Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga

by Raymond E. Feist

  Grandy shrugged. “My brothers are both in the navy, sir. I guess my father decided it was time for me to start my military education.”

  “Damned funny choice,” muttered the General. “Still, it’ll do you no good getting youself killed. My aide got punctured by a smuggler’s arrow, and when you get back, I’m detailing you to my command. The rest of you will be spread out among the first and third. I’ll have a platoon designated for each of the four of you, and the fifth will be working here at headquarters with the Prince.

  “Now, meet your squad down at the dock and start rowing.”

  Jommy took one last look at the map, as did Servan, both fixing the location in their minds. Then they saluted and left. Outside the tent they found the sergeant waiting for them. “Sirs?”

  “I expect you know the orders already, Sergeant,” said Servan. “Is the squad assembled?”

  “Yes, sir, it is,” he said, still managing to make “sir” sound like an insult.

  They followed him down to the dock where a riverboat was tied up. Another half-dozen bobbed up and down as the rain-swollen river rushed southeast. Twenty soldiers waited there, sitting on sodden bales of grain.

  Jommy looked at Servan and said, “Oh, the gods wept.”

  Servan sighed. “Every malingerer, malcontent, and thief in the army.”

  “And, it’s a good bunch of boys we have for you young officers,” said Sergeant Walenski. “They’ve just had a bit of trouble, and I’m sure you six fine young officers will sort them out.”

  Jommy looked at the twenty drenched men, as they sat staring at the six knight-lieutenants. Those that weren’t scowling at them were appraising them and the rest were doing their best to look indifferent. All were dressed in the standard uniform of the Roldem army—blue gambeson jacket, grey trousers, boots, a yeoman’s helm—and carried a sword and shield.

  “Get to your feet!” shouted Walenski. “Officers!”

  The men made a show of getting to their feet as slowly as possible, a couple whispering and laughing.

  Jommy said, “Right, then.” He took off his helmet, unbuckled his sword, said, “Sergeant, if you don’t mind,” and handed them to him.

  “Sir?” The Sergeant was taken aback.

  Jommy turned to Servan and the others. “Give me a bit of room, if you would.” He then took one step forward and unloaded a punishing blow to the point of the jaw of the biggest soldier in the group, knocking the man completely off his feet, sending him flying backward into the two men behind him, who also fell down. Jommy then turned to Sergeant Walenski and said, “Sword, please, Sergeant.”

  The Sergeant handed it back, and Jommy rebuckled it while the two men who could got up; the one Jommy hit was still unconscious. Jommy retrieved his helmet, put it on, and turned to the soldiers. “Right, then. Any question about who’s in charge here?” When there was no answer, he raised his voice. “Get on the boat!”

  “You heard the lieutenant! Get on the boat!” shouted Sergeant Walenski. “You two, pick up that man and drag him!”

  The twenty soldiers hurried to do as ordered, and as the six officers followed, the Sergeant said, “A moment, sir,” to Jommy.

  Jommy halted and the Sergeant said, “If you don’t mind the opinion, with a little work you have the makings of a fine sergeant someday. It’s a pity to see you wasting all that talent as an officer.”

  Jommy said, “I’ll keep that in mind. And, Sergeant?”

  “Sir?”

  “When we get back, our tents will be ready, won’t they?”

  “You have my guarantee, sir.”

  “Good,” said Jommy, joining the others on the deck of the riverboat.

  Servan said, “Jommy, one thing.”

  “What?”

  “That first day at the university?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you hit me? Thank you for going easy.”

  Jommy laughed. “No worries, mate.”

  Pug watched in wonder as the boatmen poled upriver. Throughout the entire journey he had felt a terrible mix of the familiar and the alien. Although once they had realized that this planet was identical to Midkemia, knowing where they were became relatively easy.

  Pug’s library held the most complete collection of maps in the world, and while some were out-of-date, and most incomplete, the collection had afforded him as good a view of the geography of the world as any one man could have. Nakor and Magnus had also reviewed most of the maps while on Sorcerer’s Isle.

