Tomas smiled “I think it safe to say you’re right. ‘Impossible concept’ sums it up.”
“Anyway continued Nakor when the Valheru rose to challenge the gods, the Chaos Wars ensued.” He looked at Tomas. “How long did they last?”
Tomas said, “Why . . . I don’t know.” He closed his eyes as if attempting to remember, but at last opened them and said, “I have no idea.”
“They dragged on for centuries,” said Nakor. “The gods as we think of them are localized, specific to Midkemia, yet they reflect larger realities, ones which affect millions of worlds.”
“I’m lost again,” said Miranda. “Local, yet they stretch across a vast number of worlds?”
Nakor said, “It’s the same as if we’re all sitting around a mountain. Each of us sees it from a different perspective, but it’s the same mountain.
“The goddess you and I call Sung the Pure represents certain aspects of reality, a sense of something profoundly basic, unsullied, without flaw, absolutely perfect, and that aspect of reality exists in a lot more places than just around the corner from here.” He looked at Miranda. “Which is to say, if you tried to destroy Sung the White, you’d not only create havoc on Midkemia but create problems for a very large portion of reality.”
“Everything’s connected,” said Calis, intertwining his fingers. “You can’t disrupt one part of reality without doing harm to another.”
“So, this Nameless One,” said Nakor, “attempts to disrupt things, to steal an advantage, to create a disharmony in the order of things. He influenced Draken-Korin and the Valheru to do two things: they created the Lifestone and they rose to fight the gods.
“As a result, a lot of the Lesser Gods were destroyed, or at least as destroyed as a god gets, which means they won’t be around for a long time; and others were . . . changed. Killian has sovereignty over the Oceans, where Eortis once ruled. It sort of makes sense, as she’s a goddess of nature, but it’s really not her job.” Nakor shook his head. “You know, this Nameless One, he did some serious damage, all things considered, and we’re still dealing with it.” He pointed in the general direction of Darkmoor, to the west, and said, “A big demon is coming this way, with an army, and he wants that thing.” Nakor pointed at the Lifestone. “He probably doesn’t even know why he wants to come here, or even that this Lifestone is here. And once he gets here, he won’t know what he’s going to do with it. But he’ll do anything to get it. And once he has it . . .”
Calis said, “He’ll end life on this world as we know it.” All eyes turned toward Calis. “It’s the nature of the Lifestone that everything in this world is connected. If you disrupt it, everything dies.”
“That’s the trap,” said Nakor. “That’s what Draken-Korin didn’t understand when he thought he’d created the perfect weapon. He thought that if he unleashed the power of the Lifestone, the energy would blast away the gods, or something like that.” He glanced at Tomas.
Tomas nodded.
“But it doesn’t work like that,” said Nakor. “What would have happened is the world would have died, save for the gods. The Lesser Gods would have been weakened, because there would have been no one around to worship them. But the Controller Gods, they would have been just as they always were.”
Miranda said, “I’m getting a headache. If nothing changed for the Controller Gods, what good does all this do this Nameless One?”
“Nothing,” said Nakor. “That’s the irony. I think he imagined—if I may presume to think like a god—that the general disruption would somehow benefit his cause, would put the other Controller Gods at a disadvantage.”
“Wouldn’t it?” asked Pug.
“No,” said Dominic. “Each god is cast in a fixed role, and within that role they can act, but not outside their nature.”
Miranda stood up, obviously exasperated. “Then what is going on? Why is this god acting outside his nature?”
“Because he’s mad,” said Calis.
“The Days of the Mad God’s Rage,” said Tomas. “That’s the other name for the Chaos Wars.”
“What drives a god to madness?” asked Sho Pi.
The others looked at the student, heretofore silent. Nakor said, “You’re not as stupid as I think, sometimes, boy. That’s a wonderful question.” He looked around the room. “Anyone have an answer?”
No one spoke.
Nakor said, “Maybe it’s in his nature, but the Nameless One did things that defeated his own purpose. He created a situation that resulted in his being cast out, imprisoned far away.
