A Crown Imperilled cs-2

by Raymond E. Feist

  Magnus turned his attention to the oval of light. He was so focused that when he was brought a cushion he barely registered it as he studied the ripples of light, their intensities and colours, subtle within the larger oval of white. When his tea arrived he did not acknowledge it, and hours later as he studied the oval, it remained untouched.

  Magnus found his senses being challenged by a cascade of images. He discovered subtle patterns beginning to emerge as he felt the presence of the Sven-ga’ri, almost a tactile music in his mind, and let his eyes relax, letting the subtle images on the surface of the oval of light play out. After first becoming attuned to the interplay of emotion — mental music as he thought of it — and the faint patterns within the white light, he began to bring his magic to bear.

  More than any magician in the history of this world, including even his father Pug, Magnus could unleash torrents of destructive energies that could shatter mountain tops, turn back the tides, or call up winds to topple city towers, but he also could manipulate the finest threads of a tapestry, capture one raindrop in a storm, or move a sleeping kitten across the room without waking it using his mind alone.

  As deftly as a seamstress threading the smallest needle with the tiniest thread, he reached out and caressed the energies. Gently he pushed into the matrix and his mind expanded his exploration carefully.

  Wonder overcame Magnus as a crystal-like, three-dimensional network of forces revealed itself. He knew he was barely below the surface of the shimmering white oval, yet at this scale the energies appeared monstrously large and complex. It was like floating through a city of ice, but without streets, with buildings arrayed like massive boxes, and in each of those boxes a million pulses of light per second flickered.

  Somewhere in all of this was a pattern that would reveal its purpose, and Magnus was prepared to search as long as it took.

  He pressed on.

  Perceptions shifted and scales expanded and contracted and Magnus felt as if he floating through a vast universe composed of energy. His body sat motionless in the garden created by the Pantathians for the Sven-ga’ri, but he saw himself as physically in this universe. It was as if he flew by will alone through vast spaces, yet he knew those spaces were in reality as small as the space between the tiniest grains of sand on the beach, as small as the space between drops of rain. He reached out with his mind and felt the coursing of energies as they made their way, in this direction or that, up or down, right or left, in a pattern that was always just beyond the edge of his apprehension.

  By Magnus’s estimation he had explored only the tiniest portion of the energy field, yet a pattern was slowly beginning to present itself. At first he rejected the idea, believing he was misinterpreting what he was seeing but as time wore on he began to see his comprehension ratified and before long he became certain his theory was borne out.

  A deep fatigue overtook him suddenly and a sense of cold and he realized he had no sense of how long he had been exploring inside the energy matrix. To facilitate his exploration, he had created the illusion of a city, with endless basements and sub-levels, buildings that rose to impossible heights, streets without boundaries. He overlaid it on the matrix, giving him a sense of where to start and where he had ended his last probe. In a concession to whim, he even made tiny signs like those hung on taverns, with icons that made it easy for him to know where he was relative to every other part of the matrix he had explored. Behind the ‘entrance’ he had fashioned a market, a place to which he could return and renew his exploration and then deftly withdraw his consciousness. It was as close as he could get to understanding what it was he confronted, this virtual city of energy.

  Suddenly he was chilled and wet and shivering. He blinked and realized it was dark. A Pantathian stood above him holding a large canvas cover, protecting him as much as possible from the punishingly cold rain.

  Magnus raised his hand to his face and wiped away wetness and felt stubble on his cheek. He looked at the Pantathian and said, ‘How long have I been here?’

  The creature apparently didn’t speak the Keshian tongue, but from behind him another voice said, ‘All day, the night, the next day, and this night, without moving.’

  Magnus turned and found his body stiff and unresponsive. He saw Tak’ka standing in the rain. The Senior President of the Pantathian nation said, ‘We feared you might have been trapped within by some magic, but were uncertain of how to reach you.’

  Groaning a little as he unfolded his legs, Magnus said, ‘You did the right thing, in waiting. My sense of time becomes lost in there, apparently. If felt as if I were there for minutes, perhaps an hour.’ As he stood up his head began to throb. ‘I must be careful when next I venture in.’