  They had taken a trail over what would have been the Grey Tower Mountains, along the river called Boundary in Crydee. The ride through the forests and over the north pass evoked strong memories in Pug, from the time he and his boyhood friend, Tomas, had ridden with Lord Borric to warn the Prince of Krondor of the coming Tsurani invasion.

  But now the trees were alien, almost like pines and balsams, but not quite. The birds were all predators, even the Dasati equivalent of sparrows, and only the size of the riders deterred the birds from attacking.

  Nakor had observed that eons of learning who was food and who was hungry had created a murderous but balanced world. As long as you were vigilant, you survived.

  Once over the mountains, they came to a port that didn’t exist on Midkemia: a large town called Larind here, but Pug knew the place, as it was close to the Free City of Bordon in his world. The town was a smaller version of the Ipiliac city: a series of interlinked buildings, as if the need for community against all the hostile forces of this world had created a group approach among a society that was murderously individualistic. Nakor expressed more than once along the way that he would love to stay and study these people. Magnus had observed that the Dasati would probably love to study him.

  From there they sailed across the Diamond Sea—the Bitter Sea on Midkemia—and to the city of Deksa, where Port Vykor resided back home. Pug regretted that their course had taken them just out of sight of Sorcerer’s Isle—or whatever it was called on this world—for he would have liked to have seen this otherworld version of his home.

  Now they were on a large boat—what would have been called a keel boat back home, though it was longer than the Midkemian version, but with the same mode of propulsion: a team of men, six on each side of the boat, who planted poles in the bottom of the river and “walked” toward the stern of the boat. In fact, they were standing still and the boat was moving under their feet, but the illusion was the same. When they reached the stern, they pulled up their pole, effortlessly shouldered it, and walked toward the bow where they planted their poles and started again. It was a slow, but effective, mode of transportation and certainly meant they were more likely to arrive at their destination rested than if they had been in a bumpy wagon. Pug had not asked why magic hadn’t been employed to get them to their destination. He assumed there must be a good reason.

  On Midkemia the Sea of Dreams, which was really a very large saltwater lake rather than a true sea, was bordered on the north by the Kingdom city of Landreth, and on the south by the Keshian city of Shamata. Here the entire eastern half of the sea, on both shores, was occupied by the great city of Kosridi, the capital of this world.

  They were still miles from their destination, but they could see signs of civilization on the north shore as the boat left the river and entered the lake. The polemen pushed out as deeply as they could, then put their poles in cradles along the roof of the center cabin and raised the single sail. The boat was not really designed for sailing, but a bit of a breeze would get them wallowing along as best it could for a few hours, and eventually they would reach the nearest dock in the city.

  The sound of bowstrings humming alerted Pug to the fact that another of this world’s water-dwelling predators had come too close to the boat. He glanced over to see something large, black, and serpent-like slip back below the chop. Within seconds the water began roiling as other predators swarmed to the scent of blood in the water.

  “Mustn’t go swimming,” Nakor said with a chuckle. The sh
ort gambler tended to find everything amusing, and Pug was relieved, for he was feeling quite enough worry for the entire group.

  Given the Dasati habit of having all farms cultivated by a work-force that lived within the walls of the nearest city, Pug could only conclude that the city of Kosridi must be huge, larger than the city of Kesh or perhaps even the enormous Holy City of the Tsurani, Kentosani. Over a million people lived in that city, but judging from the signs of civilization rising up on all sides, Pug assumed that the capital city of this planet was at least three times as large.

  Martuch said, “We’ll dock soon. We must ride the rest of the way.”

  Pug nodded, preoccupied. He had been reassured that everyone on this boat had been selected for their ability to be both blind and deaf, and the captain was secretly a member of the White: no one aboard should be a danger to them.

