Wrath of a Mad God

by Raymond E. Feist

  He had also discovered that being run through with a sword from behind was his least favorite way to die. He took a deep 3 8 9

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  breath. If he had only had access to the incredible energy of life he was finding here, or rather, that incredible moment of astonishing power when life turns to death . . . if only he had possessed that knowledge and power years ago, he would now be ruling Midkemia.

  “I must find out what this is!” he said aloud. He moved toward the nexus of all this strange and wonderful death-magic.

  Nakor stirred. He had been unconscious, lying behind the throne upon which the TeKarana would observe the slaughter of thousands.

  He had no idea how long it had been since he had said goodbye to Pug and Magnus. As dry as his mouth felt, it was at least a full day, if not several. He forced himself upright and reached inside his bag.

  It was empty. Sighing, he took it off and pushed it away. He hadn’t really been hungry, and was reaching for an orange out of habit. He sloshed a little water around in the water skin at his belt and thought it odd that he wasn’t thirsty, either, despite his dry mouth. Then he realized what was happening. “Ah. That’s . . . brilliant!”

  He turned his head to see what was occurring in the pit.

  The sight made him sad. Hundreds of bodies were falling each minute, and more and more of the essence of the Dreadlord was turning to vaporous smoke and spinning upward in a mad cy-clone of wind that rushed up from the bottom of the pit.

  He pulled himself around the throne. He could barely see the Dreadlord anymore, so much of his being was being sacrificed into the maelstrom to reach out and bind this world to Kelewan.

  A sudden giddiness struck Nakor and he knew. “It’s almost time!” he whispered. He moved around, and finding it amusing, sat down in the TeKarana’s throne. He didn’t think Valko would mind.

  He waited.

  “Why don’t they come?” Martuch asked.

  For two days the warriors of the White and the Talnoy guards had waited for an attack from the temple Deathknights loyal to the Dark One. But no attack had materialized.

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  Those few Lessers left alive in the TeKarana’s private apartments had been given the chore of preparing food for those hunkered down, waiting.

  Bek had stood motionless in the same position, waiting for the assault. He had not eaten, drunk water, or relieved himself for two days. It was beginning to unnerve even the most battle-hardened Deathknight.

  Suddenly, Bek said, “They are not coming.”

  “How do you know?” asked Valko.

  The massive warrior turned and with a grin that was nearly demonic said, “I know. You are safe. The Dark One is busy and will not return. He is leaving this world very soon. I can go now.” Suddenly a crimson light shone around the large warrior and he fell over.

  A disembodied voice said, “I am Kantas-Barat! I have returned.”

  The Deathknights looked from one to another, and Father Juwon said, “The old gods are returning!”

  Hirea hurried over to Bek and examined him. Looking up, he said, “He’s dead!”

  Martuch shook his head. “That one has been dead a long time, I think. Whatever was inside him has no more use for him. I hope for a good cause.” To those assembled, he raised his voice. “Come, it’s time to end this insanity and begin rebuilding our nation.”

  Most cheered, including Valko, but he looked out of the window at the city in turmoil, with fires and smoke everywhere, and he knew that despite this feigned optimism, the conflict was not yet over.

  Pug dozed. He came awake with a start and looked around.

  “What?”

  “Father,” said Magnus. “What is it?”

  “Something . . .” He stood up and looked off into the night.

  “Something’s changing.”

  He had been lying inside a tent hastily erected near the command pavilion occupied by the Emperor and his generals.

  He looked around and saw the massive rift a short distance away, 39 1

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  torchlight casting the entire tableau into an eerie chiaroscuro, punctuated by flickering amber and red glows.

  The stream of refugees was now a river, and as he silently watched, hundreds walked through the rift and into another world.

  “How many?” he asked Magnus.

  “No one knows, Father. Maybe a million by now, through all the gates. Maybe more.”

  “Maybe less.”

  Magnus shook his head in resignation. “We’re doing all we can.”

  “Where’s the sphere?”

  “It’s about fifty miles north of the City of the Plains.”

  Pug almost wept. When he had last asked, it had been over a hundred miles away. He let out a long breath. “Unless something miraculous happens, we will lose the rifts by late afternoon tomorrow.”

  Magnus knew what his father was saying. All rifts off this world had to be closed before the Dark One reached them. If he was to take Kelewan, so be it. They could regroup on Midkemia and decide how best to confine him to this world, if that was possible.

  But if he managed to gain access to the new Tsurani world or to Midkemia, the horror they had been watching here for days would repeat itself eventually.

  Suddenly a gust of wind blew everything back as a huge thunder peal sounded around them. Lightning danced across the surface of the Black Mount and Pug shouted, “Now! Get the Emperor through that gate!”

  Imperial Guards raced to the command tent.

  “What happened?” asked Magnus.

  “I don’t know, but we don’t have until late afternoon tomorrow.”

  The Black Mount was not fifty miles north of the city anymore. It was now less than a mile north of the rifts, which meant that at least a million people had been swallowed up by it.

  Pug felt tears come unbidden.

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  Chapter 24

  oblivion

  The Dasati attacked.

