At the Gates of Darkness (22 page)

“I say all this to make it clear that while the Eledhel may appear rustic, or even primitive, to your people, they are hardly that. The Spellweavers’ magic is subtle, but no less powerful than that of your people who raise up mighty cities by making the rocks flow and move as they wish. Those cousins of yours who reside with us, the Eldar, have much the same lore and magic as your own ’mancers, yet they choose not to reshape Elvandar, but rather to adapt to it.”

He closed one eye and smiled. “Now, to the real reason you wish me to speak to the Lord Regent rather than carrying Pug’s message yourself.”

Laromendis was forced to laugh. “Primarily because, as I said, the Lord Regent respects you as much as any being not of the Taredhel. And, the somewhat less important, but very real disregard for my brother and me he holds—our crafts are not held in high regard by our people—and lastly, he most certainly thinks Gulamendis and I are dead, lost in the battle of the Hub.”

“You’ve neglected to inform your people you survived,” Tomas said.

“We’re not entirely sure our being abandoned there was an accident of war. In fact, it may be it was by design.”

Tomas said nothing.

“If I might be so bold, if you undertake the charge Pug sends you to consider, it would be useful if you could discreetly deliver a message to one Tandarae, Lorekeeper of the Regent’s Meet. He would be the one most likely to let us know if we can return to be hailed as clever survivors of a hopeless battle or if we would be executed for desertion in the face of the enemy.”

“That would prove a useful thing to know before showing your faces in E’bar,” Tomas agreed. “Until then, what are your plans?”

“I would like to return to my brother on Sorcerer’s Isle. He’s quite enthused about the opportunities there to learn about our own crafts from people from other cultures. I must confess I am more dubious than he, but his enthusiasm about the things he has learned from a human Warlock named Amirantha is intriguing. And while my arts don’t plumb the depths of dark mystery as his do, I am always looking to improve my craft.”

“A wise choice,” said Tomas. “Though you would certainly be welcome to stay in Elvandar should you wish.”

Just then the curtain moved aside and Aglaranna, Queen of Elvandar, entered. “Greetings, Laromendis.” Coming from court she wore a simple but regal gown of sky blue, trimmed in white at the collar and cuffs. Her only jewelry was the simple gold circlet with a ruby gem in the bow, which held back her mane of auburn hair.

Without thought, Laromendis stood, then took a knee before the Queen, bowing his head. “It is a joy to see you again, My Lady.”

“Please rise,” she bid him.

He did, but would not sit in her presence. He was as overwhelmed by the Queen as he had been the first time he had come to this court. In a real sense, she was as pow
erful a presence as her husband, but in a completely different fashion. Tomas evoked ancient fear and a need for obedience, impulses that could be battled and overcome. Aglaranna overcame the senses with her beauty and majesty. There was nothing challenging in her nature and that made her irresistible. Softly, the Conjurer said, “If possible, My Lady, Lord Tomas, it might prove useful if the Lord Regent could be persuaded to visit Elvandar.”

“We have extended the invitation,” said Tomas.

“Perhaps you should be a little more insistent, Lord Tomas.” He studied the Queen, her nearly flawless and ageless beauty, her reddish brown hair and finely sculpted features. She possessed a beauty he did not find personally attractive in the females of his own race; he preferred a more robust-looking female, and by Taredhel standards the Queen was small, almost petite. Yet her beauty was something that transcended the merely physical, defied the logic of attraction; it was the same beauty he found walking in the sacred grove; if Home had a soul, it was Elvandar, and if Elvandar could be embodied in a single being, it would be the Queen.

“If you will excuse me, My Queen, Lord Tomas, I will take this clever device Pug gave me and employ it to return to Sorcerer’s Island.”

The Queen gave her consent, and the Conjurer removed the device from his belt pouch, thumbed a switch, and with a faint humming was suddenly gone.

Aglaranna looked at her husband and said, “What word does he bring from Pug?”

“Dire warning, and an attempt to reach out to the Taredhel and ask alliance.”

She moved out of her chair to kneel before her husband, still almost girlish in her fluid grace. She rested her head on his knee, as a child might with a parent, and said, “What are we to do with our newly returned cousins?”