  Bek had been playing the role of Martuch’s protégé to perfection. His ability to subsume himself into the Dasati mind-set frightened Pug, as did Nakor’s blind faith in his ability to control the youth. What Bek really was, who he was, and how he got to be this way were questions Pug had pondered since first meeting the young warrior. Nakor didn’t have to tell him there was something unusual about him, for from the first Pug could sense the alien presence within him, and the yet-to-be-unleashed power. Nakor’s description of the fight between Tomas and Bek had surprised Pug at the time; Tomas was undoubtedly the most dangerous mortal with a sword on the entire planet, but now that Pug had had time to study Bek, he suspected that the day would come when Ralan Bek would surpass Tomas of Elvandar as the single most dangerous being on Midkemia.

  If they ever got back to Midkemia.

  Pug had asked Martuch how that was to be arranged, and the often taciturn warrior had merely said it was already done. But something in his tone left Pug wondering if he really thought any of them would survive whatever lay ahead of them.

  They reached the docks as sundown approached, and by the time they had secured what passed for horses—varnin—Martuch said, “I know an inn we can use. It will take us the better part of the day to reach the Star Bridge, so we’ll rest in the city tonight.”

  He assumed the role of Dasati warrior and motioned for Bek to follow. Neither paid any attention to the three Lessers who trailed behind them. Pug, Nakor, and Magnus would walk behind their master’s mounts, and Pug prayed everyone remembered his part, for now they were no longer in the relative safety of Lord Valko’s castle.

  Pug had wondered about that young Deathknight. Pug sensed that Valko was fighting a battle inside himself, and prayed his mother retained her influence over him. So many things about these people were repellent: but he reminded himself that this wasn’t just an alien culture, it was an alien reality, and that similarities between Dasati and human were as often as not coincidental, and nothing more.

  Magnus followed Nakor, who stayed close to Bek’s mount, the better to monitor his behavior. Pug was last in line.

  Kosridi City was everything he had imagined from Kaspar’s description of what he had seen in Kalkin’s vision, and more. The city walls were massive, perhaps twenty stories high in places, with gates that required a gigantic mechanical engine to open and close them. Pug could not even imagine those gates being shut by the labor of the heaviest draft animals. Either powerful magic was employed, or another source of power he didn’t understand, because nothing he had seen humans devise would move those gates, short of a thousand men pulling on the ropes for hours on end.

  They entered the city and Pug tried to etch every detail he could into his memory, yet so much of what he saw was inexplicable to him. Women swept along in groups of four or five, apparently shopping in stalls, merchants, and stores.

  He struggled to remember that these very same females, apparently carefree now, would the rest of the time be fugitives harboring children from the very fathers and lovers in their lives who were trying to kill those children.

  Pug found his mind swimming, and turned his attention away from these contradictions. He should know better than to attempt to force his own interpretation on what he saw. Just look, he chided himself. Just look, observe, and evaluate later.

  A group of four men in black robes with a circle of white around the waist and a line of white running down the front and back, were walking purposefully through the crowd. “Praxis,” said Martuch. Pug knew the word meant “standard behavior or practice,” but here it was an organization of laymen working for the Dark One’s church. They were tasked constantly to remind Dasati citizens of His Darkness’s presence, and to report any sign of blasphemous behavior.

  At a busy intersection, the two riders were forced to move slowly past a gathering of men and women who were listening to a man on a wooden stand. A lector was preaching to the Lessers, and his message was that every member of Dasati society had a role to play, and that it was their task to live their lives as joyously as they could in His Darkness’s shadow.

  Pug saw rapt expressions on the faces of those listening and again wondered how these people thought. It was clear that Martuch had grown and changed, and even the Lady Narueen, as Pug thought of her, seemed sophisticated enough for them to have a common basis for dialogue. But young Lord Valko could barely abide the sight of the human visitors, despite their Dasati appearance through magic, and Pug knew that he was sympathetic to their cause.

