian Highcastle said, “The man was an insufferably arrogant swine when he was Duke, and it seems two years wandering about the Northlands hasn’t changed him in the least.”
Arutha spun his horse around and faced Lord Highcastle. His words showed he was at the limit of his patience. “He’s also the finest general I’ve ever known, Brian. He just watched his command overrun; his city utterly destroyed. He has thousands of his people scattered throughout the mountains and he doesn’t know how many survived. I’m sure you can appreciate his shortness of temper.” The sarcasm of the last remark revealed his own frustration.
Lord Highcastle was silent. He turned and regarded the camp of the enemy as the dawn came.
—
Arutha tended his horse, the one taken from the brigands in the mountains. A bay mare, she was resting and regaining lost weight; Arutha had used one loaned him by Baron Highcastle that morning. In another day the mare would be fit to ride south. Arutha had expected the Baron at least to offer him an exchange of animals, but Brian, Lord Highcastle, seemed to be taking delight in pointing out at every opportunity that as a vassal to Lyam he had no obligation to Arutha, save being barely civil. Arutha was not sure if Brian would even offer to send an escort. The man was an insufferable egotist, not terribly perceptive, and stubborn—qualities not unexpected in a man shunted off to the frontier to hold against small bands of badly organized goblins, but hardly those of the commander one would wish to oppose a battle-hardened, well-led invading army.
A Darkness at Sethanon Page 40