Finally one of the older warriors, obviously drunk, said,
“Are you lost?” He was a redheaded, brawny fellow, with ruddy cheeks and a long drooping moustache. He wore a beaten copper necklace that sparkled in the torchlight. It was a very valuable piece of jewelry on this metal-poor world.
Pug shook his head. “I think not.”
“So, you know where you are then?”
“This is the Sandram Valley, right?
“It is.”
“And this is the town of Tasdano Abear, right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And that’s the Confederation Council up on the hillside at the Shatanda Warm Springs, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that it is.”
“Then I’m not lost.”
“Well, then, Tsurani, if you don’t mind me asking, what brings you to this place?”
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“I need to speak to the Council and especially the Kaliane.”
“Ah, the Kaliane, is it?”
“Yes,” said Pug.
“And supposing she doesn’t wish to see you?”
“I think she will.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because I have something to say to her that she will certainly wish to hear.”
“Then why are you sitting here, you ill-gotten offspring of a musonga” —he invoked the name of a particularly stupid bur-rowing pest that was the bane of all farmers on Kelewan— “and not toddling up there to tell her what you’ve got to say?”
“Because, you rock-headed son of a flatulent needra and mud-wallowing baloo”—Pug rejoined with a pair of domestic animals, the stupid beast of burden and a filthy, and stupid, but edible meat animal—“it would be bad manners for me to ‘toddle’ without an invitation to an audience, which you would know if your mother had birthed any children who could tell it was daylight while standing outside staring into the sun, and had you half the wits the gods gave to a bag of rocks. It’s called ‘good manners.’”
The warriors nearby erupted into laughter: this Tsurani not only spoke passable Thuril, he could insult with style.
The redheaded warrior didn’t know whether to laugh or take umbrage, but before he could make up his mind, Pug said,
“Be a welcoming host and ask the Kaliane if she will listen to the words of Milamber of the Assembly, once husband to a Thuril woman, Katala.”
The room fell silent. An old man sitting in the corner stood up and walked over to Pug. “How can that be? You are a young man, and Katala was a kinswoman of mine, dead before I was born. The story is told of her having wed a Black Robe.”
“I am that man,” said Pug. “I am long-lived, I remain as you see me, and was then as I am now when I was wed to her. She was my wife, and mother of my firstborn son, and I still grieve for her.”
The old man turned to one of the younger warriors and said, “Go to the Kaliane, and tell her a man of importance has 3 7 2
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come from the Tsurani lands, to speak to her and the Council.
He has a claim of kinship. I will vouch it is true.”
The young warrior nodded in deference to the old man, who sat down beside Pug. “Milamber of the Assembly, I would hear the tale of you and my kinswoman.”
Pug sighed, for these were memories he rarely visited. “When I was little more than a boy the Tsurani invaded my homeland and I was taken as slave, for the great house of the Shinzawai. It was there I met Katala of the Thuril, sold into slavery by border raiders. We met one day . . .” He told the story slowly and plainly, and soon it was clear that the memories were as vivid to him now as they had been years before, and the images of his first wife were undimmed by the passage of time.
When he had finished, warriors wept at the tale of their parting, for the proud warriors of the Thuril felt no shame in showing strong emotions. The room fell silent as the messenger returned and said, “The Kaliane bids you come and makes you welcome to the Council, Milamber of the Assembly.”
Pug rose and walked out of the inn. He followed his guide to the top of the trail, which opened into a large meadow, dot-ted with hide tents, erected for the meeting of the Council. The meadow was home to natural warm springs, which in the night sent up plumes of steam and gave off a faintly metallic odor.
Night birds sang and Pug was reminded that as alien as Kelewan had been to him when he had first come here as a Tsurani captive, he had come to think of it as home for the better part of eight years. He had met his wife here and fathered his firstborn, and this is where she had returned to die of an illness no priest or chirurgeon could cure.
As he was led through the sprawling community of huts, he finally found himself before an ancient longhouse. He knew enough of Thuril tradition to realize that this longhouse had been here for decades, perhaps a century, as a place where elders might come to council and seek the calming influence of the warm springs.
