Rides a Dread Legion

by Raymond E. Feist

  At the mention of cults, Pug asked Caleb, “Did Zane…?”

  “No,” said Caleb to his father. “He said Sandreena preferred to wait until Father-Bishop Creegan arrives.”

  “Creegan here?” asked Amirantha, his eyebrows rising as his only sign of surprise.

  “We have many friends.”

  “Indeed,” said the Warlock.

  “You know him?”

  “We’ve met,” said Amirantha.

  Brandos said, “Not to worry. Creegan might have Amirantha burned as a heretic, but he won’t punch him in the jaw. He’s far too well-mannered for that.”

  Amirantha smiled ruefully. “He’s a practical man. He disapproves of my interests, but he’s never tried to interfere with them.”

  “It helps that we live on different sides of the world,” observed Brandos. “Big ocean between us, and all that.” He winked at Pug and his family. “Keeps things civil.”

  Magnus smiled and shook his head, and Caleb laughed.

  Miranda asked, “So, why the punch to the jaw—sorry I wasn’t there to see it. Sounds like it was entertaining.”

  Brandos said, “Well, it’s a long story—”

  Amirantha interrupted. “It has to do with the Father-Bishop, as well. I was traveling through the Principality about four, five?” He looked at Brandos, who nodded. “Five years ago. There was a story making the rounds about a demon sighted up the coast from the city of Krondor, near a village with the unlikely name of Yellow Mule.”

  “Good tavern,” observed Brandos.

  “Good tavern,” agreed Amirantha. “We were in residence there, attempting to discern the validity of the rumor when we encountered Sandreena, who also had come looking to rid the region of this demon.

  “Our interests seemed to overlap—”

  “And Sandreena is a very good-looking young woman; my friend here is particularly fond of that.”

  Amirantha frowned at his companion, who tried hard not to look smug as he continued to eat. “We joined forces.”

  Pug looked thoughtful, then said, “I’m usually apprised of something as unusual as a demon sighting, especially that close to Krondor.” He glanced at Magnus and Caleb, who both shrugged, then at Miranda.

  “I read the report; it came from our friend at the Prince’s palace.”

  Pug’s eyebrows raised and he said, “Oh?”

  “It seemed nothing worth bothering you about. A demon was sighted, some locals disposed of it, nothing further.”

  Brandos and Amirantha exchanged a look of surprise and Brandos said, “Locals?”

  Amirantha said, “Father-Bishop Creegan probably left our names out of any report.”

  Pug smiled. “Not unlike him. He’s ambitious. But, please, continue.”

  “Not much more to tell,” said Amirantha. “A…very strange man, a little mad I think, had wandered into the village and claimed he was a prophet of some sort or another and did some fairly impressive things; at least they were according to the villagers.

  “He healed some wounds, somehow rid a small orchard of a blight, and he did a fair job of predicting the weather. He gathered together a little group of followers and after a year or so had them convinced he was an avatar of a god.

  “Then it got nasty, according to what we heard.”

  “Yes,” agreed Brandos. “People who didn’t fall in with this bunch were suddenly stricken by illness, or had their cows’ milk sour, crops got blight.”

  “Curses,” said Pug. “Witch work.”

  “Maybe,” said Amirantha. “My mother was called a witch more times than I can remember. My title, Warlock, literally means ‘caller of spirits,’ in the ancient Satumbria language, but it’s used to mean ‘male witch.’”

  Brandos said, “Never could quite understand all these names; you use magic or you don’t, right?” He addressed that question to Pug.

  Pug couldn’t help but laugh. “You have no idea how many conversations I’ve endured on that very question over the years, my friend.”

  Amirantha returned to his narrative. “Over the course of a week we discovered there were others involved with this cult, men who would mysteriously arrive in the middle of the night then vanish.”

  “Magicians?” asked Magnus.

  Amirantha shrugged. “Or renegade priests of some order or another, but they were a conduit for information or instructions between this false prophet and whoever was ultimately behind all the goings-on in Yellow Mule.”

  “The locals were a pretty happy lot until they started dying off,” said Brandos. “This prophet, called himself Jaymen, he blamed us! Can you believe that?”

