Wrath of a Mad God Read online

  raymond e. feist

  ing. Pug thought that such touches would have been beautiful if they were not adorning such grim surroundings. Other than that, the Dasati architecture was very formalized. There were six windows set between each doorway, with a tunnel into the heart of the building every four doorways. Above the street, each story had a landing and a balconied walkway; the design was repeated over and over. The monotony was disrupted only by vast interconnecting walls that had broad boulevards upon their spines, highways hundreds of feet above the ground upon which much of the travel and commerce of Dasati society depended.

  Among the buildings were areas of open plaza or parkland.

  Each open space, be it parkland, hunting range, agricultural raion, or marketplace, was miles long on each side. But even these, Pug could observe as they rose higher, were uniform in placement and design.

  Aloud he said, “The Dasati lack originality.”

  “Not entirely,” said Macros, “but they do have a decided tendency to stick with something once they judge it to be useful. As densely packed as the population can be toward the city center, these arrangements of parklands and agricultural districts provide an efficient system of getting goods to market.

  “The only different environment to be seen is along the shores of the oceans. The sea is far less amenable to being formed than the land, so compromises had to be made. Yet even in the coastal cities the attempt to replicate this design is evident. They have bridges and networks of vast rafts, even pilings driven deep into the sea bottom just so that they can do this.”

  “Why?” asked Nakor. “I appreciate a good design as well as any man, but one must accommodate to changing circumstances.”

  “Not the Dasati,” said Magnus. “If the design doesn’t fit the circumstances they change the circumstances.”

  Pug was surprised at how relaxed his son sounded. He knew that had he been transporting everyone, he would not have been so relaxed. Magnus was just coming into his power still relatively young as magicians went, and already there were things he was capable of that would be difficult for both his mother and father.

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  Pug’s mind returned to that terrible day, so many years before, when he had stood before Lims-Kragma, after his foolish attempt to overpower the demon Jakan, and the horrifying choice he had been given. He would do what needed to be done, return to the living to finish the tasks an unkind fate and the gods had put before him, but in exchange for that respite from death he would have to pay a price. He would have to watch everyone he loved die before him.

  When those of advancing age died it was hard enough. He recalled losing his first teacher, Kulgan, Father Tully, later Prince Arutha and his good friend Laurie. The untimely deaths were more difficult to accept than those lost in war to a capricious fate. But nothing had prepared him to anticipate the loss of his children before their time. He had already lost two: William, who had died on the walls of Krondor before the onslaught of the Emerald Queen’s army, and his adopted daughter Gamina, lost in the same struggle with her husband, Lord James. Yet both of them had led full lives, Gamina having come to know her grandchildren.

  Pug considered ruefully that he had distant family, people he hardly knew. His great-grandchildren, Jimmy and Dash, had fathered children and Pug wondered for a bitter moment if they too would be lost before him.

  His reverie was broken by Nakor asking, “What is that?”

  It took only seconds for Pug to see what “that” was. In the distance, against the rising sun, a black tower of something that resembled smoke rose up, but as they approached Pug could see that it wasn’t smoke. It was an energy of some kind, and while it was wispy and smokelike it was not rising but rather being drawn downward.

  “We must move now,” came Macros’s voice.

  “What is it?” Nakor asked again.

  “The Temple of the Black Heart,” said Macros. “The holiest of holies on this world. It is the entrance to the domain of the Dark God.”

  “What are those energies?” asked Pug.

  “Life,” said Macros. “Given your unusual perspective in 9 3

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  this realm, you can see it, as can I, but to the average Dasati, even to the Deathpriests and Hierophants, the air above the temple is clear. You are seeing the life essence of thousands of the dying rushing to that monstrous entity. It is feeding on them. It is growing stronger.”

  “To what end?” asked Magnus.

  “That we must find out,” said Macros. “Move us to the right, in line with that flickering light to the southeast. It is a lake within the next raion and beyond that lies the Grove of Delmat-Ama. It is there we shall begin to gather information and assess what has occurred, and see if we can make some sense of this insanity.”

  Pug remained silent, but he wondered if sense could ever be made from insanity. Thinking of that, he wondered how went the hunt for Leso Varen on Kelewan, and for a brief moment he ached to hear from Miranda and wondered if he would ever hear from her again. Pushing aside such black musings, he turned his attention to keeping them invisible from the thousands of Dasati hiding below.

  They sped along in the direction Macros had indicated, until they were again over a series of parks and temples. The parks were almost always on lower rooftops, merely four or five stories above the ground, not on top of the highest blocks of structures. If there was a single building in the center, with high-peaked steeples and turreted towers, that would be a temple to His Darkness.

