At the Gates of Darkness (11 page)

After a half hour of idle conversation, they decided to retire. As they stood to enter their respective rooms, Amirantha said, “I wonder if Jim stayed.”

Pug smiled. “As ranking noble, it would have been something of a political incident for him to leave.”

Amirantha sighed. “I noticed he did keep that one very pretty serving girl at hand.” Shaking his head slightly, he said, “It’s heroic what that man does for his King.”

Pug chuckled and Magnus laughed as they both closed their doors.

S
andreena signaled.

The two Knights-Adamant she had recruited—Brother Farson, who had been arriving in Krondor as she prepared to leave, and Brother Jaliel, who was already in Durban when she arrived—reined in their horses. Her newfound rank gave them no option but to change their current plans and follow her. She indicated they should stay while she slowly urged her horse on.

To a parched, desolate desert fortress she had led them. Abandoned by Great Kesh’s Empire centuries ago, apparently, for almost nothing here looked like a fortification. A few large stones that were once a wall, a single foundation of a gate that was half-
buried under dust, and some stairs leading down into a labyrinth of tunnels and storage rooms. So little was left aboveground you could ride past a hundred yards on either side and not notice that once the Empire had thought this pass worth defending.

The two Knights were told only what she felt she needed them to know until they reached this point. Using the documents left her by Creegan, she had followed an ancient trade route out of Durban, south into the Jal-Pur, then southwest into the foothills. Those would eventually rise up in the west as the Trollhome Mountains, but here they were merely a landscape of tablelands and rising hills. Whatever the name of this once proud fortress, it was known to the desert men as the Tomb of the Hopeless. To the south of this position was a valley with the even less appealing name Valley of Lost Men.

Before leaving Krondor, she had gone over the maps in the Order’s keeping of this region, and none showed either the fortress or valley. She took it as a matter of trust that Creegan wouldn’t have insisted she read the report if he hadn’t wanted her to act on it, and she was equally certain that he expected her to do exactly what she was doing, run off and take matters into her own hands. Simply put, there was no one in Krondor besides herself to do so. She knew Creegan had a relationship with Pug and the others on Sorcerer’s Isle, but in rushing off to Rillanon to become the Order’s leader, he neglected to leave her any hint about how to contact them. She suspected there were some others, like whoever gave her the messages in Durban in the first place, who were Kingdom agents of the Conclave, but she had no idea how to identify and contact them, either.

She remembered the young man who had fetched her from Ithra after she had almost died in her first encounter with the Demon Legion’s agents on Midkemia. Zane was his name. But she had no idea how to reach him. Frustrated
that Creegan put this on her alone, she pushed down her concerns to deal with the matters at hand.

Farson and Jaliel were reliable, but neither of them had been named on Creegan’s list, so there were things she could not tell them. All they knew was that this was a special undertaking at the Father-Bishop’s request and that secrecy was paramount. Though how secret could it be when three Knights-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak all rode out of the city together at sunrise into the desert? They had headed due east then turned south and circled around to the ancient caravan trail. Sandreena did not know if the Imperial Keshian Intelligence Corps was following, but she was certain they knew she and the others had left. When they failed to appear at the usual oasis in a few days, they might send someone out to track the three knights. She was hoping earnestly that by then, whatever business brought her here would be finished and they would be heading back to Krondor.

It was near sundown when they reached the edge of the ancient fortress. While the carnage that had taken place when the report had been written had been weeks before, the scene was no less grisly. The corpses were now bones, picked clean by scavengers and the drying heat and blowing sands. But enough connective tissue remained that a few skeletons hung from the makeshift gibbets around the edge of the clearing. The piles of ash contained the contorted forms of those who had been burned alive, and everywhere bones riddled with arrows lay in the open. Hundreds had been slaughtered here for some unknown dark purpose.

Sandreena called out, “You can come up now!”

The two other Knights rode into the ancient fortress and Jaliel said, “Goddess! What manner of butchery is this?”

Farson looked at Sandreena and said, “Sergeant, if you don’t mind my saying, this is a little more than you usually find in any mission, secret or otherwise. Are we to know what is going on?”