  ‘You discovered something?’

  ‘I’m not certain. I see a pattern and I have deduced one possible explanation for its existence, yet I am unwilling to declare that judgment sound. More exploration is called for.’

  ‘Come, rest. You’re obviously chilled and in need of warmth and food.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ said Magnus. ‘Given so many things, your generosity is unexpected.’

  ‘We are the caretakers of the Sven-ga’ri, and I fear that whatever is moving out there in the darkness, our charges are at risk. I welcome your strength and knowledge in preserving them.’

  Magnus nodded as if agreeing, but already he was beginning to suspect that before this exploration was over, preserving the Sven-ga’ri was the last thing he and his father would wish.

  He followed his host inside to warmth and food.

  Magnus enjoyed a hot meal and dried his clothing over a small brazier while he bathed. By the time he had donned his now-warm robe, he was already half-asleep. He lay on the sleeping pallet provided and within moments fell into an exhausted sleep.

  After resting through most of the night, in the hours before dawn he began to dream.

  He floated through the matrix, again, only this time rather than energy he saw solid objects in bright and muted colours, some flickering between the two states, alight from within one moment, dimmed the next. Lines of silver-white, like endless cords, stretched down the broad expanses that intersected between the structures. ‘A city,’ he whispered.

  ‘An illusion,’ said a voice from behind him.

  He turned to see a figure both strange and familiar, a black-bearded man in a black robe, holding a wooden staff. His feet were clad in sandals and around his waist was a simple whipcord rope.

  ‘Macros,’ he whispered.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ said the phantasm.

  Magnus had never met his grandfather, for he had died before Magnus was born, but he had encountered a Dasati upon whom the memories of the dead sorcerer had been bestowed. But the Dasati Macros had been ill, in advanced years, and dying.

  Before Magnus now stood Macros in his prime, looking no more than perhaps forty years of age, his manner calm and relaxed, yet he could sense hidden power just below the surface.

  ‘I’m dreaming,’ said Magnus.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Macros, ‘but like all dreams, there are avenues into thoughts unexplored open to you. It’s the perfect state in which you are receptive to contact you otherwise might not recognize; and besides, you are impervious to spying now.’

  ‘Spying?’

  The shade of Macros smiled. ‘You have some inkling of those who oppose you, at least in one sense, while in another you have no idea whatsoever what forces are arrayed to destroy you and your father. Time is essential, yet here time is as much an illusion as sight and sound, for we are in the dream.’

  He stepped forward until he was next to Magnus, then he reached out, gripped him by the elbow and gently but firmly turned him. ‘Walk with me and we shall discover much, but you will only know what you already know.’

  Magnus allowed himself to be compelled in this fashion, but said, ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘I am not Macros, as I’m sure you’ve already assumed. I am his image, a memory of
him made solid and able to converse.’

  ‘Whose memory?’

  ‘Kalkin’s, whom you also call Ban-ath.’

  ‘A memory?’

  ‘A god’s memory is a powerful things, as is a god’s dream. You are sharing a god’s dream and are speaking with a god’s memory. Let’s move on.’ Macros pointed and suddenly they were rising to one of the lines of energy. Letting go of Magnus’s arm, he said, ‘Grip the line and do not fall too far behind. Even a god has limited control on how lucid a dream may become.’

  Magnus reached up when Macros, or his illusion, reached up and suddenly he was being propelled along at incalculable speed, yet felt no sensation of movement, just a blurring of all they passed.

  Then Macros said, ‘In a moment, I will tell you to let go. Do not hesitate.’

  A moment passed; then Macros said, ‘Let go,’ and Magnus complied at once.

  They floated before what appeared to be a monstrous fortress, but one created by a demented mind. It sat upon no ground, so a vast wall stretched out before them in all directions. ‘Let us gain some perspective,’ said Macros, and suddenly the wall shrank to the size of a mere room. ‘In dream, all things are possible; within the matrix, what you saw before approaches the truth.’

