Rage of a Demon King

by Raymond E. Feist

  “But the Admiral?”

  Reeves said, “Those are his orders.” He sighed. “We wait a week in Freeport, then we head to Krondor.” Softly he said, “Those are the orders.”

  “What then?”

  “I don’t know. Until Lord Nicholas recovers, everything rests in Lord Vykor’s hands in Krondor.”

  The first officer saw how troubled the Captain was, and felt the same. Prince Nicholas, youngest son of Prince Arutha, had been Admiral of the Prince’s fleet, supreme commander of the Royal Navy in the West, as long as either could remember. He was the man who held the fleet together and, more, he was royalty, the King’s youngest brother. For him to die on any captain’s watch would be difficult enough, but for him to die when the Kingdom needed her fleet at its best was tragic.

  Reeves, who was Nicholas’s second in command, said, “Orders to the fleet. I’m taking command. Pass word of the Prince’s injury. Then order best speed for Freeport.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Nakor studied Pug. Calis asked, “Will he wake soon?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Who can say?”

  The Isalani watched as his student continued to administer the healing energies, aided by the Spellweavers of Elvandar. Nakor had dined with Calis, Calin, and their mother the night before, and they had discussed the best course of action.

  Nakor had agreed to ride with Calin to Crydee, where they would use the Tsurani transport device to get to Krondor.

  Sho Pi would remain behind in Elvandar and continue to help heal Pug.

  “I wish I knew what was going on in there,” said Nakor. “In where?” asked Calis.

  “In Pug’s mind. Something is happening, and only the gods know what it is.”

  Pug floated in a void, and again he knew he was detached from his body. Only this time he had none of the references he had possessed when he had been aided by the elven Spellweavers. He did not even know how he had come into the void. The last thing he remembered was preparing to attack the fleet of the Emerald Queen. Then there had been a blinding flash and he had found himself floating.

  He also had some sense that time was passing, but he couldn’t tell how long he had been here. In the void there was no way to orient himself, either in space or time.

  Then a voice came: Greetings.

  Pug spoke with his mind. Who is there?

  Suddenly Pug was someplace else, a realm of shadows but still without any physical frame of reference. Mountainous figures, dwarfing him to insignificance, ringed his position. They were near enough that he could sense how large they were, but distant enough that he could apprehend their overall shape. They were roughly human in form, but that was a generous use of the term human. Each rested upon a gigantic throne. Pug sensed these figures were living, though they resembled nothing so much as figures carved from a dark rock of unknown nature.

  Pug attempted to see detail, but it was as if his mind would not hold the image of what he saw. He turned from figure to figure, and as he thought he recognized a detail, it would flee.

  “Who spoke?” he asked aloud, but no words echoed in the air. He heard his voice in his own mind, but the sound was absent.

  A figure emerged from the surrounding gloom, a figure robed in black. Pug waited patiently as the figure approached, and at last she removed a veil that hid her features. Pug asked, “Do I know you?”

  “We have met once before, magician,” came the icy voice, and Pug felt physical pain as it ran through him like a frozen blade.

  “Lims-Kragma!” he said.

  The goddess nodded.

  Pug looked around and said, “But this is not your realm.”

  “Everything is within my realm, eventually,” said the Goddess of Death. “But it is not the place of our previous meeting, magician.”

  “Who are these mountainous figures?”

  The goddess held out her hand. “These are the Seven Who Control.”

  Pug nodded. “Where are we?”

  “We are in the realm of the gods,” said the goddess. “This is what you thought you saw when you sought to tear Macros the Black from within the mind of Sarig.” She waved her hand and a faint image of the Celestial City sprang up, surrounding the lower third of the mountainous seven Greater Gods. “But that, like this, is simply another level of perception. Despite your powers, nearly unmatched for a mortal, you have not the ability to truly apprehend our reality.”

  Pug nodded. “What am I doing here?”

  “You are here to make a decision.”

  “What?”

  “To live or to die.”

  Pug said, “Is that a decision to be made?”