  The screaming alerted Pug and the other magicians who had congregated around the Emperor’s pavilion.

  The argument had been under way for the better part of an hour, all decorum and rank put aside.

  The young ruler was being intransigent about staying to the very last, and finally Pug said, “Majesty, no one here doubts your heart or your bravery. We know that you die each time one of your subjects is taken, but your people, more than ever, need your guidance.”

  He indicated the sea of faces crowded around the large tent, looking in through the large opening, waiting to hear the Light of Heaven’s order. Pug saw priests and high priests of every order, remaining close in case raymond e. feist

  the Emperor ordered them to fight to the death. Pug’s hand inscribed an arc in the air, encompassing everyone outside. “Your brave Tsurani nobles are for the most part dead, and each of them gave their lives dearly. That leaves you with only children to claim the titles of Ruling Lords, and a frightened populace. Your people are good people, honest and hardworking, but they will need guidance. Order your magicians and priests, and whoever is left of the nobility, through the rift now.”

  He could hear the fighting approaching, no more than a few hundred yards away. “Soon panic will set in and no one will be able to get through the rift . . . before I must close it!”

  The Emperor looked determined. “No, Great One. I will fight.”

  Pug felt exasperated. This was not the time for youthful defiance. But he realized he was talking to a young man whose every whim had been obeyed for most of his life. “Sire, have you heard the tale of Emperor Ichindar, the ninety-first emperor, at the first peace talks between the Empire and the Kingdom of the Isles?”

  “No,” said the young ruler, suddenly uncertain as to where this conversation was going.

  “Good,” said Pug, and he put out his hand. The young Emperor’s eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed. Half a dozen Imperial Guards dr
ew their swords, and Pug shouted,

  “Hold! The Light of Heaven merely sleeps.”

  The Emperor’s First Adviser Chomata chuckled. “I know that story, Great One. It was Kasumi of the Shinzawai who knocked Emperor Ichindar unconscious so that he could be taken back through the rift to safety.”

  “Good,” said Pug. “You can explain it to him when he revives.” To two guards he said, “Pick up the Emperor and bear him through the rift.”

  General Alenburga looked at Pug and then turned to face the throng outside the door. With the tent flaps pulled back, he had an almost panoramic view of the distant battle. He looked down at the faces of those waiting to be told what to do next.

  “You, the priests and magicians and remaining ruling lords, if you love your nation, it is time. Go through the rift and care for your people. Build a new Tsuranuanni. Go!”

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  Many hesitated, but many moved the moment the order was given toward a smaller rift Pug had prepared to get the command staff away to safety. Magnus said, “Father, what about you?”

  “I’m staying a little longer,” Pug said. “It’s all but over here, but there are things I alone can do, and they must be done.”

  “What shall I tell Mother?”

  “Tell her under no circumstances is she to return here.” He looked out at the distant fighting. “Tell her I love her and I will be home soon.”

  Magnus shook his head. “You know if I tell her not to come she will.”

  “Convince her. Tell her I will be going through the rift gate in a few minutes.”

  “You know I could never lie to her.”

  “It’s not a lie. I am going through the gate, but not this one.”

  He pointed over into the darkness. “I’m going to go through the first gate, to the Academy.” He dropped his voice. “Tell her there won’t be a ‘here’ soon.”

  “Very well,” said Magnus, embracing Pug. “Do not get yourself killed, Father.”

  Magnus departed and Pug turned to what remained of the general staff. Alenburga, Kaspar, Erik and the young officers waited, as Pug said, “It is over, gentlemen.”

  Erik von Darkmoor looked out at the distant battle. “Yes, finally.”

  Alenburga turned to the younger officers, and to the Tsurani soldiers he said, “Go through the rift to the new world. That is an order.”

  As one they saluted and departed. Then to Jommy, Servan, Jim, Dash, Tad, and Zane he said, “Young sirs, your duty here is over. I thank you for your bravery.” Then, looking at Jim Dasher, he added, “And an occasional bit of foolhardiness. Now, go. Get home.”

  Pug pointed to the rift to the Academy. “I’ll need you there.

  Use that rift gate.”

  Jommy glanced at his companions, who nodded. “We’ll stay, if you’re staying.”

  Kaspar said, “Jommy, you’re a likable enough lad, but you are a terrible officer. Go!”

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  Jommy hesitated for a moment, then turned and moved out, the others following.

  At the entrance, Erik put out a restraining hand and held up Jim Dasher. “Tell your grandfather he has my best wishes, Jim.

  And tell him he has reason to be proud of you.”

  Jim looked the old soldier in the eye. “Thank you, sir.”

  Kaspar and Alenburga regarded Erik. Alenburga said,

  “Coming?”

  Erik shook his head. “No. I think I’ll stay. If I can slow down one Deathknight for a minute or so, another dozen or two might get through the rift. I’ve been on borrowed time for a few years now, and I should return what I borrowed.” He glanced at Pug and said, “If you see that annoying little gambler, tell him ‘thank you.’”

  Pug could only nod, for he had not told anyone yet of Nakor’s decision to stay on Omadrabar. Only Magnus knew. He could barely speak as he said, “I will, Erik.”