  Magnus examined the wall. It was apparently made of some sort of red stone, with four doors set in the middle, a single square of stone separating them. Two large windows with red iron bars were placed at forty-five degree angles to the upper corner on either side, so that each section gave the vague impression of a face, two eyes and a mouth. Continuing along the line from the door through each window, the top of the wall featured a turret, with crenels and merlons.

  ‘It looks like four castles smashed together,’ said Magnus.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Macros chuckled. ‘It is an image created for your mind to understand. There is no real-world analogue that would do justice to what this really is.’

  ‘What is it called?’

  ‘Many things. The blazing barrier. The fire wall. The terminus. The final barrier.’

  ‘What function does it serve?’

  ‘I cannot tell you, for you do not know, and I know only what you know.’

  ‘So I was aware of this barrier, yet …’

  ‘Your mind in dream is apprehending what it is you’ve come to understand by inference and deduction. You have not seen the barrier so you have created an image of it, but it may bear no true resemblance to the reality of the barrier. In the end, you will only know when you have reached the barrier.’

  ‘There are so many questions,’ said Magnus. ‘And yet …’

  ‘You cannot frame them, because they are the questions your mind has no answers for. You understood when we first met that I was not your grandfather, and that Kalkin dreamed, and the rest. For more answers within your own mind, you will have to seek out answers in the real world. For more answers from Kalkin, well, you will have to seek him out, and as you know from your father’s tales of the Trickster God, even then you may never get answers you can trust.’

  Suddenly the image of Macros was gone.

  Magnus’s eyes opened and it was dawn.

  He sat up and stretched, yawning, knowing that after he had braced himself with food and drink he would again confront the mystery of the energy matrix. Perhaps this time he could reach deep enough to reach this final barrier and then, perhaps, beyond it.

  Sandreena and Amirantha were breaking fast when a student approached. ‘Pug has returned and asked that you join him when you’re finished.’

  Amirantha looked at Sandreena. ‘You finished?’

  She was on her feet before he could complete the question and he rose to follow her. ‘I guess you’ve finished!’

  They hurried through the now almost completely rebuilt Villa Beata, passing through large gardens freshly replanted. In the matter of a few minutes they were outside Pug’s office and Sandreena knocked once, then opened the wooden door.

  Sandreena and Amirantha had both marvelled at how Pug had refashioned his office since the destruction of the original villa. His last office had been small and dark, with only one window, while this one had a large wall made up entirely of panes of the finest clear glass he could find, further refined with some very subtle magic. When sunlight blazed in, it was cool thanks to the combination of clever design — a duct in the ceiling carried the hot air away — and a little more magic.

  Pug said, ‘Good morning. I wish I had good news from the Academy, but at best it’s mixed. What did you and Magnus discover on that island?’

  Amirantha had taken to wearing less flamboyant clothing since coming to live at Sorcerer’s Isle, and today was comfortable in a loose-fitting white tunic and dark grey trousers. Sandreena always looked surprisingly delicate for a large, strong woman when not wearing armour. She wore a plain but well made pair of trousers, a loose-fitting blue linen blouse, and a pair of sandals. They took the chairs Pug indicated with a wave of his hand, and Amirantha looked at Sandreena, who nodded, indicating that he should go first.

  ‘We found Pantathians, Pug, but unlike any we’ve met before according to Magnus.’

  ‘Really?’ said Pug leaning back in his chair. ‘At this point nothing should surprise me, but say on.’

  Sandreena continued, ‘They were hospitable and welcoming despite knowing that you and Magnus had destroyed many of their kin. They seem too — well, gentle is the only way to describe them, though their warriors were valorous when fighting demons.’

  ‘Demons?’

  ‘Let me start at the beginning.’ Amirantha began, briefly telling of their travels to the Isle of the Snake Men, then in detail after the battle with the demons.

  Sandreena punctuated his narrative with details he missed, and Pug asked a few questions along the way, but after half an hour, the sorcerer felt he had been sufficiently briefed. He asked, ‘Did you see any Serpent Priests?’

