Exile's Return

by Raymond E. Feist

  Kaspar hid his impatience. This was beginning to put him in mind of the tutorials he had endured as a child.

  'Most knowledge is neither good or evil. Knowing how to start a fire does not determine if you will cook food to feed the hungry or burn a man's house to kill him. But some knowledge, that which is clearly beyond the understanding of mankind, can be expressly good or evil.' Father Gashan turned and looked at the other two priests who nodded. 'I will not labor the point, but just trust me when I say there is knowledge in the universe with the ability to transform you, to set you in a state of eternal grace or damn you to everlasting torment and suffering just because you have possession of it.'

  Now Kaspar and the other two men became attentive, for the implication was not lost on them. Kaspar asked, 'Are you saying that just by having knowledge of this . . . thing we have in our possession, we may already be . . . committed to certain conse­quences?'

  'Perhaps,' said Father Gashan. He turned to Father Ramal, who nodded.

  'Our history teaches us that before man came to Midkemia, other races occupied this world,' began Ramal. 'Elves are one species known to have come before man. Some of that long-lived race still abide in the north, though they are in slow decline. They will endure for ages before they finally succumb to their mortality. Dragons also were here before our race, and their masters, too.'

  'The Dragon Lords,' said Flynn. Looking at the others he said, 'I told you.'

  'Yes, or so the ancient texts state,' continued Ramal, 'but of these beings we know very little. The elves say nothing of them, and it is believed that little has survived the Chaos Wars. Somewhere there may be those who have more knowledge than we do, but they are unknown to us.'

  Flynn said, 'We were taking the relic to Stardock, to the Academy of Magicians. Perhaps—'

  Father Vagasha held up his hand. 'We have some knowledge of that . . . organization. Our temples have long regarded magicians as suspect. Many trifle with knowledge and power without any proper sense of context. Men of magic have attempted to utilize knowledge which is clearly evil in purpose—necromancy or communing with dark spirits—for their personal gain. Even a group which prides itself on being a servant of knowledge like the Academy at Stardock has shown itself to be too dangerous to trust with such a thing as you possess.' He looked at Father Jaliel, who stepped forward.

  'The armored artifact has no place in our world. It is from somewhere else.'

  Kaspar sat back. He had not expected that. 'It's not a Dragon Lord relic?'

  'No, it is not even from Midkemia.'

  'Is it Tsurani?' asked Flynn.

  'No,' said Jaliel. 'No Tsurani reached our shore during the Riftwar. We were ignorant of that war until years later.'

  'Then what is it?' asked Flynn.

  'We don't entirely know,' said Jaliel. 'We have ruled out many possibilities, which is a good step, but I fear we have exhausted the limit of our wisdom and knowledge.'

  Kaspar said, 'Then despite your distrust, I suspect we still need to go to Stardock and consult the magicians.'

  'There is another choice. We feel that our good Brother Anshu has pointed the way. While we are an order recognized for our teaching and wisdom, others such as those of Geshen-Amat have occasional flashes of insight or experience intuitive leaps that we can't duplicate. There is a possible answer that lies to the west.'

  Kaspar sat up, remembering what Bek had told him when he showed them his map. 'The Pavilion of the Gods?'

  The four clerics looked at one another, and Father Elect Vagasha said, 'You know of the Pavilion?'

  'An innkeeper in Shamsha gave us a map. It's in our quar­ters. It shows a place in the mountains to the west; beyond that, we know little.'

  Vagasha looked at Ramal. 'There are said to be many wondrous things in the Ratn'gary Mountains. Much of what is there is not for mortal eyes.'

  'At the base of the two highest peaks, the Pillars of Heaven, rests the City of the Dead Gods. Those who built the temples are lost to us, but their works endure. It is said that on top of the peaks the living gods, or their avatars, reside, and only the most gifted of mortals can achieve even a glimpse of them. But below the summit, above the Necropolis, lies a bastion. Within that dwell the Keepers.'

  'The Keepers of the Gate,' said Vagasha. 'Men who belong to a sect that has almost no interaction with other men, not even with our temples, but they are said to be custodians of the way to the gods.'

