Rides a Dread Legion Free with Bonus Material Page 37

  Miranda! shouted Brandos. If you can destroy that totem over there, Amirantha and Creegan can banish

  He stopped as he saw a figure in white and silver dash through the flames toward the carved pole. Oh, girl, no! he shouted.

  Sandreena had worked her way around to the other side of the fire and now was making a mad dash for the totem. She obviously understood as much as Brandos and Amirantha did the significance of the device. Her tabard was stained with soot and char, and was smoking along one side of the back. Mindless of the scorching heat, she raised her mace above her head, then brought it down in an underhanded sweep, all the while not stopping. She threw her complete weight into the blow, and when her mace struck the wood, the shock reverberated throughout her body, but the wooden icon shattered, bursting into fragments that instantly went up in flames. She kept running, and her tabard was alight.

  To me, girl! shouted Brandos. To me!

  She turned toward the sound of a familiar voice, and Jommy slashed at a demon who turned to see what was coming up behind him. The blow cut the demons throat and black, smoking blood gushed from the wound. Sandreena was blind from the smoke and started to run past Brandos, who reached out and grabbed her arm, shouting, Fall down!

  She did as she was told, and he lay atop of her, putting out the flames with his own body. Jommy kept his blade slashing in all directions as demons sought to swarm over the fallen Knight-Adamant and the old fighter.

  A sizzling bolt of green fire sped out of nowhere to strike two demons from behind, causing them to fall to their knees then convulse, their red leather hides smoking and blistering as they writhed then vanished in a blinding white flash.

  Jommy looked to see the origin of the bolt and saw Pug, Magnus, and two other magicians floating above the fray. Randolph and Simon were not the masters of destructive magic Pug and Magnus were, but knew enough of the more violent side of magic to inflict harm on the demons below.

  Pug! shouted Jommy, and he felt reinvigorated as he hacked at the demons in front of him, allowing Sandreena and Brandos to regain their feet. Whatever damage the young woman warrior endured, she ignored as she joined in the fray, using her mace to good effect and driving the demons back so the older fighter could get his wind and join the fight.

  The massive demon was stunned by Sandreenas attack, and Amirantha and Creegan both began complicated banishing rituals. They were almost in harmony with their chants, though both were speaking different words. Then, as one, they finished, and the large demon simply faded from view.

  The tide of battle changed for with their captain gone, demons sought a means of escape. Several had the arts to will themselves back to their own realm, but others appeared to be abandoned to the less-than-tender care of those they attacked. Other magicians, many gravely injured, began to appear around the edges of the fire, and they did what they could to keep the demons surrounded.

  Remember that nasty trick of letting us surround them! shouted Brandos.

  Pug threw a massive energy bolt, but instead of striking the assembled demons, now down to about a dozen of them, it caused a huge compression of the air above them. The thunderclap caused everyones ears to pop, and, as if blowing out a massive candle, the flames dispersed and suddenly the fire was mostly out. A few hotspots still burned, but mostly the building was now smoking char.

  Miranda ran down the hill to help finish the fight, when suddenly a prone demon leaped to his feet, then onto Mirandas back.

  Pug shouted, No! as the creature set his fangs to her neck, faster than she could react, and tore out the side of her throat. Mirandas legs gave out and she collapsed, a fountain of blood pumping out of her neck.

  Magnuss cry echoed his fathers, and he extended his hand and the demon withered to ash in a moment. The rage he displayed was incredible, and every demon who saw him turned to flee, only to be cut down by those nearby. Pug ignored everything but cutting a charred path through demonic bodies as he struggled to reach his wife.

  In less than a minute it was over. Pug and the others reached Miranda, and he knelt next to his wife. No one needed to be told she was dead. The lifeless pose and her fixed gaze made it abundantly clear. The attack had been so sudden, the damage to her neck so severe, only the most powerful healing magic used instantaneously might have saved her. In the scant moments it took for Pug to reach her, she had bled to death.

