“Then this entire realm is completely devoid of anything beyond this . . . fine dust?”
“Well, nothing is eternal, or at least we’ll never know. Even the gods as you think of us have limits on their perceptions and existence. It may be that for some reason or another two motes will bump into one another and bind, and eventually a third will join them, and that attraction will continue as it pulls more matter into a sphere. Eventually all that is here will be pulled in and when it reaches a certain level of density—”
“It explodes,” said Pug. “A new universe is created. It’s what Macros showed us—”
“In the Garden by the City Forever, when the Pantathians trapped you, Macros, and Tomas was there with that dragon, yes, I remember.”
“You remember?”
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Laughing, the God of Thieves said, “I orchestrated it!”
His tone turning serious, Ban-ath added, “You may never fully understand, nor may you ever forgive me—about which I care nothing—but many of the pains you’ve suffered and the wonders you’ve observed have been part of a much larger plan, one that has been preparing you for what you must do now.
“Seeing that image of how your universe began was merely your first lesson in appreciating just how vast things are, and how important what you’re about to do is. For you must do something that you would have been unable to until now. You had to see a universe born, watch people die including those you’ve loved, travel the Hall of Worlds, and do so many other improb-able things, Pug, because you must undertake even more arduous and challenging tasks and make decisions no mortal should ever have to make.”
“What decisions?”
“In time. Right now you must learn more.”
“We’re not really here, are we?”
“No. We’re still in your room, actually, and you’re sitting quietly on your bed staring into space, but for the sake of what comes next, think of yourself as being on an amazing journey.”
Ban-ath snapped his fingers.
There was a flash and suddenly they were in a different reality, one in which massive chunks of rock and debris sped past at great speed. This time Pug saw a sky that was more akin to what he might expect of the Dasati universe, a place of colors and energies vivid to the eye, but beyond human senses. But here there were vast curtains of colors with massive flows of energy pulsing across their surfaces, and he knew he was witnessing something incredibly distant. Sheets of scintillating colors, red, purple, violet, and indigo shimmered impossible distances away, covering incalculable areas in the heavens. A giant rock the size of a mountain tumbled past, energy dancing across its face, sending jets of magma erupting into space. A vast distance away, stars illuminated the vault of the sky, though there were far fewer than in the night skies at home.
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“Where are we?” asked Pug.
“This is the third realm, most recently occupied by the Dark One. As you see, he left enough big pieces behind so that this level of reality has a chance to re-form a little more rapidly than the realm we just left. There are corners of this universe where life still exists, a few minor civilizations in fact. They may even endure long enough to reach out to other worlds.”
“Why is there less destruction here?”
“A variety of reasons,” said Ban-ath. “As you have no doubt noticed the states of energy are much higher in our realm, the so-called first realm, which by the way is considered the First Circle of Hell by those who live in the realm above us.”
Pug laughed. “It’s a matter of perspective, I guess.”
“Very much so.” Ban-ath’s tone turned somber. “You have been cursed as much as blessed, Pug of Crydee. More than any mortal since Macros.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
“Macros was an imperfect vessel, our first attempt, and in many ways he was a poor choice.”
“Why?
“The things that made him so easy to manipulate: vanity, arrogance, and a fundamental distrust of others. You on the other hand were a new soul, untroubled by so many of the things which marked Macros in previous lives. You are the result of a conspiracy of gods, for we had need of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a weapon, of sorts, and a tool, and you bring the one thing to this situation that no god can: humanity. We are slaves to you as much as being your masters, Pug.
The relationship between the gods and humanity is one of a fair exchange. We provide expression for your deepest beliefs and needs, and you give us form and substance.”
“Why you?” asked Pug. “If I had been asked before which god would be responsible for restoring things to this realm as they should be, I might have suggested Ishap, for balance is crucial. Or among the lesser gods, perhaps Astalon, for his justice, or Killian for her nurturing of nature. But you?”
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“Who else?” said Ban-ath, giving a deep rumble of a laugh.
“Macros thought he was somehow working for the lost God of Magic, Sarig, and Nakor thought he was the instrument of Wodan-Hospur, the lost God of Knowledge.” He paused.
“You’ve seen only a tiny aspect of the gods, Pug, but you’ve seen more than most. And you’ve heard more, from people like Nakor and Jimmy.
“You know that even the memory of a god, or a god’s dream, or a god’s echo can take on form and substance, and can act as if the god were still present.
“I am here presenting to you an aspect of myself, providing an illusion to instruct you, but I am also at the same time listening to a thief in Roldem who is about to be found out by the City Watch, begging me to intervene. I am watching a man lie to his wife as he leaves to meet his mistress, who lies to him about loving him while taking his gold to give to her lover, a thug who doesn’t quite believe in me, but who grudgingly leaves a copper once a month in the votive box in my shrine in LaMut, just in case. I am also listening to the pleas of a gambler about to lose his last coin and who will be beaten and killed later tonight when he cannot pay back the gold he borrowed from an agent of the Mockers in Krondor when the Upright Man makes an example of him. I am sitting with a merchant who has placed gold in the hands of one of my priests to beg me to keep my worshippers away as he ships valuable spices from Muboya to the City of the Serpent River. I hear every prayer and answer them all, though most of the time my answer is no. I also see every act done in my name, and an endless series of possibilities for every choice made. Humanity speaks to me constantly, Pug.