  'It is also said that if a man, driven by need, and committed in purpose, can find his way to the Keepers and, should he be deemed worthy, he will be permitted to petition the gods.'

  'Is this true?' asked Kenner.

  Father Elect Vagasha smiled ruefully. 'We lack certain knowl­edge of it.'

  Kaspar chuckled at the play on words. 'Still, you think that this is where we must go?'

  'It is where you must go, otherwise you risk consequences as deadly as your twenty-eight predecessors endured. What you will find there, we can only guess at.' He motioned to the servant. 'We shall have a ship waiting, and provide you with an escort to the foothills below the Necropolis. More than that we cannot do. Once you reach the trail leading into the mountains, you must go alone. Now, you may return to your quarters until this evening's meal.'

  Dismissed, the three men returned to their quarters, and once inside, Kenner said, 'I don't like the sound of it. I think we should go to Stardock.'

  Flynn said, 'You're still worried about gold? I want this curse, or geas, or whatever it is removed! I want my life to be my own.'

  Kenner nodded, obviously disturbed, but seemingly unable to speak.

  Kaspar sighed. 'Your lives have not been your own since you found that damned thing, and neither has mine since I met you. We are fated to finish this . . . quest, for lack of a better term, one way or the other.'

  No one needed to hear what their alternatives were. They must accomplish whatever this mysterious mission was; or they would die.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ratn'gary

  The ship slammed into the breakers.

  Kaspar, Kenner, and Flynn stood at the rail, their cloaks gathered closely around them as they watched the ship round Point Mataba and turn upwind for a reach into the relative shelter of the Ratn'gary Gulf. Despite the fact that it was summer, they were far enough south for the weather to be cold during a storm. Directly to the north of them, high up on the point, the trees of the Great South Forest loomed, dark and forbidding, dominating the cliffs.

  They were three and a half weeks out of Maharta, on a ship procured by the Temple of Kalkin, and were nearing their destination: the Ratn'gary Gulf, below the southern end of the Ratn'gary Mountains.

  Since leaving Maharta the three men had been somber, each of them overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness in the face of what they had discovered about the geas controlling their lives. Kenner was introspective, and rarely spoke. Flynn searched constantly for a solution no one had thought of. Many of his conversations with the others touched on things he thought might have been overlooked, and each time he failed to discover something previously missed, he fell into a brooding silence for hours. Kaspar was simply angry.

  For his entire life Kaspar, heir to the throne of Olasko and then Duke, had never had to ask leave of any man, save his father. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and the only time he had been successfully balked, it had taken traitors and three armies to foil him; and yet he was still alive! The very idea that some agency could simply will him to obedience brought him to the edge of outrage.

  Since coming to this land, Kaspar had reflected on many things. Things that would have revolted him as a young man now only amused him. He remembered how fastidious he had been at home, with every item of clothing needing to be cleaned and arranged just so before he dressed for his morning court or evening gala. The only time he had not cared was when he had been out hunting with his father.

  What would his father have thought had he seen Kaspar at Jojanna's farm cutting wood,
or shoveling steer manure? Not once had a single person he had spoken to save Commander Alenburga had ventured to guess that he might be noble-born. It had taken several nights' conversations before Alenburga had reached that conclusion; but at least he had respected Kaspar's desire for anonymity. He knew that Flynn and Kenner suspected that he might have been an officer and a gentleman at one time, which would explain his education and manners, but neither of them had pressed him. He didn't know if that was their natural inclination or an effect of the geas.

  Kaspar wrestled with one fact that was causing him more distress than he had ever known: that his life was not his own, nor had it been long before he had come to this land.

  He was certain now that Leso Varen, his 'advisor', had used his magical arts to manipulate him far beyond his normal inclin­ations towards ambition. Kaspar had remained quietly behind his desk in his private quarters and ordered the destruction of entire races, as part of a misguided and maladroit plan to mislead the Kingdom of the Isles. Thousands had died so that he could draw the attention of the Sea of Kingdoms away from his true goal, the throne of Roldem.