“I’ll tell you what I know,” she said. “There is a very dangerous, evil man named Belasco, who consorts with dark powers. He has won over followers and they did this.” She decided to omit that most of the dead were fanatics who had gone willingly to their death. It was an unnecessary detail not needed for these two to do their duty.

“Sergeant,” said Farson, “what happened here?”

“I only have a rough idea, but it appears a cult of death worshippers have appeared.”

The two Knights exchanged glances, and Sandreena knew exactly what they were thinking. A death cult was more the province of the worshippers of Lims-Kragma or perhaps even Sung the White, but not usually a concern with the servants of Dala.

Sandreena said, “Father-Bishop Creegan is concerned that they may be abducting local villagers as sacrifices.”

It was not a complete lie, for she could imagine that might be part of Creegan’s concerns, but left it at that. For whatever reason the Conclave of Shadows had made alliance with the most important man in the martial order of the worshippers of Dala, and perhaps it was simply that Pug didn’t have anyone else to call upon. Certainly she knew there were few around who had as much experience with demons as she did, for she had destroyed more than her share. Still, for not the first time since departing Krondor she wished that the Goddess—or at least Creegan—had given this promotion to someone else.

“Are you both carrying wards?” she asked.

“Against what, Sergeant?” asked Jaliel.

“Necromancy, demons, and anything else you can think of?”

Both Knights patted their hip bags, in which they carried their wards.

“Good,” she said. “We have no idea what we’re going to find down there.”

“Down where?” asked Farson.

She pointed south. “Down there in the Valley of Lost Men.”

Farson’s expression communicated how much he liked hearing that, but he remained silent.

“We’ll rest up for the night, then head down at dawn.”

Without further comment the men tied their mounts and then began untacking them. Sandreena unloaded a small bag of grain off the back of her mount then took off the saddle. Each Knight carried a brush and began currying their mounts once they had been secured and untacked. Sandreena took it upon herself to fill and fix nosebags for all three horses; the two Knights thanked her. All three knew that they needed to start back within two days, else the horses would begin to starve. There was no grazing or fodder anywhere between their present location and Durban, just arid tablelands, hills covered in thorns, and the odd dry desert plants that would bloom briefly after a rare rain, but otherwise were dried and dormant. It was hard to believe that any of this area needed defending.

One mystery that presented itself—and Sandreena was surprised no one else had brought it up, either Creegan or the author of the report he had her read—was why in ancient times had Kesh built a fortress here in the first place? The Trollhome was, as the name implied, the residence of creatures best avoided. Mountain trolls were smarter than their lowland cousins, who were little more than animals, but the desert was an effective barrier against them troubling anyone. If she knew where the caravan route had originally ended, perhaps then it would make sense, but as far as she could judge from all the old maps she studied before leaving Krondor, the route ended in the valley below.

As she brushed she mused over what might be down there. An ancient gold mine or source of some other wealth would dictate the route ran east, eventually terminating in the city of Nar Ayab, then on to the capital city of Kesh. She deduced whatever had been moving along the route, it
had been going from Durban to this location. Maybe, she speculated, this was the terminus and the reason for the route was a quick supply from the nearest Keshian city. Which would mean the only reason for this fortress would be to keep whatever was down in that valley in that valley.

She finished and broke out her own rations, saying, “Cold camp,” to her companions. They were both veteran Knights and a night without a fire was nothing new to them. They understood there was a possibility someone or something out there was watching.

The three ate in silence, then when they were done eating, Sandreena said, “Jaliel, first watch; Farson, last.” They both nodded, but each silently thanked her, for as leader she was taking the least desirable watch. She lay down using her saddle as a pillow and with years of habit ingrained in her, fell asleep within minutes.

Dawn came hot and dry, which was no surprise, but with an early wind. The wind was a blessing and a curse, a blessing in that it would kick up enough dust that it could prevent them from being seen should hidden sentries be posted along the trail down into the Valley of Lost Men, and a curse because if it was blinding enough, Sandreena and her companions could lose the trail and find themselves taking a very quick route down to some unyielding rocks below.