  Pug was motionless. Magnus came to kneel next to his father and both were still.

  The struggle was over, and silence fell, only punctuated by the occasional crackle of flame and pop of cooling embers. Slowly, they all gathered around Miranda, save for a few who were trying to tend to the other wounded.

  Nothing was said for a long time. Pug reached under his wifes prone body and lifted her with the help of his son. His features were set, but wetness ran down his cheeks, as he softly said, I will see to my wife. He glanced at Magnus and said, You must be strong. Theres work still to be done.

  Magnus looked around and nodded. His face was ashen, but his features showed resolve. He looked at one of the injured students and asked, My brother?

  Unable to speak, the student merely shook his head in the negative, then pointed at the heart of the house, where the office used by Pug and his son had stood. Only smoking rubble remained, and throughout that part of the building charred bodies lay in contorted positions.

  Magnus hung his head a long moment, then, with tears running down his cheeks, said, Come, we have much before us. He led the others away from where his father stood motionless, holding his mother.

  And in the end, Pug remained alone with his wife amid the smoking ruin of what had been their home for decades.

  EPILOGUE

  EPITAPH

  The crowd was silent.

  Father-Bishop Creegan, sporting bandages from burns received during the fight the day before, stood in front of a single stone marker as the sun rose and lit the landscape with golden and rose hues. Up on a hill a pyre stood ready, and Mirandas body, wrapped in white linen, lay prepared for cremation. Other bodies were also ready for final rites, but most were burned beyond recognition, so they were receiving group rites.

  Caleb and Marie were somewhere in that group. Over sixty bodies had been recovered and four more were missing, assumed completely devoured in the heart of the fire; the community at Sorcerers Isle was now reduced by two-thirds. Of the three score teachers, only a dozen were left, and of the hundred students, not quite twice that number survived.

  The entire population of the island was stunned from the events of the day before, and all duties and tasks had been carried out quietly, as if most of the populace was too numb to speak. Pug and Magnus had spent the entire night sitting with Mirandas body as it was prepared for this mornings funeral. Pug had let no one else help him carry her to the top of the hill, where he placed her gently atop the piled wood.

  Magnuss face had been set in a fixed expression all night, and he and his father barely spoke.

  Creegan said: Our time on this world is short. Even those like Miranda, who lived longer than most, her days were brief. Some will count her life a full one, replete with achievements enough for a dozen others, yet we feel her time with us was too short.

  He fell silent for a moment, then said, It is not the usual duty of my Order to conduct services like this for an outsider, but Miranda was not an outsider to me. Our work together for the greater good made her my sister. He looked at Pug and Magnus. Everyone here shares in your loss, even if we can only claim a small portion of the grief you feel, Pug, Magnus. We know a great injury has been done to you, and we mourn with you. We know that it seems as if something profoundly unfair has happened.

  We in the Service of Dala believe in achieving balance, seeking the equitable outcome. The universe doesnt always permit that, and the ways of the gods are manifold and difficult to comprehend. I offer no comfort in saying this, but rather seek to allow that comfort may be out there, somewhere, beyond our ability to find it today, but with the hope
it may come to us in time.

  Miranda served others and put herself at risk many times, and endured hardship and privation for the sake of others. There is no higher calling in life than service such as hers, and I believe at this moment she is standing before Lims-Kragma and being judged as worthy and being offered a better place on the Wheel of Life. I believe our Goddess, Dala, is standing at her side and recommending her to her Sister Goddess.

  He took a breath, fighting back emotion. Caleb stands on her other side, Im certain, with Marie, his wife, and so many others who served the good here at the island. They are all to be praised and they will be missed, for they were our brothers and sisters in struggle. Good men and women all, may the Goddess bless them, each and every one. He turned and looked up at the top of the hill, and signaled. A torchbearer began the blaze, moving around the edges of the pyre, setting the kindling at the bottom alight. Quickly, the flames spread and the bodies atop the wood were eventually consumed.