“Seven gods once lived in balance, each according to its nature. Whatever the reason, the balance was upset. The Chaos Wars caused the destruction of two of the Controllers, for they had to act to preserve what was left of this world. The Matrix, Ishap, the most important god of the seven, is gone. The Good Goddess, Arch-Indar, is also gone, and the Nameless One had to be banished, confined by the other four. His counterpart is dead and the god who kept all in balance is dead, so the remaining four, Abrem-Sev, Ev-Dem, Graff, and Helbinor, had to act. They had no choice.
“So in the end, we’re left with a world out of control, unbalanced, lacking cohesion. This is why so many strange things occur on Midkemia. It makes it an interesting place to live, but a little dangerous.”
Pug said, “Is this speculation or do you know these things?”
Nakor pointed to the artifact. “Dominic?”
“He knows,” said the Abbot of Sarth. “That device was carried by the High Priest of Wodar-Hospur, the God of Knowledge. Reputedly, any question that a man can ask is answered in the Codex. But the price to carry it is extreme. It requires the combined effort of dozens of other clerics in the temple to combat the madness that results from the High Priest’s inability to dream.” He looked at the Isalani. “Nakor, how did you escape the madness?”
Nakor grinned. “Who said I did?”
Pug said, “I have often thought you a little odd, but never have I judged you truly mad.”
Nakor said, “Well, the thing about madness is you can only be crazy so long. After that you either kill yourself or you get better. I got better.” He grinned. “It also helped when I stopped sleeping in the same room with the damn thing.”
Sho Pi said, “How is it that you”—he pointed to Tomas—“who wear the mantle of the Valheru, and you”—he pointed to Pug—“who was the master of two worlds of magic, and you”—he pointed at Nakor—“who possess this item, and Macros, who was Sarig’s agent, are all together at this point in history?”
“We are here to help,” said Nakor. “The gods may have planned it this way, but for whatever reason, we need to repair the damage done so many centuries ago.”
“Can we?” asked Miranda.
Nakor said, “We cannot. Only one being in this world possesses the nature to attempt this.” He turned and looked at Calis. “Can you?”
“I don’t know,” answered Calis. “But I must try.” His eyes returned to the Lifestone. “Very soon.”
Nakor said, “And our job is to keep him alive long enough to try.”
Erik stood behind the lines, watching as his men repulsed another attack, waiting for another assault; Duko was good, and none of his attacks during the day had been wasted effort. It had taken every trick he knew, and calling in the reserves, for Erik to repulse him. Runners carried messages from the other areas of the line, and the news was not good.
The Kingdom was holding, but the entire line was sorely pressed. Patrick feared there was going to be a breakthrough eventually. It was the reason he was withholding the elements of the Army of the East that were camped below the eastern foothills. They stood ready to respond to any incursion. A small army had been sent to impose itself between any forces that might get through and the abandoned city of Sethanon.
It was late afternoon, and when Erik heard the enemy trumpets sound the retreat, he breathed a sigh of relief. A runner had returned from Darkmoor with his uniform, and he welcomed fresh clothi
ng. He was covered in dirt, blood, and smoke, and while he didn’t take the time to bathe, a fresh shirt and trousers would improve his mood.
After he had changed, Jadow came into the tent and said, “We’ve got word some of the enemy have slipped across the ridge line and are holed up in a little canyon a mile north of here.”
“Get a squad and go root them out,” said Erik. “If you need help, grab whoever’s close by, but get those men dug out of there.”
Jadow left and Erik sat down in the command tent. He pawed through the pile of reports and dispatches, and found nothing that required his immediate attention. He rose and left the tent and burned to where food was being served to the men. He refused to move to the front of the line, so he was only a few feet away from getting his rations when a horseman rode up.
It was Dashel Jamison, who waved. Erik looked at the bubbling pot of stew with some regret as he left the line and said, “Hello!”