Sandreena spoke loudly, to be heard over the rising wind. “How many demons have you faced?”

Farson said, “Two, Sergeant.”

Jaliel said, “Seven, Sergeant.”

She said, “Jaliel, you’ll bring up the rear in case we get jumped from behind.” To Farson she said, “Do not do anything unless I tell you. Demons can be very tricky sometimes and let one of us lead.” He nodded. Both Knights knew that she was right; she hadn’t asked how many demons they had defeated, because if they hadn’t defeated all they had faced, they wouldn’t be here alive.

Sandreena realized Jaliel had faced down two more than she, but hers had been particularly nasty and without Amirantha’s aid…She silently cursed herself for a fool at the sudden stab of feelings from thinking of him. He was a miserable excuse for a man, a charmer with no substance and his words were honeyed lies. Still, he knew more about demons than any man she had ever met, and right now she’d put aside her urge to strangle him in exchange for his ability to control the monsters.

“Grab a tail,” she instructed.

Farson moved up behind her mount from the side—against an unexpected kick—and gripped the warhorse’s tail. The mare snorted, but she had been through this before. Jaliel did likewise with Farson’s horse, and the three slowly began their descent from the platform down into the Valley of Lost Men. This way no one would wander and missteps would be kept to a minimum.

The wind blew blinding gusts of dust and small objects, pieces of plants, dried insect carcasses, a powdery grit like chalk or ash that coated the skin and matted hair. Twice they found large outcroppings of rocks to shelter behind as the wind picked up in intensity and the howling in the air made even the well-trained horses paw the ground, nicker, and snort. Sandreena patted the nose of her mount in reassurance, but she was hardly in a position to reassure anyone, even her mare. The impulse that drove her to undertake this mission now looked like an impossibly vain idea. Still, each time she had been visited by doubt she returned to the same conclusion; there was no one in the temple save herself and Creegan, and two other Knights, their whereabouts unknown, who could possibly follow up on what that mysterious Kingdom agent had reported.

Necromancy and demons were not usually involved together. Demons took too much delight in devouring anything living to leave something around long enough for a necromancer to use his arts on the recently dead. As de
mons devoured whatever they killed as a matter of course, that didn’t leave much for the dark magician to work with.

Still, from her studies Sandreena knew there was a great deal of energy, albeit black and evil, in the dark arts, necromancy most of all. If someone was harnessing death magic to control demons—She left the thought unfinished; she really did not know what it meant, and wished again for five minutes to talk to Amirantha, then she’d strangle him.

She became aggravated with herself as much as she was with the Warlock. Of all the times to start thinking about that bastard!

The wind began to shift and then started falling off. Sandreena knew the desert wind in these hot tablelands was unpredictable. But in the relative lull, free from the worst of the stinging sand and blistering dryness, they would better be able to see trouble coming.

She motioned for the others to fall in and started down the trail. The wind came in gusts and swirls, but now she could see her way down. The path was roughly the equivalent of the one she had followed up to the fortress from Durban—it was ancient, eroded by wind and the occasional flash flood, and rarely used. Yet there were moments when the wind died she could see signs that this road had been recently used. A large number of horses and wagons had come this way, and by the look of it, heading down into the valley, not out of it. Silently she wondered who was behind this and what were they playing at.

Durban was a pest hole on the Bitter Sea, and the Governor profited hugely from looking the other way as smugglers moved contraband into or out of the Empire. It was a fact of Imperial Keshian life, and no matter how many times the Empire sought to reform that office, the reality of greed, opportunity, and distance from the capital melding in that miserable city asserted itself. Still, even by Durban standards, a lot of wagons and men had been coming this way for a while.

Sandreena estimated at least a hundred dead left to rot up at the ancient fortress, perhaps more, and that much movement across the desert should have caused notice. Whoever was behind this thing they were investigating had managed to keep the Imperial guards from noticing, which meant the Governor or someone highly placed in his service was looking the other way intentionally, either due to bribery or fear…or both.

As they descended down the winding trail, following long switchbacks that took them slowly down the mountain, the wind died. As they turned from one trail to the next switchback, it was as if a curtain of blowing sand and dust was pulled aside.