“All know me by a different name, or guise, or aspect. I am the god of thieves, and liars, and gamblers. But I am also the god of those who undertake impossible quests, and hopeless causes.
And that is why it is I who act on behalf of the gods of Midkemia, for if there was ever a hopeless cause it is stemming the advance of the Dread into our world, Pug.
“There are rules and they bind the gods as much as they 3 5 6
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bind mortals, and Astalon and Killian, Guis-wa, and Lims-Kragma—for all their powers—cannot ignore those rules. The laws of the universe say that we are confined to this realm, that no matter how important and puissant we may be in this, our realm, in other realms we are trespassers and hold no sway. So then, who better to enter the other realm and effect change than I?”
“The god who ignores the law, and breaks the rules,” said Pug.
“Yes,” chuckled Ban-ath. “The Trickster. The Cheater. Only I can do what needs to be done, for it is as much my nature as it is the scorpion’s nature to sting that stupid frog to death!”
Suddenly they were standing on a hill, on the edge of a bucolic valley through which ran a stream where fish could be seen jumping.
“Where are we?” Pug asked.
“It’s somewhere you’ve been before, once.”
“When?”
“Remember,” said Ban-ath, and P
ug did.
“Macros, Tomas, and I stopped here on our way back through the Hall of Worlds, after leaving the City Forever, before the Battle of Sethanon.” Pug looked around. Deerlike her-bivores grazed in the meadows and birds sang in the trees. In so many ways this world resembled Midkemia. “Why did you bring me here?”
“So that you would remember this place,” said Ban-ath, and then he vanished. From the empty air came a disembodied voice.
“Consider this a small gift for services given. I have no concern for the Tsurani, for they are not my people, but you do, as I know well. No trick this, but a heartfelt expression of gratitude.
I may be a natural force without compassion, but occasionally nature is clement.”
Pug said, “What do I do now?”
Suddenly they were back in his room, and he was in bed.
His meal was finished, so he assumed while he was on this mystical journey he had actually been eating.
“You save this world,” came Ban-ath’s voice from the air around him.
Pug hesitated for only a moment, then he climbed out of 3 5 7
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bed and donned a fresh robe. “Caleb!” he shouted, and waited for his son to appear.
People ran screaming from a thundering horde of Dasati Deathknights mounted on varnin. Whatever had prohibited the Dasati from protecting the war steeds during the early onset of this war had obviously been overcome, for now cadres of Dasati riders erupted from the constantly expanding Black Mount.
Any Tsurani resistance was futile, for at best it merely stemmed the Dasati advance, while costing the lives of the defenders. At worst they were overcome and the Dasati reached their objective, which now seemed to be to capture as many Tsurani as possible and drag them back into the Black Mount.
Miranda stood next to Alenburga and surveyed the sphere, now miles across, dominating the horizon. “In the last hour,” she said, “I reckon it’s expanded by about another mile.”
Alenburga sighed. “I can’t keep throwing soldiers’ lives away. There must be another way.”
“I’ve tried every magic at my disposal, as has each member of the Assembly. We’ve lost more than two hundred magicians in the fight, and those who remain are fast losing hope.”
“Unless you have a miracle in reserve,” said the old general from Novindus, “I think it’s time to tell the Emperor he needs to evacuate.”
“I think you need to tell him yourself,” said Miranda.
Alenburga looked at Kaspar who nodded his agreement.
Then he looked toward Erik, who said, “Go on. We’ll keep an eye on things.”
Alenburga turned to Miranda. “Take me there.”
Miranda put her hand on the General’s shoulder and suddenly they were standing in a garden miles away, in the middle of the old Acoma estates. White-and-gold-clad Imperial Guards drew their weapons before they realized the intruders were the woman magician and the outland General; then they moved to escort the visitors.
Inside the great house, Chomata, First Advisor to the Emperor, waited. “General,” he said, bowing his head in greeting.
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Next he acknowledged Miranda, “Great One.” A thin, ascetic-looking old man with a balding pate, he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week. “What news?”
“For the Emperor,” said the General, “and I fear it is not good.”
“He’ll want to see you at once,” said Chomata.
In his private chambers, the Emperor dined alone. Alenburga bowed as did Miranda, then the General said, “Majesty, I bring grave news.” He quickly recounted the situation and their best estimate of how long it would be before the Dasati dome menaced this very estate.
“I will not leave my people,” the Emperor said calmly.
“How many have you evacuated through the rifts?”
Miranda felt her heart sink. “Only twenty thousand or so, Majesty.”
“There are millions in the Empire, and what of those without . . . and have you considered the Cho-ja?”