  “For you, magician.” She placed her hand upon his shoulder and, rather than discomfort, he felt a strangely soothing touch. “You will never enter my realm unbidden, for to you has fallen a curse.”

  “A curse?”

  “You will not realize it at first, but eventually you will know it for what it is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The Goddess put slight pressure on Pug’s shoulder and walked him forward slightly. Other figures came into view and Pug could see that most of them stood motionless, with eyes closed. One or two had their eyes open and regarded them as they passed.

  “This is the closest a mortal may come to viewing the gods, Pug of Crydee.” Pug glanced at the goddess and saw that she again looked as she had when he and Tomas had first visited her hail years before, but smaller. On that visit she had towered over them both.

  “How is it this time we are of equal size?”

  “It is a function of perception,” she said, stepping away from him. Instantly she towered over him as she had before. “Now look at the Controllers.”

  Pug did, and all he could see were the foundations of the Greater Gods’ thrones; they appeared a distant range of peaks, nothing more, their tops lost in the dim sky.

  Then the Goddess returned Pug to the size he had been when they first met.

  “What have you to say to me?” he asked.

  “You are at a nexus. You have three choices. You may release your hold on life now, and enter my realm. You will be rewarded for the good that you have accomplished. Or you may choose eternal life.”

  “As did Macros?”

  “Macros makes assumptions about his existence that are not valid. The sorcerer’s fate is not what he thinks it to be.”

  “You said I have three choices?”

  “The third is that you can escape the curse and return to living now, but you shall know the loss of those you love, the pain of thousands, and the sting of bitter failure at the end of your life. You will die in futility.”

  Pug said, “You paint three difficult alternatives.”

  “I will tell you this, Pug,” said the Goddess. “Your position in our universe is unique. Macros unlocked your potential as a baby, before leaving you where you would be found. He ensured that your Tsurani training would be modified, so that you would return the Greater Magic to Midkemia, and he saw to it that you survived the Riftwar. Because of the sorcerer’s interference over the centuries, you play a role far more critical than your birth would have predicted. You stand poised to shake pillars upon which gods rest. This cannot go unnoticed.

  “But in doing this, he also created other situations, ones you know nothing of. And as a result you must eventually pay the price for his meddling. And at the end of your life, that price will be terrible.”

  Pug didn’t hesitate. “You leave me no choice. A terrible foe stands on the brink of destroying everything I love. I must live.”

  “Then I will help you live. You will know things, and you must act.” She placed her hand upon his face, covering his eyes.

  Suddenly Pug felt the void around him tear, and a great pain shot through his body.

  He sat up, a dry scream ripping from his throat.

  Nakor held him. “Drink this.”

  A bitter brew of herbs touched his lips, and Pug drank deeply. He blinked and found his ent
ire body throbbed with pain. Nakor said, “This will lessen your suffering.”

  Pug focused his mind and the pain subsided. “I can deal with pain,” he said, and his voice was a stranger’s. “Help me to my feet.”

  Sho Pi, Calis, Calin, and Aglaranna stood nearby as the magician got to legs shaky with weakness. A robe was brought, and Pug said, “I seem to be the worse for wear.”

  “You will heal,” said Nakor. “A good healing priest can even rid you of the scars.” He touched the magician’s cheek. “Though it seems you’re managing well enough on your own. Someday we must talk about your abilities.”

  Pug smiled and his face hurt. “Sometimes I think the same of you.”

  Nakor also smiled. “We came to take a last look at you before saying farewell.”

  “Good. Where were you going?”

  Calis said, “Nakor and I are bound for Crydee. Anthony has one of the old Tsurani transport orbs, and we are going to use that to get to Krondor.”

  Pug said, “Let me rest this day and tomorrow we’ll all three go straight to Krondor.”

  He glanced around. “How long since I was injured?”

  “Two months,” said Nakor.

  “What’s the date?”

  “Two days past Banapis,” said Calis.

  “Then the Emerald Queen’s fleet . . .