  These parks had been arranged in a pattern, Pug could see from on high. The buildings formed a cross, with the parks occupying the remaining space of a vast square, the northwest, southwest, southeast, and northeast quadrants. The northernmost building was a gigantic structure, huge even by the Dasati’s overblown standards. A massive foundation supported half a dozen pillars, with a center tower rising up highest of all.

  “Look at the size of that place,” observed Nakor.

  “And more of the life energy is leaving there,” Macros said, pointing.

  Pug saw that thousands of tiny wisps of the black life energy 9 4

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  were leaking from the top of the highest tower, seeding back toward the massive intake they had observed earlier.

  Macros said, “Deep under this structure, dozens of levels below this plaza, are cavernous murder rooms. While mayhem is the word for this day, ritualized slaughter takes place on appointed holidays. His Darkness apparently needs a steady supply of Dasati life energy to thrive, and so has bent the will of his people to this unspeakable practice.”

  “How have they survived?” asked Magnus.

  “In times past,” said his grandfather, “by conquering other worlds. The Twelve Worlds were once populated by other intelligent beings, and the Dasati put every one of them to the sword or sacrificial altar and had their hearts cut from their chests.

  “Over the ages, they ran out of victims, so they began to prey on one another, evolving into this culture of death and madness you see today.” Macros fell silent to let what he was saying sink in. Then he said, “The truth of what occurred is hidden.

  History has been overlaid with dogma until the canon of the Dark God and history are the same thing. Only the Bloodwitch Sisters have some perspective on what really occurred over the centuries, and their archives are sketchy at best.”

  “Why is that?” asked Nakor.

  “Over there,” said Macros to Pug, “move us toward that large spire and straight on beyond. That will lead us to the Grove.” To Nakor he said, “For centuries the Bloodwitch Sisters were part of the faith of the Dark God, though it’s almost certain they predated his ascension and were servants of a goddess of life or nature.

  “But even though the Sisterhood finally recognized the pointless folly of a society so murderous that even its own young were at risk, they didn’t come to that realization until after much of the old lore was lost. Had I
longer to study . . .” His words fell away.

  Pug suspected Macros’s condition was more dire than he admitted. Certainly there was a sense of urgency in everything he did, and Pug couldn’t escape the feeling that matters were quickly heading for a turning point.

  War was coming. Either to Midkemia or Kelewan, the twin of this world, and the only things holding off the initiation of a 9 5

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  bridgehead into the next realm were the preparations being made for the Dark God’s forces. This gathering of energies must be the final preparation for such an invasion.

  Pug sensed the logical need for such a war. He was only beginning to form opinions as to the root cause of this society’s twisted behavior, but it was clear to him that a brittle homeostasis existed here, social forces locked together by their own pressures: one blow from an oblique angle would cause the entire structure to collapse. How fast this society recovered from this day of wholesale butchery would be instructive, for such a thing in Midkemia would surely bring a town, city, or even a nation to its knees.

  Pug understood that in every human culture too much disruption at any level, among farmers and laborers, merchants and traders, the military or the gentry and society would descend quickly into chaos.

  It had taken the Western Realm nearly twenty years to recover fully from the Serpentwar, and that was only because bright and talented men and women rose up to serve, including members of his own family.

  Pug turned his attention to the parkland below. He could see a band of armed Dasati—Lessers from their attire—crouched in a shallow wash, screened from view from everywhere but above by dense shrubbery. They were bloodied, exhausted, and from what Pug could observe as he sped above them, they had finished fighting and were now trying to wait out the coming day.

  As they reached the southwestern boundary of the parkland, Pug thought the hiding Lessers were unlikely to survive this day, for a large contingent of heavily armed, mounted Deathknights and a pair of Deathpriests were marshaling in a square, clearly intending to conduct an organized sweep of the area. Pug wished he could intervene, but to what end? And just because in the normal course of social behavior the Deathknights were more often the predators than the Lessers, that hardly made the latter any less bloodthirsty and murderous. He knew that given the chance they would destroy him and his companions without hesitation.

  Pug realized bitterly that even though he had been able to assimilate Tsurani culture when he was a captive on Kelewan in 9 6

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  his youth, and had become adept at navigating the cultural byways of many other alien societies, he would never fully be able to grasp the essence of the Dasati, any more than he could fathom the thinking of ants in a hill, even if he could appreciate and apprehend their social order. He then admitted to himself that he had a better chance of understanding the ants.

  They continued to fly over the cityscape, seeking out potential threat among the uniform buildings. But the journey proved uneventful and after a long flight in relative silence they heard Macros say, “Over there, near that open area with the small lake.”

  Magnus changed their direction and took them toward their indicated goal. They descended slowly over the city to the edge of the raion and Macros said, “That building over there, on that hillock.”

  The building was a modest one, though like all things Dasati heavily defended. It had a stout wall with a deep trench just inside fortified with sharpened wooden stakes. “Some local predators are quite adept fence jumpers. You’d best set us down behind those trees, Magnus. If we suddenly appear before the front door we may be filled with arrows before someone recognizes us.”