Dash dismounted. “The Prince sent me to tell you that the Earl of Loriél has been found other duties.” Lowering his voice, he said, “if any other noble rides through and troubles you, I’m to . . . facilitate.”
Erik said, “Thanks.” He found the next question awkward. “Any word on . . . your grandfather?”
Dash’s expression turned grim. “No. Nor my grandmother.” He looked westward, facing toward Krondor. “We are resigned to the fact they chose to die together.” He sighed. “My father is not dealing with this well, but he’ll come out of it soon.” Dash shrugged. “Truth to tell, I’m not dealing with it particularly well, either.” He looked at Erik. “How can I help?”
“I need someone to sort through all the dispatches as they arrive and save me from the ones that don’t need my attention. The command structure along the ridge is very disorganized.”
Dash said, “We’ve lost a lot of nobles, and many of their second in commands are garrison soldiers, with no field experience.”
Erik said, “I’ve noticed.” He looked at Dash. “A lot of nobles?”
Dash looked disturbed. “The Duke of the Southern Marches is dead. The Duke of Yabon lies injured and may not live. At least a dozen earls and Barons are dead. More before this is through, I think.” He lowered his voice. “While you were up in the mountains training, Patrick ordered all the lords who were coming here to leave one son home if they could. If we survive, we’re going to have a lot of new members of the Congress of Lords next year. We’re paying a bloody price in this war.”
“That we are.” Then the trumpets sounded and alarm was raised as another attack commenced. “And that we will,” said Erik as he pulled his sword and hurried to his chosen place of command.
Calis said, “It’s time.”
Pug moved to stand beside his old friend’s son and asked, “Are you certain?”
Calis said, “Yes.”
He looked at his father, and something passed between them; something silent but profound, needing no words. Then he looked at Miranda, and she smiled at him.
Calis stood before the Lifestone, the huge green emerald pulsing with energy. He said, “Father, take back your sword.”
Tomas didn’t hesitate. He leaped atop the dais upon which the stone rested and placed a booted foot on the gem. He seized the hilt of his white and gold sword and pulled. At first the sword resisted his efforts, then suddenly it slid free.
Tomas lifted his sword, feeling complete for the first time since the end of the Riftwar, and a primal Shout of victory escaped his lips.
The gem began to pulse and Calis rested his hands upon it. “I am Valheru! I am human!” He closed his eyes and said, “I am eledhel!”
Nakor said, “Interesting. His nature is unique and he possesses the attributes of three races.”
Calis’s eyes opened and he stared into the gem. “It’s so obvious!” he said, and he lowered his head until his brow touched the gem. “It’s so easy!”
Pug looked at Tomas and they both asked the same silent question: What was so obvious and so easy?
In a grand pavilion, surrounded by servants and advisers, the demon Jakan seethed. Something called to him, something compelling and demanding, something that insisted he move toward it. He did not know what this thing was, but it haunted his dreams and sang to him. He knew where it was, a place to the north and east, Sethanon, and he knew that those who opposed him were denying him this thing.
The self-styled Demon King of Midkemia stood, and to those around him, the illusion of the Emerald Queen still held. She seemed to command them to depart, save those attendants she kept close by, the remaining Pantathian serpent priest, one named Tithulta, and the human General, Fadawah. They knew of the deception and were the only survivors of that bloody night when Jakan had devoured the Emerald Queen. It had been so easy. She had been alone with one of her victims, who died held in her arms and legs as she drank his life from him. The demon had used his growing powers to appear as one of her servants. He had slipped into her tent and quickly killed her and her newest lover. The woman’s power was significant, but wasted on keeping a youthful appearance. The demon didn’t understand this; it was so much easier to build an illusion, as he had.
In that moment of consuming the woman, the demon had encountered something alien, yet familiar. He had been touched by this agency and knew its name, Nalar. But beyond knowing of its presence, the mystic echoing within the Emerald Queen, the demon was otherwise unconcerned.