  Pug nodded. “Go on.”

  Amirantha said, “So, as I said, by then Sandreena and I had concluded we had similar interests and we joined forces. She was trying to save the villagers—apparently whatever reports were getting down to the Prince of Krondor’s Coastal Wardens Office were being ignored—and I was very interested in the demon scent.”

  “Scent?” asked Pug.

  “Yes,” said Amirantha. “You’ve encountered demons, right?”

  “Yes,” said Pug, with an emphatic nod. “Not with the best results, I might add.”

  “Did you notice how they smell?”

  Pug recalled vividly his encounter with the demon who had disguised himself as the Emerald Queen, and yet the memory was a blur. He had been full of vanity and his own sense of power, and had come flying in—literally—from overhead, only to be blasted from the sky in a scorching ball of flames that had almost ended his life.

  “I can’t say as I had the time to notice any smell,” said Pug. He looked at Miranda and Magnus. “I’ve run into several demons over the years, and except for one who smelled of burning brimstone, the rest were…sweaty? Some pungent…musky odor.”

  Amirantha laughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t literally mean their odor. I mean, how their magic smells.”

  Pug’s eyes narrowed and he said, “This sounds a lot like a conversation I had once with a tribal shaman down in Kesh, many years ago. He claimed he could tell which magician fashioned a ward or cast a spell.”

  Amirantha’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t?” He glanced at the others, then at Brandos, and said, “But I thought every magician could…sense whose spell it was, I mean, if they knew the other magician, had encountered their spellcraft before.”

  Magnus exchanged glances with his mother and father, and then said, “An assumption based on limited contact with other practitioners of magic.” He thought on this a moment, then said, “I believe I can, as well.”

  “Really?” said Pug.

  “You’ve never said anything,” added his mother.

  “I never really gave it much thought,” said Magnus. “It’s not something I do consciously. If you or Mother translocate into or out of the next room, I just know which of you it is.”

  Pug’s eyes widened slightly.

  “If I’m in my quarters, I know who’s teaching the students, most of the time, just from the way the magic ‘feels’ in the background.”

  Miranda shook her head slightly. “I had no idea.”

  Pug said to Amirantha, “After the current problems are concluded, perhaps I could persuade you to linger a bit, for I would like to see more of this ability you and my son speak of.”

  “I don’t know if it’s an ability, in the sense of something that can be taught.”

  “Maybe it’s a quality that can be recognized,” said Pug. “Something we do and give no thought to, like blinking or breathing.”

  “Actually,” said Brandos, “I give a fair amount of thought to breathing, usually when something is trying to keep me from doing it.”

  Amirantha’s gaze narrowed at the quip but he withheld comment. To Pug he said, “Brandos must return home soon, else his wife, Samantha, will have my head on a stick, but I will stay for a while if I can help.” He smiled. “Besides, there’s a great deal here that piques my curiosity, for you’ve codified magic I’ve barely he
ard of. As I said, for those of us who practice the so-called dark arts, there’s little social opportunity to meet with other magic-users.”

  Pug said, “Agreed.”

  Sandreena appeared, guided by one of Pug’s students. The Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak wore a man’s tunic and trousers, both of which fit well enough, and sandals. Pug indicated she should join them at the table, and she took a chair next to Miranda, on the opposite side of the table from Amirantha.

  “Did you sleep well?” Miranda asked in neutral tones.

  “Yes,” said the still exhausted girl.

  “You should have one of our healers look at those wounds.”

  Sandreena took a bowl and helped herself to the stew. “They are fine. I’ve sewn up enough of them to know if they’re festering. I’m just going to have some new scars.”

  Miranda said, “There’s a priest of Killian who can make those scars fade, if you care to visit his temple.”

  “Why?” said Sandreena. She looked directly at Amirantha as she said, “Scars are useful to remind me that being careless is a way to end up hurt.”

  Amirantha inclined his head slightly, as if in agreement, but said nothing.