  What would the average Dasati in the street think should the glamour fail and the humans be revealed? Pug had no doubt the most likely answer was that the four of them would be swarmed over and torn limb from limb by the bare hands of the Dasati Lessers long before any warriors could reach them. Whatever thought Pug had cherished that this world might have something in common with his own had been dispelled the morning of their departure, when he had seen a Lesser cook and her helpers fight what appeared to be domesticated barnyard fowl so she could get eggs for breakfast. Even the chickens here put up a fight, Nakor had observed.

  They wended their way through the busy city, every sight and sound a distraction. Pug was forced not to stare, and had to prod Nakor several times for gawking.

  Eventually they reached the inn where Martuch had said they would be safe as long as they maintained their pose as Lessers, and were quickly taken away from Martuch and Bek, to the quarters out at the back for servants of traveling warriors.

  It was a barracks where three other Lesser men and a single woman were resting, while two other women were tending cooking fires. From the look of things, Pug realized they were going to have to manage on their own for food, but before he could tell Nakor and Magnus to dig rations out of their travel bags, one of the women cooking said, “Two sus each for food. And another su if you wish something other than water to drink.”

  Pug reached inside his bag, pulled out nine coins and put them on the table, unsure if he was supposed to say anything. He suspected “thank you” would earn him nothing but trouble.

  The woman scooped up the coins and put them in the purse that hung from a woven cord belt which cinched together her dress. Pug sat quietly down near the table, watching as they prepared a meal.

  The two Dasati women were chattering about things for which Pug had no frame of reference, until he realized they were gossiping about a woman who wasn’t present. The other three Dasati in the room were servants of others staying at the inn, and Pug decided that watching them for leads might be useful.

  When food was placed on the table, the three Dasati who had arrived before Pug and his companions stood and took full bowls off the table, then returned to where they were resting. Pug nodded once to Nakor and Magnus, and they followed his lead.

  As they sat eating, one of the Dasati women who had been cooking kept staring at Magnus. Pug leaned over and whispered to Magnus, “You never said anything about your encounter with Narueen.”

  Magnus looked down at his bowl. “And I won’t.”

  Pug said, “Difficult.”

  “More than…” He smiled slightly. “There a
re things a son doesn’t want to share with his parents, even a father as…widely traveled as you.”

  Suddenly Pug understood. The experience hadn’t been entirely unpleasant for Magnus, and that disturbed him.

  Magnus swallowed another mouthful of the stir-fried vegetables and a grain like rice with some sort of meat in it, and finally said, “And, please, say nothing to Mother.”

  Pug stifled a laugh.

  Everyone ate in silence. Pug wondered if there was going to be a problem with women and Magnus. They just wanted to be ignored, but apparently Narueen was correct in her observation that Magnus was unusually handsome by Dasati standards. Unwarranted attention was unwelcome. Pug knew that he or his son could bring this entire inn down around the ears of anyone who might threaten them without difficulty. They could create enough confusion to escape. But escape to where? Pug wasn’t entirely sure what this mission was, except to find out as much about these people as possible. So far he still had found no reason why these people would wish to invade the first plane of reality, beyond Nakor’s oft-aired thesis that evil is by nature mad. On the other hand, Nakor also observed that even if evil was mad, it could act with purpose. That had certainly been proven repeatedly in the case of Leso Varen.

  That made Pug think of Varen hiding somewhere on Kelewan, and that in turn made him miss his wife. He wished he had the means to speak with her, if only for a moment, just to know she was well. And ask her if there was any hint of Varen anywhere within the Empire of the Tsurani.

  Wyntakata hobbled along as quickly as he could, attempting to keep up with Miranda, who was impatiently walking toward a hill overlooking a deep ravine. “Please,” he said, and when she turned, he pointed to his staff. “My leg,” he added.

  “Sorry, but you were the one who said this was important.”

  “It is, and I think you’ll appreciate why I asked you to come along with me. But I am not a well man, and a little more leisurely pace would be welcome.”