Once inside the long hall, Pug saw over forty Thuril leaders waiting for him, and in the center an imposing woman of advancing years with long iron-grey hair tied in two braids. She wore 3 7 3
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a simple dress of dark red cloth, but over that a torc of beaten copper, set with precious gems. The others, both men and women, wore traditional headgear of feathers and quills, and shirts, trousers, kilts, and dresses of wool and homespun. The air in the room was thick with smoke from the large fire in a stone-lined pit in the center of the room, and from torches on the walls.
“Welcome, Milamber of the Assembly,” said an old chieftain sitting to the right of the Kaliane. “I am Wahopa, chieftain of the Flint Ridge people. It is my honor to host this year’s Council.
I bid you welcome.”
The woman to his left said, “I am the Kaliane. You wished to speak to us?”
Pug said, “Yes. I bring words of warning, and hope.” He began slowly. These were not a stupid people, but he was explaining concepts difficult for a magician to grasp, let alone a warrior of the highlands. But they listened without interruption, and when he finished he added, “Safe passage will be provided to as many of your nation as can be made to muster here within the week. Bring your livestock and chattels, weapons and tools, for it is a new world opening, one that will demand much, but will give much in return.”
“Tell us of this new world, Milamber,” said the Kaliane.
“It is a fair place, with vast plains of grass, deep lakes, and rolling oceans. There are mountains that touch the sky and great highland valleys where herds can run free. It is a land abundant in game and fish, and more, and there is no one living there.”
“But you are Tsurani, and your people go there. Why would you offer to share it with your enemies?” asked a chief from the second row. His tone was suspicious.
“I am not Tsurani. I am the outland magician, Pug of Crydee, taken captive during the war on the world of Midkemia. It was I who freed the Thuril warriors at the Great Games and destroyed the great arena. It was I who was wed to Katala of the Thuril, whose kinsman I met down in the town just hours ago.
“We will take anyone to this new world who wishes to live,”
Pug said calmly. “I have spoken to the Th¯un.” This brought an angry response, for the Th¯un were a bigger plague on the Thuril 3 74
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than they were on the Tsurani. “Even now others are making the same offer to the Cho-ja, the dwarves across the Sea of Blood, and any other race who wishes to escape the devastation.” Passion rose in his voice as he said, “It was Mara of the Acoma who came to you seeking a way to meet with the great magicians at Chakaha, and she was mother to this line of emperors.
“You have had a century of truce with the Tsurani, despite occasional conflicts, but these have been no more than your own clan struggles. This world I speak of is vast, and the highlands are a great distance from where the Tsurani will reside, and if you wish, you can ignore them for another century
.”
Several of the chieftains nodded, as if this were a good thing.
“Or you can reach an accord and forge a treaty that will last for generations. But none of this can come to pass if you do not leave these highlands, for death approaches rapidly and will be upon you suddenly.”
The Kaliane stood. “I would speak with this Great One alone,” she said and her tone indicated that she was not asking for permission. “Walk with me outside, Milamber.”
She took the lead and Pug followed. Once outside, she headed slowly down a trail leading to the larger of the many springs in the area. “You speak fairly, Milamber, but many will not believe you,” she began. “They will think this a Tsurani ploy to remove us from our lands, or a trap to lure us to our deaths.”
Pug was tired. He had been through ordeals no man had ever known, and despite the reinvigorating magic Ban-ath had employed, he felt exhausted in his heart and soul. He took a deep breath and said, “I know. I can only do so much. I cannot save everyone. I make a simple offer, Kaliane. Within two days I shall open a rift”—he looked around and then pointed to a clearing a short distance away—“there. It will lead to a highland meadow on the world of which I spoke.” He took a deep breath. “The Th¯un will be put on a continent a vast sea away from all humans.
It will be years, decades, perhaps even centuries, before human refugees and the Th¯un meet again. Perhaps by then you’ll have made peace with the Tsurani. I do not know what the Cho-ja 3 7 5
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say, for another has sought them out. The highlands where I will open the rift is at a great distance from where the Tsurani will arrive—you can avoid them or seek them out as is your pleasure, and either make war or peace, or you can remain here and perish.” Fatigue crept into his voice. “It is all your choice. I can only do so much.”
“I believe you,” she said. “I will urge the chieftains to send runners and gather the clans.” She crossed her arms on her chest and looked out over the hills below. “These have been our homes since the time of the Golden Bridge, Great One. It will be hard for some to leave.”