  It had seemed so simple at the time. Seven convenient deaths and the grief-stricken populace of Roldem would turn their eyes northward and welcome Kaspar, Duke of Olasko, as their rightful ruler. What had he been thinking! Then he realized he hadn't; he had thought only what Leso Varen had allowed him to think.

  He didn't know what made him more angry, that he had let the magician into his company so easily, or that he had lost his ability to see the madness the magician had created. Today, standing on the spray-wet deck of an alien ship in a distant land, Kaspar could quickly tick off a dozen reasons why every plan of Varen was insane. The only result of his attempt to seize power would be war and chaos. Kaspar realized that must have been the magician's plan all along; for reasons he might never understand, Leso Varen had wanted the Eastern Kingdoms, the Kingdom of the Isles, and perhaps even Great Kesh plunged into war.

  Kaspar could not begin to imagine whom that would benefit. There were times when it was to a nation's advantage to have neighbors embroiled in conflict. He had engendered several such over the years, but they had only been border skirmishes, political intrigues, or diplomatic betrayals, not wholesale war involving the three most powerful nations in the northern hemi­sphere. Destabilizing that area was dangerous; it wouldn't take much for war between Kesh and Isles to spill over the borders and embroil the Eastern Kingdoms.

  And he had witnessed the results of involving those three nations. But rather than destabilizing the area, his failed plots had convinced them to combine their efforts, disastrously for Kaspar: his capital city had been overrun in a single day! Even if Talwin Hawkins hadn't discovered the secret passage into the citadel—and curse the ancestor who had judged the citadel impregnable!—the combined might of Roldem and Kesh would have reduced his stronghold to rubble in a month. Moreover, had the rumored army from the Kingdom of the Isles arrived, then it would have shortened the sacking of Opardum dramatically.

  No, the whole picture made no sense. No more than this cursed geas made sense. More than anything else, Kaspar prayed that should he survive this ordeal, someone could explain it all to him.

  One of the soldiers escorting them said, 'We heave to at sundown. My captain says we should spend the night aboard ship and get a fresh start in the morning.'

  The three men returned to their cabin, remaining quiet, each caught up in his own thoughts until they were summoned to take a quiet meal with the captain.

  That morning it took the better part of an hour to get organ­ized and haul the coffin onto the beach. The tide was running high and the breakers were pitiless, but at last Kaspar and his companions stood on the beach with an escort of thirty soldiers from Maharta and their officer.

  The young lieutenant, Shegana, inspected the coffin and the sling that had been rigged so that four men could carry the burden. He obviously didn't care for this assignment and had taken no pains in hiding that fact from Kaspar as soon as they had boarded ship. They weren't even out of the harbor when he had turned to Kaspar and said, 'My instructions are to get you to a certain point marked on a map given to me by the Father Elect of the Temple of Kalkin. I have also been instructed to treat you with courtesy and ensure my men also show respect. I take it from what was said that you may be a gentleman or even a noble, though that was never stated explicitly. So, sir, I shall endeavor to conduct this mission to the best of my ability, but I wish to make one thing clear: if it comes to a choice between keeping my men or you three alive, my men will live, and you three will be on your own. Is that clear?'

  Kaspar kept silent for a long moment, then said, 'If we survive this quest, Lieutenant, I wager you'll become the sort of officer men will follow into the breech. But you'll also need to learn to be more discreet when given orders that don't please you.'

  The earnest young lieutenant signaled and his men picked up the coffin. They moved towards a trail that led from the beach into the bluffs. Kaspar looked at Kenner and Flynn, nodded once, and followed.

  The first three days of the cross-country trip were arduous, but without incident. The trail from the beach had led up through seaside cliffs and over a plateau broken by gullies, which forced them into a fair amount of climbing.

  Kaspar spotted ample game signs, and some large predators: bears, wolves, and mountain cats. As they wended their way higher into the mountains, the weather got cooler, with the temperature plunging to near-freezing at night, despite it being late summer, and soon they passed into forested hills, with many streams to ford.

  Evening found them in a relatively clear area, an almost flat outcropping of rock upon which they built a fire, around which Lieutenant Shegana placed sentries.