“That is the problem, my love,” said Tomas, stroking
her hair. “They are not ‘returned,’ and I think they never will be. Like those of the Ocedhel who remain across the waters, they feel no need to come here.

“We shall endeavor to respect their independence, and we will try to be friends.”

“Friends? You don’t sound hopeful.”

Tomas said nothing. He knew in his heart that since the coming of the Tsurani invaders, when he’d begun his strange and wonderful journey into the life he now lived, more than the army of the Emerald Queen, even more than the Dasati invaders, these Star Elves posed the gravest threat to Elvandar he had ever beheld.

P
ug signaled for silence.

Kaspar, onetime Duke of Olasko and now General of the Army and First Advisor to the Maharaja of Muboya, said, “Pug has asked me to take over conducting this next bit of business.

“As I understand it from what Sandreena, here”—he indicated the newly minted Mother-Bishop of the Order of the Shield of the Weak; somehow Pug had contrived to get her a new cape and surcoat emblazoned with her badge of rank—“and what that dwarf Keandar said about his captivity, we have two tasks at once.

“The first is gaining intelligence, which has to take precedence over any other consideration. The
second will be to effect any rescues if we may. Sandreena, explain how, if you please.”

“If any guard or worker is wearing a talisman around his neck, something like a red wolf’s skull on a black background, they are under some mystic control. They are compelled to attack anyone not wearing the same device.” She looked around the room. “When I struggled with Keandar, as soon as I tore it off him, he regained his own volition. My suggestion is we find outlying sentries and quickly overpower and free them. They are not being fed well nor rested, it seems, so it should not be too difficult.”

Kaspar continued. “If they’re up to it, they can help us; if not, we shall direct them up the trail to the abandoned Keshian fortress and from there we’ll arrange safe transportation back to their homes.” He looked at two young magicians, Jason and Akeem, and said, “You will be up at that fortress and coordinate getting those wretches safely away.”

“This is not a military adventure, and while it may look at first like a raid, it is not. From the description of that monstrosity they’re building, if we are there longer than an hour, we are dead,” said Kaspar. “Coming down that switchback trail prevents a fast assault by foot or horse, so we will approach stealthily, and if we have to leave in a hurry—” He nodded to Pug.

“Each of us will have a transportation sphere, set to bring you back here.”

From the corner of the room a voice said, “I count eight of us going down there, Kaspar. That’s either too many or too few.”

Kaspar smiled. “Jim, I was wondering where you were lurking.”

Out of the shadows stepped the head of the Kingdom’s intelligence service and he was wearing an effective black cloak over dark grey tunic and trousers. “Too many, or too few.”

“That’s why we will split into two groups.” He pointed
to Pug. “Pug, along with Gulamendis, Amirantha, and Brandos, will investigate whatever that device is, looking to discern its magical purpose, assuming there is one and it’s not just a majestic monument to demonic vanity.

“I will take Sandreena to scout out the military aspects of the place, with Magnus there to provide any magical aid we might need. Feel free to join either group.”

“I think I’ll tag along with you, Kaspar.” He grinned. “Keeps the groups even.”

“Wise,” said the former Duke of Olasko. “Given there is little difference in time between here and that valley, we leave at sundown. Get something to eat, some rest, and meet out in the courtyard just before the sun sets.”

Laromendis entered the room as the group was disbanding, and came to stand before Pug. “Tomas says he will travel to E’bar and speak with the Lord Regent,” he said.

Pug studied the elf’s face and said, “And…?”

Surprised the human could detect the subtleties of elven expression, he said, “I hold little hope you’ll get any co-operation from the Regent’s Meet. They’re handpicked to agree with him. If the demons come, he will not help; he’ll just order us to dig in and look for another escape route while the rest of you fight them.”

Pug nodded. “Will you go back?”

Laromendis paused, as if thinking, then said, “They think my brother and I are dead; it might serve all our causes if they continued to think that for a while longer. I will stay here with my brother, if you will accept me.”

Pug nodded. “Talk to your brother about tonight’s expedition. I wouldn’t mind you along to look for…anything the rest of us might not see.”

Laromendis said, “Of course,” and went to where his brother still sat.

Magnus came to stand next to his father and whispered, “What are we expecting to see down there?”