  Magnus spoke quietly, Theres been too much fire, Father.

  Pug could only nod.

  Without another word, Creegan came to stand before Pug and took his hands in his own, held them for a moment, nodded once, then moved down the hill toward the remains of the villa. Others followed suit, and when it was over, the remaining community of Sorcerers Isle waited some distance away while the father and son said their good-byes to Miranda and Caleb.

  Time passed, then, finally, in a whisper, Pug said, We have work to do.

  What first, Father? said Magnus. I need to keep busy for a while.

  You will, said Pug, turning toward those waiting below. Your mother and I discussed many things, including what we must do should such a terrible day visit us.

  We move to the castle, and we shall stay there for a while. Let those who did this think us in tatters and running and hiding. We shall send out messages to all our agents around this world and the struggle shall continue.

  We will find Belasco, Dahun, whoever else is involved, and uncover who is truly behind this madness. We will also find the Demon Gate, wherever it is, and we shall close it down.

  He continued down the hill, determination in his step, and his son followed, swallowing his grief for his mother and brother. If his father could endure such a loss and press on with the work that needed to be done, Magnus was determined he could as well. If only the pain would fade, even just a little.

  Excerpt from At the Gates of Darkness

  Continue reading for a sneak peak of the next thrilling installment in Raymond Feist’s Demonwar Saga. At the Gates of Darkness will be available in hardcover on April 6, 2010.

  CHAPTER 1

  SACRIFICE

  Howls filled the night.

  The blasted hills smoked and the stench of char filled the air. Hundreds of robed figures slowly wended their way through rocks to the huge clearing below what remained of a fortress’s gate tower. A man of power stood atop the pile of stones, looking down at his followers.

  On the opposite side of the clearing, another man hung back in the shadows, using his considerable skills to remain unseen, and wishing fervently he was just about anywhere else in the world but here. He took a slow, even breath, as much to calm himself as to catch his breath.

  James Dasher Jamison struggled to keep his wits about him. In the courts of the three largest nations in the region, he was a minor noble of the Kingdom of the Isles, a man who had inherited rank solely due to his lineage, being the grandson of the Duke of Rillanon; to most others, he was Jim Dasher, a businessman with some ties to crime in the city of Krondor; to a few, he was the Upright Man, leader of the Thieves Guild, the Mockers. And known to even fewer, he was the head of the Kingdom of the Isles intelligence apparatus, reporting directly to his grandfather.

  In his slightly more than forty years, Jim had seen a great many strange and terrifying things—it came with his various positions. At times he felt he had become as heartless a bastard as those he had put down in the name of the Crown, or the Conclave of Shadows, with whom he often worked, but even a lifetime of blood and intrigue had not adequately prepared Jim for what he saw before him.

  Already the dead numbered in the dozens, if not hundreds, as a massive fire burned around a circle of stakes, to each of which had been tied four human sacrifices. What had churned Jim’s stomach as much as anything had been that the murdered seemed willing, even eager, to embrace their flaming death.

  Around the edges of the clearing more sacrifices dangled at the ends of ropes, as only moments before Jim had witnessed them place nooses around their own necks then jump off small ladders, hanging themselves. Many broke their necks with an audible crack, but a few died by slow strangulation, kicking for what seemed far too long a time. Jim had witnessed more than his share of public hangings in Krondor but this was something far more horrific than a criminal meeting his just desserts. This was a willing self-sacrifice to as evil a creature as man could imagine.

  The screams were lessening as the sacrifices finally, mercifully began to lose consciousness and die. Another score were impaled on wooden stakes, blood and feces filling the air with the unforgettable stench of death. Some quivered and twitched as their own weight drove the stakes deeper into their bodies, until finally succumbing to their wounds. Others gave out a death spasm then hung on the stakes, motionless.