  Brandos said, “Well, that was fine, but if you have no more use for me, I think I’d like to get out and stretch my legs; otherwise I’ll be napping and I find it a bothersome habit—makes me feel like I’m getting old.”

  Miranda smiled and said, “I’ll have one of the students show you around; there are a few places that wouldn’t be safe to blunder into.” She signaled and a young man in a dark robe approached. Miranda instructed him to show Brandos around the rest of the community he hadn’t seen so far, and they left.

  Pug asked Amirantha, “You care to look around?”

  The Warlock said, “If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon wait here for Creegan to arrive and get that out of the way.”

  Pug and Miranda exchanged brief looks, but said nothing. Magnus said, “We sent word to all our agents that Sandreena had turned up safe and was here, so he should be along any time now.”

  Amirantha said, “Well, then, if you have no objection, might I inquire into your stock of wine?”

  Pug laughed and motioned another student over and said, “Do you prefer red or white?”

  The Warlock said, “Yes.”

  Miranda laughed with her husband and Pug said, “Fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar—see if we still have some of that old Ravensburg red—I think there are a few bottles left. Bring it up and fetch some goblets.” He looked around the table. Magnus, Caleb, and Miranda indicated they were fine, so Pug said, “Two goblets.”

  Sandreena held up a hand with one finger extended, and Pug said, “Make that three.”

  The student hurried off and Miranda said, “I’ve been organizing some old documents that have been languishing in the cellar over at Stardock, so-called demon lore, Amirantha. If you’d like to look at it later I’d appreciate your appraisal of its worth. There isn’t much, so it shouldn’t take very long.”

  The Warlock inclined his head, indicating he was willing.

  Magnus said, “Well, I have a lesson to conduct after lunch, which it now is, so I’d better be getting along. I will see you all later.”

  Caleb also stood up as his brother departed, and said, “And there are household accounts and other matters which also need attending.” He took his leave of the guests as well.

  The wine appeared and Amirantha was impressed at the quality of the vintage. As they sipped in silence, Pug’s expression caused Amirantha to turn.

  From a door across the room he saw a tall, red-headed man enter, with Father-Bishop Creegan behind him. Amirantha muttered, “There goes a pleasant moment.”

  Sandreena began to rise, but the Father-Bishop waved her back into her chair. “Finish eating, girl,” he said. Looking at Amirantha, he said, “I thought you were dead.”

  “Hoped, you mean,” said the Warlock. “Creegan,” he said in greeting.

  Pug rose and said, “Wine?”

  Glancing around the table, the Father-Bishop nodded and pulled out his own chair.

  Pug looked at the red-headed man and said, “Jommy, wine?”

  Grinning, and suddenly looking much younger than he did a moment before, the man said, “Of course.”

  Pug motioned for two more goblets and Father-Bishop Creegan said to Sandreena, “What did you find?”

  Sandreena began slowly, starting with the assault of the innkeeper’s wagon on the road to Akrakon. She omitted nothing she could remember, concerned that a detail that she didn’t realize was important might provide critical information to the Father-Bishop and his companions. Occasionally she let her eyes drift to Amirantha, who sat motionless, listening as closely as anyone else at the table. Finally she recounted visiting the cave to find the old hermit dead.

  When she was finished, she added, “Most of the journey from Akrakon to Ithra is a blur to me, still. I was fevered and passed out a few times. My horse was stalwart and saw to my protection when I lay at her feet. I recall something of entering Ithra and speaking to a guard and finding the monks at the temple. After that, well, it is nothing of this mission.”

  Father-Bishop Creegan looked at Amirantha. “What of the summoning and the murder of the magician?”

  Amirantha shrugged. “It is obvious the cultists weren’t happy with the results.” He fell silent for a minute, then said, “I can only surmise, but the sacrifices were designed to call forth…something, but instead they invoked a series of minor demons…from Sandreena’s description, I think I know their ilk: a particularly nasty little thing I call a ‘ripper,’ bat wings, huge talon on the forefinger of the hand-like extension on the leading edge of the wings.” Sandreena nodded. “Whoever that unlucky magician was, he was attempting craft far beyond his ability and paid the ultimate price. He was fishing in unknown waters, using bait that could have landed him a shark as easily as a mackerel.” He was silent a moment longer, then asked Sandreena, “All the demons, they were identical?”