  “At the Straits of Darkness,” answered the Elf Queen’s younger son. “Anthony gave me a viewing lens made from air, and we watched.”

  Pug said, “Miranda? Macros?” He glanced at the group. “Tomas?”

  “When you were injured they went to look for answers under the Ratn’gari Mountains,” said Calis. “Will you join them?”

  Pug said, “I don’t think so. You and I need to go somewhere else.”

  “Krondor?”

  “First; then we must go to Sethanon.”

  Calis said, “I have much to do before I set foot in Sethanon.”

  “No,” said Pug. “You must go with me to Sethanon.”

  “How do you know?” asked Calis.

  Pug said, “I have no answer. I just know this to be true.” Looking at the Elf Queen, he bowed. “Lady, when your husband returns, please let him know that is where we will be.”

  Aglaranna nodded. “First you must eat and rest. You’ve been kept alive by magic arts and your body is not strong.”

  “A fact I am painfully aware of,” said Pug, as his eyes rolled up and he collapsed into Nakor’s arms.

  Consciousness returned slowly, but at last Pug awoke, finding Sho Pi sitting watch with him. “How long?”

  “Another day, a night, and most of this day.”

  Pug sat up. His skin itched and his muscles protested, but he found that while still weak, he no longer felt unable to function. He rose unsteadily and looked around. He ran his hand over his chin and felt the stubble of beard returning. He had been moved to a small room, carved from within the bole of a huge oak, and found, stepping beyond a heavy curtain, that it opened into the private garden of the Queen and Tomas. Aglaranna sat with her two sons, in calm discussion.

  Calin said, “Welcome.”

  Pug sat down slowly, allowing Sho Pi to hold his elbow. “My thanks for all you’ve done,” said Pug.

  “We only aid those who are fighting to preserve this,” said the Queen, motioning with her hand to indicate all of Elvandar.

  “A bit more than that,” said Nakor, entering the glade. “The entire world.”

  The Elf Queen said, “For the eledhel, Elvandar is the world.”

  Nakor sat down next to Pug and regarded him. “You’ll live.”

  “Thank you. I needed the reassurance,” said Pug dryly.

  Nakor laughed. “When do we leave for Krondor?”

  Pug glanced at the falling light. “It’s evening there already. We should leave first thing tomorrow.”

  “Another night’s rest will help you,” said Sho Pi.

  “Besides, Nakor,” said Pug, “you and I need to discuss some things.”

  Calis said, “Such as?”

  Pug said, “Some things, I am sorry to say, must remain between Nakor and me.”

  Calis shrugged. “That’s as it should be. But I will be glad to return to Krondor. There is still a great deal left to do.”

  Pug said, “You must go to Sethanon.”

  Calis’s gaze narrowed. “I have duties.”

  “Be that as it may, you must be in Sethanon.”

  “My father?” asked Calis.

  “He may have something to do with this, but I think it is something only you are capable of seeing done.”

  “What is that?” asked the Queen.

  Pug sighed. “I don’t know.”

  Nakor laughed, a loud, long guffaw. “That sounds like something I would say.”

  Pug shrugged. “I can’t say how I know, Calis, but you must be in Sethanon at the end. And you can’t risk not getting there. Which means we cannot have you in the battle. You must go straight to Sethanon—now.”

  Calis looked torn. Pug and his father were nearly legendary figures, men whose wisdom and power were undoubted, but he had seen to the forging of the Prince’s defenses as much as William, James, or the others. “But there are so many things for me to do.”

  “There are many men to do those things,” said Nakor, “but if Pug is right, there is only one man who must be at Sethanon when the battle ends.”

  “Why?” asked Calis.

  “We will know when the time comes,” said Nakor with his nearly ever-present grin. “All will be made known.”

  Calis said, “What of the others—my father, Macros, and Miranda?”

  Nakor shrugged. “They have their own concerns, I am sure.”

  Macros said, “Whenever I think I’ve seen everything there is to see, something new and perplexing shows up.”