  ‘No,’ said Amirantha. ‘They were mentioned, and I left with the impression they visit their kin from time to time, but as to where they base their operations since you and Magnus destroyed their previous one is a mystery; I didn’t feel it politic at this time to ask the one they call Tak’ka.’

  Pug sighed. ‘Well, the good news is we’ve identified the threat. The Serpent Priests are back again. But we don’t know where they are.’ He rose. ‘At least we know they aren’t on that island, which is something.’

  Sandreena and Amirantha followed Pug out of his office, through a hallway, and into a large meeting hall, which turned out to be a large covered patio, but otherwise open to the daily breezes of the island. A square table had been placed in the middle, one that could be enlarged in any number of clever ways depending on how many people needed to attend a given meeting.

  Seven people were already seated when the three entered. The only familiar face to either of the demon experts was Grand Master Creegan of the Order of the Shield of the Weak, Sandreena’s mentor in the Order.

  Pug motioned for Amirantha and Sandreena to take two empty chairs and he remained standing. ‘Those of you who know one another need no introductions. If you do not recognize others, it is best it remain that way, given our current plight. You cannot be made to reveal what you do not need to know.’ He took a deep breath. ‘So far we have identified five well-placed agents of the Conclave who are traitors. I am certain there will be more. Continue to conduct your investigations; trust is scarce right now, use it wisely.’ He motioned to the man closest to him on his right and said, ‘What have you discovered in Roldem?’

  The man quickly recounted the efforts that were underway in Roldem to prevent further leaking of information, and to discover who might be behind the actions taken against the Conclave. He finished by saying, ‘At this time we have no more likely suspect than Lord John Worthington. He is either at the top of all actions taken against the interest of both the Crown and the Conclave, or he reports to the ultimate authority.’

  Before Pug could move
to the next in line, a man sitting farthest from Pug interjected, ‘I know I speak out of turn, Pug, but that is almost the identical report that I have put together concerning Great Kesh. The man who stands out as the most likely suspect is a nephew of the Emperor, Lord Harfum.’

  Instantly, Grand Master Creegan said, ‘Sir William Alcorn.’ He looked around the table. ‘It is the same in Rillanon.’

  Pug nodded. ‘So, our first priority must be to discover what links these three men.’ He indicated that the first two men should depart, but added, ‘Grand Master Creegan, remain if you would.’

  The remaining agents quickly provided Pug with more information on issues pertaining to the attempts to identify possible spies within the Academy as well as in various lesser critical positions of influence and authority. As each finished, Pug nodded and the agent rose and left the table. When the last had departed, Pug turned and looked at the three remaining members of the Conclave.

  ‘Creegan,’ he said, ‘you’re our eyes and ears in the temples. Anything?’

  Sandreena’s former mentor sighed. ‘In truth, not much. If anything the temples are more difficult to infiltrate than even the Conclave, for the gods are very jealous of their domains. Several of the martial orders, however, seem to have been slightly compromised: no ordained member is suspected, but key servants, or lay administrators, have been weeded out as being undependable. Those identified are being questioned.’

  ‘Which orders?’ Sandreena asked.

  ‘The more active groups: the Warders, the Hunters, the Arm, and the Hammer.’

  Pug seemed to wilt visibly at the list, and Sandreena said, ‘If they infiltrated any significant level of those orders, they are dangerous.’

  ‘Exceedingly dangerous,’ added Creegan. Seeing that Amirantha didn’t quite follow, he said, ‘Of course, you’d know the gods and perhaps those orders by different names in your homeland.’ He held up his left hand and began ticking off on each finger. ‘The Warders of Law serve Astalon the god of law, the Hunters are followers of Guis-wa the god of forbidden knowledge, the Arm of Vengeance serve Kahooli the Vengeful, and the Hammer serves Tith-Onanka, the war god. Many of these, especially the Arm and the Hunters are almost overt enemies, and would never knowingly work together.’