  She nodded.

  “Then he had a summoning ritual that was bringing forth what it was he called for. They vanished after they killed the sacrifice?”

  Again she nodded.

  He sighed. “Murderous fools. Somehow they managed to get their hands on a ritual of summoning and probably thought they could amend it to call forth something other than what appeared. Those who don’t know demon magic…” He looked at Pug. “If I understand some of your craft, it would be as if you were trying to call down rain, and decided to substitute the word ‘snow’ and get snow.”

  Pug said, “I’m not a master of weather magic; that would be Temar, but your example holds. The entire structure of the spell would have to be crafted differently.”

  Amirantha nodded in agreement. “So it is with a summoning. If I could contrive one spell of summoning and just change the name of the demon, my life would have been a lot simpler.”

  “Or shorter,” said Sandreena wryly. Pug and Father-Bishop Creegan looked at her and she said, “I’ve seen him work. He can…take liberties and put himself and others,” she added with emphasis, “at risk.” Letting her voice return to normal, she looked at the Warlock and added, “You’re an arrogant bastard, Amirantha.”

  Amirantha inclined his head slightly, as if conceding the point. “But I know more of demon lore than any man I’ve met.” He looked at Pug. “Someone is attempting to master in short order what takes years to master. I suspect that means someone feels there is an issue of time involved.”

  Pug was silent for a moment, then said, “Jommy, tell Amirantha and the others”—and he indicated Father-Bishop Creegan and Sandreena—“about that encounter you had when we first discovered the Sun Elves and the Quor.”

  Jommy was unknown to Sandreena and Amirantha. He looked at them, and said, “Ten years ago I was still a lad in training and had been given over to the less than tender care of one Kaspar of Olasko.
”

  Amirantha laughed. He said, “He’s here, you know.”

  Glancing at Pug, he said, “Fishing?”

  Pug nodded. “Even the demons couldn’t stop him.”

  Jommy looked uncertain as to what that meant, but continued on. “In any event, the General had myself and some other lads training at the same time; we were undertaking a mission for…” not knowing if the newcomers knew there was a secret organization behind this seemingly straightforward school for magic, he said, “Pug, and, well, we were spending some miserable times sitting in the rain waiting for pirates.”

  “Pirates?” said Amirantha.

  “Well, that was the report.” He gave Pug a narrow look. “Sometimes we lads in the front only get to hear what we get to hear. Anyway, this ship lay off the west coast of the peninsula where the Peaks of the Quor are, and three boats came ashore. This bunch looked like pirates, save they all wore these black headscarves.”

  Sandreena glanced at the others around the table. “Black Caps?”

  “Could be,” said Father-Bishop Creegan. “If so, they’ve been keeping to themselves for quite a while.”

  “Even the level of magic Sandreena observed doesn’t come easily. If magicians are trying to learn demon summoning, ten years is not unreasonable a time to hide and study.”

  Jommy said, “They had this magician, and he had this…thing he summoned.”

  Now interested, Amirantha said, “Describe it.”

  “Big, and mean, looking like nothing so much as the hazy outline of a man, only bigger, maybe seven, eight feet tall. It had smoke all around it, like a cloak or mantle draped over its shoulders. It spoke some language the magician understood, and its voice was hollow, distant. It took shape and it was…hard to describe. The skin rippled, like thick cream when you tip the pitcher, or a banner waving in a breeze. If that makes sense.”

  Amirantha nodded. “Yes, it does.”

  “It had eyes like burning embers, bright and red, and then the skin got hard, like dark smoking rock. I can’t tell you much more after that, because General Kaspar ordered a charge, and all hell broke loose around me.

  “I do know the thing got bigger as it fought, and when it hit something, it burned them. After a minute, it was covered in fire, flames of yellow and white covering it from head to foot. Saw a shield get scorched and a man’s tunic catch on fire. Smoke came off it like a campfire. I don’t know if we had a prayer until the elves showed up and…banished it, I guess you’d say.”