“Nothing I can imagine, and I can imagine a lot, my
son. Let’s get something to eat then rest a little. I have a feeling it may be a very long night.” The two magicians left the meeting room.

Amirantha sat alone on the steps leading up into the keep. It was late afternoon and he had eaten. Sunset was an hour or more away, but he didn’t feel the need for rest. He just tried to keep his mind calm as he contemplated what they were to investigate in a few hours.

After the wet, cold weather, a series of storms, and little sunshine, this day had been a welcome respite, a balmy hint of spring and summer to come. Amirantha felt a deep mix of anticipation—the idea of discovery—and concern: the risks. It had been easy at first to throw in his lot with this bunch, the mad magicians and happy warriors who served an abstracted greater good.

Then he had watched Miranda die.

He had seen death before, even having lost those for whom he cared, but no small part of his view had always been that these were people fated to die eventually, so what mattered when? He realized with bitter self-loathing that this had been a facile apology, a not very well-considered reason why he shouldn’t care. In Miranda he had come to know a woman of stunning ability, magic knowledge that rivaled Pug’s and dwarfed Amirantha’s. Moreover, she had been long-lived, older than he by a century, yet looked no older than advancing middle age. She could have expected another century or more, yet there she was, dying in a brutal, bloody, and sudden fashion before those around her could help.

Nothing in his life’s experience had driven home to Amirantha the fragility of life more than that one instant. Pug, Magnus, himself, and other magic-users of considerable ability stood close enough to reach out and touch her, yet none could react quickly enough to keep her alive. It was like watching someone drown as you stood helpless on the shore.

It had left a sick feeling in the Warlock’s stomach that had lingered. A year after and he still felt as if he should have been able to do something to help, for he was the Warlock, he was the master of demons.

A stirring caused him to turn, and he saw Sandreena standing behind him. He started to rise, and she pushed his shoulder, forcing him back down. Trying to regain his poise, he said, “If you’re going to hit me again, please don’t. I’m really very tired of picking myself up off the floor.”

She smiled a sad smile and softly said, “Sorry. You bring out the worst in me.”

He tilted his head slightly, and said, “It’s a talent.”

She surprised him by sitting down next to him. “I’ve given some thought to this situation.”

He was about to ask which situation—the need to scout the demon site once more, her elevation to high office, or them finding themselves together—but in a rare attack of wisdom he said, “Really?” in as neutral a way as he could imagine.

“You find that surprising?” she asked accusingly.

He tried to remain even-toned. “I don’t find it surprising you’ve thought about things, but rather that you’d speak to me of it.”

“Really?” she echoed, her tone very confrontational.

He knew he was rapidly losing any hope of a civil conversation. In the time they had spent together he had found her a perplexing combination of a keen intellect and a tendency to impulsive behavior that bordered on the reckless. Her order taught a quick evaluation was necessary in determining which side of a conflict to come down on, but it seemed to have had the collateral effect of denuding her of the ability to take a moment and consider. He just nodded.

“I have been known to give consideration to weighty matters,” she said, her eyes narrowing and her tone rising. “I only came to speak with you because despite the horrible
excuse for a man you’ve become, you still know more of demon lore than anyone I’ve met. Besides, Magnus told me of your discovery in Queg and I need to know what you uncovered about the demons we face.”

Amirantha studied her face for a moment, unsure of exactly what she expected of him; he decided his best course was to take what she said at face value. “Do you want to know what we’ve uncovered about demons in general or specifically what we think about the bunch we’re going to go face down in Kesh?”

“I’ve seen the ones we’re facing in Kesh personally, remember,” she retorted with her eyes narrowing in anger. “Brandos says you and the elf have come up with all manner of new things about demons and you’re barely able to contain yourselves you’re so giddy from it.”

Amirantha looked pained at the thought of being portrayed as “giddy.” “Brandos tends to colorful characterization at times. In any event, what we’ve found is, if accurate, a completely different perspective on what is known as the ‘Fifth Circle’ of Hell.