Miranda realized she hadn’t. Kelewan had several intelligent races besides humans, just as Midkemia did, but here the relationships were different. The Th ¯un raiders from the north were a constant plague on the northernmost garrisons and occasionally made it through the passes of the High Wall, to pillage estates there. The Cho-ja were an insectlike hive culture, each hive ruled by a queen, but as Miranda understood it, somehow they were all linked in communication. Of the other races she knew little—there was a race of savage dwarves across the Sea of Blood in the Lost Lands, an alien race of lizardlike creatures that lived on islands across the great sea to the west . . . Feeling defeated, she said, “Majesty, I will plead to being mortal and having limits to my abilities. No, I have not thought of these things.
My first thought was to defeat these monsters who menace both your world and mine. Now I seek to save the Tsurani people. As for those others, what would you have me do?”
From behind her a voice said, “I can help.”
Miranda turned with tears welling up in her eyes. In two strides she was across the floor and then she had her arms tightly around her husband’s neck. “I was so afraid,” she whispered, 3 5 9
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words that Pug knew no other mortal would ever hear his wife utter. Then she said, “Magnus?”
“Yes,” he whispered back. “He’s on our island, safe.”
She sobbed once. “Thank the gods.” Then she asked, “Nakor?”
“No,” he said softly, and he felt her body go rigid. She was still for a moment, then took a deep breath.
She turned to the Emperor and said, “Despite this interruption, I must continue to urge you to make ready to seek refuge on Midkemia, Majesty.”
Pug said, “That won’t be necessary.”
All eyes turned to him. “What are you saying, Milamber?”
asked the Emperor. “Can you defeat the Dasati?”
“No,” said Pug, acknowledging his Tsurani name. “But I have found you a haven.”
“A haven?”
“It’s a fair world.” He smiled. “I’d say it’s even a little more hospitable than Kelewan. There are forests and valleys, great seas with beautiful beaches, mountains and deserts. There’s game in abundance and many places for farms and orchards, to run herds and build cities. And no one else lives there.”
“Milamber, is there no other way?” asked Sezu, and for the first time since meeting the Emperor, Pug saw the mask of imperial confidence break, and behind it he spied the uncertain young man.
“I wish there was, Majesty. I wish I could say the horror I’ve seen can be defeated, but it cannot. It can only be frustrated, and to save other worlds in this universe from it, Kelewan . . .”
He hesitated to say what he knew to be true, that this world must be destroyed to prevent the Dark One from establishing any sort of foothold in this realm. Finally he said, “Kelewan must be abandoned. It is the only hope for your people.”
Softly, the Emperor said, “What shall I do?” He first looked at his elderly First Advisor, then at Pug and Miranda.
Finally Pug said, “When I trained for the Black Robe, Majesty, I stood upon the Tower of Testing, and part of that ritual showed me what is known of the history of the Tsurani people.
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“It all began with the Golden Bridge, when the people of Kelewan first came here, fleeing from some nameless terror through a vast portal, to this world.”
“This is our legend,” said Chomata.
“The Tsurani people did not originate on Kelewan,” Miranda added.
“The Tsurani people can survive on another world,” said Pug. “Tsuranuanni is not your cities and temples, the villages and towns, for you can build again, nor is it titles and honors for those can be restored. Tsuranuanni is your people. If they endure, a new Tsuranuanni can be forged.”
The Emperor wa
s silent for a very long time, then he nodded. “It shall be done.”
Pug said to Miranda, “We have much to do. I will speak to the Th ¯un and you must speak with the Cho-ja. I will first go to the Assembly and see if any of those remaining have knowledge of the dwarves across the sea or other intelligent races.
“Then I must go to the Hall, and find that world I visited so long ago. Once there, I will open as large a rift as I can between that world and the original rift site, near the City of the Plain.
“Have the Great Ones of the Empire begin building rifts from every major city and from any safe place away from the Dasati and tell the people to gather what they may, for the Empire must be ready, the nations must be ready, the people must be ready! We have little time left.”
“How much time do we have?” asked the Emperor.
“Less than a week, Majesty. If we linger, we die, and with us die other worlds, eventually. I have seen it. It is the truth.”
“Go,” said Sezu, who now truly looked like a crestfallen young man, a young man wearing the mantle of leadership that had been thrust on him by an accident of birth. It was clear to everyone in the room that he would rather that burden be on other shoulders at this time, but he had made his decision and he was ready to act. “Make it so,” he said.
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Chapter 22
warnings
The chill wind blew.
Pug repeated an approach he had used many years before, of transporting himself via magic to a place on the vast tundra of the Th¯un. He hiked to the north for the better part of an hour, his black robe a stark contrast to the bare grey-and-white soil beneath his feet. He was in one of the few places on this world which knew cold and ice, and it felt strange.
A band of Th ¯un males appeared an hour before sunset, riding toward him. They were centaurlike creatures, but rather than a marriage of man and horse, they looked more like Saaur warriors grafted to the torsos of warhorses. Each carried a round shield and a sword and they hooted odd battle chants.
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