  The old Knight-Marshal of Krondor drew his sword from its scabbard and moved purposefully toward the sound of battle.

  When he had vanished into the crowd, Kaspar said, “There goes a great man.”

  Pug could only nod, unable to find words. Finally he forced himself to speak. “What of you two?”

  Alenburga had his hand on the pommel of his sword and looked ready to follow Erik’s example. “It’s difficult to imagine going back,” he said quietly, his voice still carrying despite the din outside. Panic was rising as those trying to reach the nearby rift gate could hear the sounds of battle coming from the rear.

  “Leaving all these people behind . . .”

  Kaspar put his hand on the General’s shoulder. “It does them no good for you to die with them, Prakesh. You have a home.”

  “It’s going to be too quiet, Kaspar.” He looked at his companion of these last few weeks. “After what we’ve done here, trying to conquer Okanala with a band of street urchins wouldn’t seem much of a challenge.”

  It was Pug who answered. “Then go through that rift to the new world, General.”

  “What?”

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  “The Tsurani are a people in shambles. They will need strong leadership.”

  “I don’t think they’re going to need a general any time soon,”

  he responded, but already Pug could see the spark in his eyes.

  “Then you haven’t really come to know the Tsurani, General,” said Pug. “Before dawn on the first day, there will be plots and intrigue enough to keep you jumping for the next century. War is nothing compared to the intrigue in the Game of the Council. Have the Emperor’s First Advisor tell you the story of the Riftwar from the Tsurani perspective: it was a ploy in the game, nothing more.”

  Kaspar said, “Go, and lead. They will need you.”

  Alenburga hesitated, then turned and put his arms around Kaspar, grasping him in a bear hug. “I will miss you, Kaspar of Olasko.”

  “I will miss you, too, General.”

  The General moved purposefully through the tent, and Pug said, “Kaspar?”

  “I have no desire to be anyone’s martyred hero, Pug. I will go with you.”

  Pug motioned for Kaspar to follow and led him out the back of the tent toward the ancient rift gate. A trickle of people were still attempting to get through, but were being turned away by Tsurani guards who redirected them toward the larger gate to the new world. Seeing a Black Robe, the guards moved aside, and before he stepped through, Pug said, “Go, now. Your duty here is done.”

  Both soldiers, wearing the armor of the House of Acoma, saluted and moved away, drawing their swords and running toward the sound of fighting. “Damn, but they are an amazing bunch,” said Kaspar admiringly.

  “Yes, they are,” Pug agreed.

  They entered the rift.

  Varen looked over the edge of the pit and found himself both repelled and attracted by it. Part of him said that he should turn and run away, as fast as possible, yet another part felt the urge to jump in. He took a deep breath and looked around.

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  There used to be a city here, he thought. And around it were farms and valleys and hills and villages. Now there was just this pit. Hole. Tunnel. Whatever it was, it was massive, so big that the curve of it seemed to be almost a straight line when you stood on the rim.

  The power! he thought. He was intoxicated with it. It represented a mastery of death so far beyond his dreams, and he had had some pretty incredible dreams over the ages. It was staggering. If he could somehow bring these Dasati to heel, have them serve him, he could conquer worlds.

  The urge to jump became almost unbearable. If only I had a reason, he thought. Then he just jumped.

  Pug appeared outside the cave, Kaspar at his side.

  “Where are the guards?” Kaspar asked.

  “I ordered the two young magicians back to the island when I called for as much help as possible. By then I knew we didn’t need to gua
rd these things anymore.”

  Kaspar shrugged. “If you say so.”

  They entered the first tunnel and moved down to a gallery.

  Below, ten thousand armor-clad figures waited patiently. “What are they, Pug, really?” asked Kaspar. He had been the one who had first found the Talnoy here in Novindus, and had lugged it back with him to the Conclave.

  “They are sleeping gods, Kaspar. They are the lost Dasati gods.”

  “How did they come here?”

  “That is a part of the story we may never know, but I believe some higher agency here conspired with them.” Pug thought it best not to mention the role played by Ban-ath. “This was a refuge.” He looked down at a box left near the door. “For a long time I thought the Dark One had somehow trapped these beings, but now I’m not so sure. I believe perhaps the gods of three worlds conspired to save this universe from the thing that is destroying Kelewan as we speak.”

  Kaspar could only stand in mute appreciation. Pug picked up the box and opened it. Inside were a ring and a crystal. “Na-39 8

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  kor fashioned this crystal as a means to control these . . . beings.”

  He took out the ring.

  Kaspar said, “Don’t! If you wear it too long, it makes you mad!”

  Pug slipped the ring on. “Don’t worry. I won’t wear it long.” Smiling, he added, “You might want to cover your ears for a moment, and perhaps close your eyes against the dust.”

  “What dust?”

  Pug raised his hands above his head and a twisting spiral of light, white with brilliant hints of silver, shot to the ceiling of the cavern. It twisted and began to bore upward. Soon a hole appeared and from above came light. Pug increased the gap between his hands and the light began to spin faster until Kaspar saw that it was boring away the top of the mound under which the Talnoy had rested for centuries.