  His grandson did as he was told and when they were on the ground, Pug dropped the spell of invisibility. The three Lessers were silent, as they had been the entire way, but their faces looked pale—their already grey skin now looking ashen—and their expressions revealed relief at having their feet once again on solid ground. Macros told them, “Go and announce our arrival, and try not to be killed before you can speak. I suggest you yell at a safe distance from the door.”

  As they left he added, “It’s probably an unnecessary precaution, but one never knows. We control this entire raion, but unless the TeKarana himself sent his personal legion into this district, our forces were most likely able to keep this area calm.

  “Before we go inside, I should warn you that we have little time for planning and even less for action. Something monstrous is now under way, or this Great Culling would not have been called. History is of little interest to the average Dasati Deathknight or Lesser, but I have made it my business to ferret out as much of it as I could since I regained my human memories.

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  “These massive killings have only ever been called for two reasons: to relieve social pressure and suppress any hint of revolution against the Dark God and his servant, the TeKarana, or to ready the people for the invasion of another world. The last world pacified by the Dasati was Kosidri, and that was over three centuries ago. There is not one indigenous form of life on that world left from the time before the Dasati found it.”

  “You fear the Dasati are poised to invade our realm?” asked Magnus.

  “Not quite yet, but soon. If things go as I fear they will, the Dark God will call for the Great Muster within a month, and all the battle societies will join with the armies of the Karanas and the TeKarana at an appointed place, perhaps as many as two million Deathknights and several hundred thousand Deathpriests. Another four million support Lessers will accompany them. Remember, they have six worlds to draw upon for resources.”

  Pug’s expression showed his shock at these numbers. “We never faced more than twenty thousand Tsurani over the course of twelve years, Macros. And even though the Emerald Queen sent forty thousand against the Kingdom, nearly half died at sea or in the battle for Krondor. There were less than twenty thousand strung out along a hundred miles of the King’s Highway. And a third of their army deserted before the battle of Nightmare Ridge.”

  Nakor said, “Two million. That’s a lot.”

  Pug shot his friend a quick glance, to see if he was joking and saw he wasn’t. “You know what this means?”

  “It means we have to prevent them from starting the war,”

  said Nakor.

  “Can we?” asked Magnus.

  “That,” said his grandfather, “is the question of the hour, isn’t it?”

  “There is only one way I can think of that might achieve that,” said Pug.

  Macros nodded, as if reading his son-in-law’s mind. “Yes, kill the Dark God before the order to invade is given.”

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  pursuit

  Kaspar nodded.

  Castdanur had proven an amiable enough host, for a captor, and refreshments had been provided, meager though they were. Kaspar had eaten enough game over the years to recognize that everything provided for the evening meal had either been hunted or gathered; nothing here was grown or otherwise cultivated.

  They sat opposite one another across a low table, upon furs that kept the body’s heat from being stolen into the cold wooden floors. The venison was tough and gamey in flavor, but it was filling, and spiced with some wild herbs he didn’t recognize. There was no wine or ale, just water, and the cooked turnips were of a variety he recognized from hunting expeditions to Great Kesh raymond e. feist

  when he was a boy. They had been cooked with animal fat, not butter, and the only spice used was salt, which had a bitter, metallic edge to it, as if it had been reduced from a soda spring in the mountains rather than coming from a mine or seaside salt flats.

  The old elven leader had deftly avoided any comment on Kaspar’s observation that this was a fortification occupied by a dying population, and also kept the conversation away from any revelations about his people and their history. So for the most part they had spent the evening speaking of litt
le of importance, though each probed the other for information. Castdanur wanted to know why Kaspar and his company of men had come to the mountains as much as Kaspar wanted to know what these elves were doing here and why no Keshian ruler in history had an inkling of their occupying the mountains traditionally claimed by the Empire as their own.

  As a ruler of an Eastern nation, Kaspar had had no contact with elves prior to his joining the ranks of the Conclave of Shadows, and since then only the most fleeting: one encounter with a messenger from the Elf Queen’s court who had arrived at Sorcerer’s Island while Kaspar had been there receiving instructions from Pug. He had had barely more than a glimpse of the envoy, and had never spoken to him.

  This Castdanur was as deft a negotiator as Kaspar had ever encountered. Kaspar had no doubt that was what they were doing: negotiating for his life and that of his men. This enclave could never have remained undetected by Keshian intelligence, coastal pirates, or any number of people who might have chanced across it over the years without there being a deadly consequence for those who discovered Baranor. Kaspar was certain that should any human have ventured to this enclave and lived he would only be someone they trusted implicitly. And nothing he had seen since their captivity indicated that they were inclined to trust anyone from outside.

  Finally, Kaspar said, “Are you familiar with human card games?”