  Jim saw nothing here that could be called anything but insane. He turned his attention to the man standing atop the tumbled-down masonry of an ancient wall, holding his hands up in a welcoming gesture. His expression and bearing made Jim wish to turn tail and run as fast as he could, as far as he could. He had never seen this man before, but his description fit with what he had learned from Pug of Sorcerer’s Isle and a Demon Master named Amirantha. The man on the stones above was named Belasco, and if what he had been told about him was true, Jim knew him to be one of the most dangerous men alive today, and certainly one of the maddest.

  With a sweep of his hand, the magic user conjured an image, a shimmering likeness that hung in the air above his head, and which had the robed mob at his feet cry out in supplication and awe.

  The image was of Dahun, and from what Jim had been able to learn over the last six months, the appearance of his likeness, as if he stood here in the flesh, meant his servants were closer to opening a portal for him. Dahun was twenty feet tall and roughly man-shaped, but with what could only be called a scaled black lizard’s tail descending from his spine to drag on the ground behind him. His chest was massive and his stomach rippled with muscles under skin that started black at his feet, blended to red at his stomach, and turned crimson at his chest. His face was human, save for a massive, jutting lower jaw and large bat-like ears. His eyes were solid black orbs. Long tendrils of hair braided with human skulls hung to his shoulders. His brow was adorned with a massive golden circlet, set with a dark stone pulsing with purple light. The fingers of his left hand ended in black talons and flexed slowly, restlessly, as if in anticipation of rending apart his enemies. In his right hand he held a flaming sword. His hips were girded with a metal-studded kilt of scintillating red material, and two large leather bands crossed his chest with a massive golden emblem at the center, a flaming fist.

  Jim spent a moment fixing the design in his memory. Then he glanced around and saw the slack-jawed, empty-eyed expression on those around him. It was clear they had eaten or drunk something in preparation for this ritual, so he attempted to mimic their shambling walk.

  Feeling almost sick to his stomach from fear, Jim steeled himself and moved slowly to join those approaching the monster. Like the others he wore a heavy black robe and had pulled the cowl forward to conceal his features. The original owner of the robe was somewhere at the bottom of a deep ravine less than a quarter mile away, no longer needing the garment.

  He scuffled his feet a little, moving slower than those around him, to keep to the rear of the crowd. He wanted everyone possible in front of him—he didn’t dare be noticed and he wanted the opportunity to sl
ip away should the need arise. He kept his hands up inside the sleeves of his robe—one hand held a dagger treated with a fast-acting poison that would render anyone cut unable to move within a minute, and the other a device constructed for him by a master artificer in Krondor, a ball that when shattered would emit a brilliant white light for ten seconds, more than enough time for Jim to slip away. It would leave those blinded unable to see into the shadows for at least another minute or two. Jim had a well-earned reputation for being able to slip away given the slightest opportunity, and with this crew he knew “slight” was the best he could hope for.

  From the human onlookers, anyway. He couldn’t be certain that everyone in attendance tonight was human.

  Jim swallowed hard again and paused, forcing himself to confront the image of the monster above.

  Belasco raised his hands again. Jim took only a moment to conclude the magic user was madder than a bug trapped in a bass drum. What was projected before the crowd was as horrifying a sight as Jim had ever witnessed, yet the magician was laughing like a delighted child. He was calling out to the faithful, but Jim wasn’t quite close enough to hear the words, only the indistinct sound of his voice.

  Jim inched forward and to the right as those in front of him slowly rose to their feet, for the group was coming together in the middle of what had once been a fortress. Perhaps five hundred of the faithful gathered. Jim glanced around, a sudden tightness in his neck causing him to worry about who might now be behind him. It was a sense he had inherited from his great-grandfather, something the family called his “bump of trouble.” And right now it was starting to really itch.

  As he suspected, figures moved along the rocks surrounding this flat area, what was once an ancient marshalling yard. The roaring fires made everything beyond inky dark, but Jim had mastered the trick of not looking at the flames if he could help it, keeping alert for flickering movement and reflecting highlights betraying those outside the light.