  'Lieutenant, you might halve your guard and let your men get a bit more sleep,' Kaspar offered. 'I'm an experienced tracker and there hasn't been a sign of another human since we beached. The only thing we might fear are large predators, and the fire should keep them away.'

  The lieutenant merely nodded, but Kaspar noticed later that night that there were only two sentries instead of the usual four.

  The next two days passed quietly, but on the morning of the third one of the advanced scouts returned with the news that the trail leading up into the mountains had been identified. An hour later the entire party reached a plateau where the trail forked, one track leading north to skirt the foothills, while another leading west rose steeply into the mountains.

  Lieutenant Shegana said, 'Well, gentlemen, if the good Father's directions are accurate, from here we climb until we arrive at the foot of the Pillars of Heaven, above which rests the Pavilion of the Gods.' He nodded and the scout strode off at a brisk trot. The four men who were detailed to lug the coffin picked it up and the party set off.

  For another day they traveled, and near sundown they reached a deep pass. The lieutenant said, 'This is where we must wait. The Father Elect said that from this gap you must travel alone.'

  Kaspar nodded. 'We'll leave at first light.'

  The mountains appeared to be almost without feature, a tableau of murk and shadow, with whatever light the setting sun provided being devoured by the heavy clouds above.

  The lieutenant said, 'This is an ill-omened place, sir. My instruc­tions were clear; I am to wait here for two weeks and if you do not return within that time, we are to return to the ship without you.'

  'I understand,' said Kaspar.

  Kenner looked at Flynn. Then he said, 'We're supposed to carry that coffin up those mountains?'

  'Apparently,' said Kaspar.

  'I do not envy you,' said the lieutenant. 'And carrying that burden is the least of it.'

  The soldiers made a fire. There was little conversation while they ate.

  Kaspar came awake in a rush, standing with his sword drawn before he was clear that the sound rousing him was Flynn's cry. In a moment he looked around and understood the source of Flynn's panicked wail. Around the ashes of the c
ampfire lay Lieutenant Shegana and his men, faces contorted in horror, eyes wide, all of them dead.

  Kenner also was on his feet, looking around as if he was about to flee. 'What?' he shouted, as if an answer would make the terror go away. 'What is it?' He kept looking from face to face. 'Who did this?'

  Kaspar put his sword away. 'Someone or something that decided these soldiers had got too close to the Pavilion of the Gods.'

  'We're all going to die!' shouted Kenner, nearly hysterical.

  Kaspar grabbed him by the shoulder and dug his thumb in, making the pain distract his attention. 'All men die. We just aren't going to die today. If whatever it was that killed these soldiers wanted us dead, we'd be dead.'

  Kenner pulled away from Kaspar, but his eyes were now focused and the terror was ebbing from his features. 'Why?' he whispered.

  'I have no idea,' said Kaspar. 'A warning, perhaps?'

  'As if we need more warnings?' shouted Flynn, his fear replaced by anger. 'As if we need more death to speed us on our way?'

  'Get a hold on yourself, man,' Kaspar commanded. 'I'd have thought you'd be used to death by now.'

  Flynn said nothing to that.

  Kenner said, 'How are we to lug supplies and that . . . thing?'

  Kaspar looked around as the morning sky grew brighter. 'We may have to travel in stages. We'll carry the relic and some food for half a day, then one of us stays with it while the others come back and fetch more supplies. It'll be slow going, but we have two weeks to get where we're going and then back here. I assume the ship will be there a few days after that.'

  Kenner said, 'Then let's get on with it!'

  There was no objection to that. The men started preparing for the climb up the Pillars of Heaven.

  Kaspar carried the armor by its feet. Removing it from the coffin had lightened the load considerably, and the rope harness that had been used for the coffin now lent itself to supporting the armor. Now Kaspar labored with two ropes tied around the armor's feet, and looped over each of his shoulders. It was the worst part of the burden, for they were climbing, so the thing's feet would often swing down and strike him in the stomach or thighs, if he wasn't alert and kept the rope taut. The men rotated positions by the hour so no one of them would be free of bruises at the end of the day.