Maarg had made a pact with someone to have those odd creatures who looked like Pantathians open the rift to the Saaur world and to this world. But that was Maarg’s worry. Let him rot on Shila or return to the demon realm and its limited pleasures. Jakan was the only one of his kind on this world, and his power was growing by the day.
He glanced at his left arm and saw the tremendous growth that had occurred. The last human he had devoured he had swallowed whole, and had found a wonderful moment of delight as the creature screamed for almost a full minute inside his gullet. And now he was pleased to see the human’s face appearing on his belly. He flexed his shoulders and felt his great wings nearly touch the sides and tops of the pavilion. He would have to have it enlarged. The illusion of the Emerald Queen could move easily through the tent, but Jakan was now close to twenty feet tall, and as long as he fed, he would continue to grow. For a brief instant, he considered limiting his feeding, then dismissed the idea as too alien.
He ducked as he moved under the tent flap held open for the Queen by her guards. Fadawah and Tithulta appeared to be following at a respectable distance; no one without magic sight could see the mystic chains and collars Jakan had fashioned to keep them in tow.
The nearby army saw the Emerald Queen reach the large tent she had erected for the wounded. She entered and found a few soldiers attempting to tend the dying. “Leave,” she commanded, and those able to do so obeyed, for most suspected what was about to happen.
Jakan moved to the first man, unconscious but still alive. The demon scooped him up with one hand and bit his head off, swallowing it. The blood and life forces that ran down the demon’s throat filled him with an almost painful pleasure. Never had a demon risen so rapidly, become so powerful, and still had so much potential before him. He would be the mightiest Demon King in the history of the race! Nothing would withstand his march, and when he had devoured this planet, he would use the rift knowledge these people possessed to reach other worlds. Eventually, he thought, I will be a god!
He turned toward a man who could barely move for his injuries, but whose eyes were wide with terror as he attempted to crawl away from the horror he had just witnessed. Jakan realized that, in his bloodlust, he had let his illusion drop, and now sick and dying men moaned in terror. Grinning, with blood still running down his chin, Jakan moved to the man and impaled him on a single talon, lifting him before him. Then with a snap, he devoured him, delighting in the feel of the twitching body sliding down his huge gullet. Never has there been one such as I, he thought.
Jakan turned to his
puppet, Fadawah, and said, “Order the attack! We overrun the puny humans today!”
The vacant eyes of Fadawah didn’t register any reaction. He turned and stuck his head outside the tent and said, “Order all units to attack!”
Soon, thought Jakan, I will feast on thousands and then I will reach this place, Sethanon, and see what it is that calls me there.
Calis smiled. “It’s like untying a knot!”
He had two hands upon the Lifestone and the pulsing green light was bathing him, washing over him, infusing him. Though he didn’t move a muscle he had never looked more animated, alive, and powerful to those who knew him.
His father came to stand next to him and asked, “What do you see?”
“Father,” said Calis, enraptured, “I see everything!”
A six-foot-tall spinning column of green energy sprang up atop the gem like a flame, and undulated, emitting a keening sound. Faces flickered in the flame, and Tomas’s golden blade came to the ready.
“The Valheru!” he said in a hoarse whisper, his every sense tuned and ready for battle.
“No,” said Calis. “This is but an echo of their former existence. What they sought to become eluded them. What they returned to recover was never theirs.” He turned to look at his father. “Stand ready.”
“For what?”
“For the change.” Calis closed his eyes, and the flame shot upward, into the ceiling of the cavern, and ran along the rocky surface, fanning out in a circle. As it spread out from the point of impact, it thinned, diminishing to nothing more than a faint green overlaying the golden shimmer of Nakor’s protective screen.
Tomas dropped to his knees, the sword falling from his hands, as a moan of pain escaped him. He clutched his chest and stomach, as if in agony. Pug rushed to his side, saying, “What is it?”
Tomas’s teeth were clenched and he shook. He was unable to answer.
Rage of a Demon King Page 55