“Demon summoners like Gulamendis and myself are self-taught for the most part, and occasionally we meet others with whom we can share what we know. In Queg I found a…for lack of a better word, a book, but it’s more than that. It’s a comprehensive examination of the Fifth Circle. The author was often viewed as a madman, and the work was thought a fabrication to perhaps thrill a rich patron or terrify the gullible, but both Gulamendis and myself find the work credible.”

“Why?” asked Sandreena, her personal ire toward Amirantha set aside for the moment by genuine interest in what he had to say.

“The first thing I noticed was demon stench—the book reeks of it. Whoever scribed this work did so in the presence of demons.” He got a faraway look and said, “It’s almost as if it was the demon reciting facts and the scribe
writing them down. The other thing is what he said about demon lore that was familiar to me and Gulamendis was both accurate and…” He looked at her. “We both know that in my time I have engineered any number of ploys to chivy confidence in the gullible to better separate them from their gold. A confidence often tends to the grand, and the weakness of a bad confidence is to overstate things. This work while sensational in scope and depth of subject is not overly given to grandiosity. If anything, it’s a little dull and academic.”

“Or exceptionally clever in execution.”

“But toward what end? It’s one thing to rush to some minor baron and claim a demon is running around his woodlands, and for a small price you’ll spare the villagers of having their children devoured. It’s quite another to spend…years writing this tome, and then what? Sell it? No, the author was earnest.”

“What does it say that will help?” asked Sandreena, now genuinely interested.

“Our experience with demons appears to have been with only a portion of their population. There are many details I will skip, but here’s one. Demons when summoned must be confined, else they run amok and devour everything they can. Or they flee into dark places and hide, waiting for their opportunity to venture forth, then they run amok and devour everything they can. That’s the difference between the powerful demons and the clever ones. Occasionally we find a clever one with some talent for magic; they are especially difficult.

“Gulamendis and I both have skills which confine a demon’s choices when summoned. They are called into a circle of power that limits their ability to move without our permission. When I summon one, it must become subject to my will or I return it to the demon realm. If it becomes my servant, then I can allow it to depart from the confines of the circle and allow it to roam.”

“So it can run around the woodlands frightening the villagers so you can part the gullible baron from his gold?” Amirantha nodded. “Or perhaps put on a fetching visage and climb into your bed?”

Amirantha closed his eyes a second, then said, “I will not tell you I am sorry one more time, Sandreena. I did what I did and you have continued to punish me for it every time we meet. Enough!” His tone was sharp, but not loud. “Dalthea…you bury three lovers over a century and see if finding comfort with an immortal being with beauty and amorous skills doesn’t become appealing.”

“Three?” said Sandreena. “You never said…”

“And you never asked.” He looked her in the eyes. “I thought us two strangers who chanced to meet in an improbable place, a village with the silly name of Yellow Mule, and thought us both seeking the comfort of the moment, both the body and the heart. I was a traveling mountebank who occasionally did real work with demons and you were the very serious young knight trying to do some great good in the world. I thought it but a passing thing, not what it turned out to be; I never meant to hurt you.”

“You lied to me!”

“I lie,” he retorted. “That’s what charlatans do. We lie. We cheat. We do what we find in our own best interest.” He looked out at the distant sky as if remembering.

“Then what brings you here?” she said, her eyes bright with emotion.

He let out a long sigh, leaning so he could put one arm on the step above him, and his shoulders sagged. “Honestly, I don’t know. I look at the grey in Brandos’s hair and realize that if he doesn’t get himself killed in a brawl, in ten, twenty years I bury another person I love. And Samantha. I’m over a hundred years your elder, Sandreena. I was a man full grown when your grandmother was a baby. For all I know, I bedded her. I need something more than being a confidence trickster, a liar, and a cheat. I need something bigger than myself.” He
let his voice fall. “I thought I might stay with others like me for a while. Pug is older than I, as was Miranda.

“When I saw her killed, I realized that no matter how long or short our lives may be, we must do something with them.” He shrugged and gave her a sad smile. “That’s when I decided to stay and help. I can’t undo those things in my past I regret, but I can strive to do better from now on.”

She studied his face and remained silent, then finally said, “Tell me about these demons.”

He realized that in some way she had just forgiven him, or at least agreed to forget how he had wronged her. What that meant was unclear, but at least he could turn his attention to the matter at hand.