  Miranda and Tomas were forced to agree as the demon shifted its weight uncomfortably upon the ground. They had been communicating with it constantly since it had spoken, and had revealed problems. The demon itself appeared to be nearly mindless, but some other intelligence was in control. The problem was that this intelligence was limited in how much of the demon’s nature it could stem. Twice Macros and Miranda had been forced to restrain the creature and listen to it howl in rage for days.

  But at the end of a month of give and take, all parties had arrived at a clear understanding.

  The demon was controlled by a being named Hanam, a Saaur Loremaster from the Saaur home-world of Shila. Between the four of them—Macros, Hanam, Miranda, and Tomas—they had pieced together a picture of events.

  A dark power, vaguely known to Macros and Miranda, but whose name was hidden from them, had influenced the priests of a city called Ahsart, manipulating them into opening an ancient barrier between the demon realm and this one. The demons had come into the world of Shila, destroying an ancient empire and everyone in it.

  The Pantathians had shown up in providential fashion, offering the remaining Saaur refuge on Midkemia in exchange for a generation’s service, thirty Midkemian years.

  For half that time the Saaur had been growing in power on the continent of Novindus, then aiding the Emerald Queen in conquering the entire continent in anticipation of this attack on the Kingdom.

  Miranda sighed. “We have, it seems to me, two options.”

  “Which are?” asked Tomas.

  “Reveal the betrayal of the Saaur by the Pantathians, allowing them an honorable avenue to withdraw from the war, or find this entrance from the demon realm and close it.”

  Tomas said, “We must do both.”

  Macros said, “I do not like this choice, but Tomas is right.”

  “Can we do one, then the other?” asked Miranda.

  The voice of the demon still sounded like grinding rock, but Hanam said, “The demons’ King, Maarg, rages and has destroyed many of his own in frustration. He does not know the Pantathians have ceased to exist as a force.” Pointing with a clawed talon toward a distant tunnel, he said
, “The rift between Shila and this world is but a half day’s walk from here. But on the other side of that rift wait Tugor and his minions.” The demon stretched his arms, now reaching nine feet from talon to talon, and said, “I am half his size, and I lack his demon’s cunning.”

  Tomas said, “A demon lord I can best.”

  “But it’s the numbers,” said Macros. “Save the Demon King himself, none of that realm is the match of any single one of us.” He glanced at his daughter. “Including you, I think, if you keep your wits.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said dryly.

  “But a dozen or more of them at once . . .” Macros shook his head. “That’s a different matter.”

  Tomas said, “We delay, yet every day we spend here makes this a more difficult set of tasks.”

  Macros said, “There are times when strength aids and times when stealth does.” He held up one finger. “Tomas, you are vital to the defense of Sethanon. I suggest you and Hanam attempt to divert the Saaur.”

  Tomas said, “Can we get close enough to . . .” He glanced at Hanam for a name.

  “Jatuk, son of Jarwa.”

  “. . . Jatuk to let him know of the betrayal?”

  “And will he believe a demon and a Valheru?”

  Macros shrugged.

  Hanam said, “If I can get him to listen, I know things only the Loremaster of the Saaur would know. If I can speak to Shadu, my student who took my place, I know I can convince him it is his old master who resides in this body.”

  “What of you?” asked Tomas.

  Macros said, “My daughter and I need to close the pathway between the demon realm and here. Eventually Maarg will deduce he has been betrayed by one of those he sent through, even if he doesn’t know which captain it is.”

  “Once Maarg realizes he’s been betrayed,” said Hanam, “his rage will be without equal. He will launch a blind attack through the rift, ignoring however many of his servants die for the effort, but once he has reached this world, the outcome will be the same as it was on Shila. Eventually, you will all go to the feasting pits.”

  Tomas said, “Do they suspect what is waiting at Sethanon?”

  One of the longest debates that had gone on between Tomas and Macros had been over how much to tell the Saaur Loremaster. Eventually it had been necessary to tell him everything.