“Some will die,” Pug said. “Some will not get word in time to reach here, and others will be too ill to travel. Some will refuse to leave. All of those will die. It is up to you to save the rest.”
“You do this thing, why, magician? Why do you struggle to save so many?”
Pug laughed, more out of frustration than humor. “Who else would do it? It is my lot. And I do it because it is right that I do so.”
She nodded. “You are a good man, Great One. Now, go, and I will do what I can. Will I see you again?”
“Only the gods know,” said Pug. “If I can visit the highlands where you are to live, I will, but if I don’t, you’ll know that it is for a good reason.”
“Go with the gods,” she said, turning to walk back to the long hall and begin what would most certainly be a long and heated debate.
Taking an orb from his robe, Pug triggered it to return to the Assembly, and was gone.
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Chapter 23
onslaught
Jim threw a dagger.
He ducked away behind a rock as the blade struck a Dasati Deathknight in the face, taking him out of the saddle of his varnin. He was immediately trampled by other riders who ignored their fallen comrade as they rode through the canyon.
Reaching a promontory where his companions waited, he said, “Time to be going!”
Jommy, Tad, Zane, and Servan didn’t need to be told twice. What had less than half an hour before been a rear echelon area, a staging point for troops heading into battle and a resting place for troops pulled out of the line, was now suddenly the front. An hour ago, all five young men had been nursing aching bodies, eating raymond e. feist
decent meals for the first time in two days, and anticipating some well-earned rest. After eating, they had found a shady spot under a wagon on which to sleep. They had become accustomed to the needra, the six-legged Tsurani beast of burden, its restless snorting and its alien odors. They were so tired it had only taken minutes for them to fall asleep.
Jim had been the first to be roused by the shouting. They had barely avoided being trampled by Dasati Deathknights, and had escaped their nets only by scurrying up the rocky hillside which led to a ridge that had served as a natural defensive barrier on Alenburga’s left flank. The only problem was that everyone else in the headquarters had gone in the other direction.
For the last two days they had been making a steady retreat.
The Black Mount would expand on a fairly regular basis and the Tsurani magicians were attempting to gauge its rate so that they could predict a safe distance for each withdrawal.
The defenders’ tactics had changed. They were no longer attempting to repulse a Dasati invasion, but rather were attempting to fight a screening rearguard withdrawal to give refugees time to reach the safety of the nearest rifts. Pug had established a rift that morning between Kelewan and another world, and the Emperor’s edict had gone out. Magicians had carried the order to every part of the Empire and the population was mobilizing.
It would be impossible to get everyone though the rifts in time, but they were going to save as many as possible.
Once the first major rift had been established, Pug had created a second one to a distant continent, then created a gateway for the Th¯un. A third had been created in the Thuril highlands, and after that, other magicians were creating secondary gateways to those locations. Still other Great Ones were busy creating lesser rifts around the Empire, which terminated near the first major Tsurani rift, on the City of the Plains. That location had been selected because the area around the rift was vast and a few dozen lesser rifts could open there, giving enough room for the massive influx of refugees to wait without trampling one another.
The problem seemed to be creating enough rifts to reach the new world. Pug was one of the few magicians capable of creating 3 7 8
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such a rift without help. Once he had established a rift, other rifts at nearby locations would naturally follow it to the new world, and that was beneficial, but it still took two or three magicians four or five times as long to do the work. At the last report there were seven effective rifts to the new world. But Kaspar had remarked within earshot of the young captains that seventy wouldn’t be enough.
So, there was a need to slow down the Dasati, who seemed intent on capturing as many prisoners as possible to be dragged back to the Black Mount and thrown into the pit to feed the monstrosity on their home world. No one wanted to consider how horrific the situation had become. The Tsurani were warriors by tradition and temperament, and always focused on what was ahead, not behind them, but estimations ran as high as twenty to thirty thousand Tsurani having gone into the pit in the last two days. From what they had seen, the young captains thought that number low. The Dasati were anything but stupid: they were rapidly adapting their strategy and tactics to fit the situation and now their raids were massive and unexpected.
It was probably just bad luck that this newest one had brought them almost on top of the Tsurani headquarters.
Jommy looked around as they could hear the rumbling of the Dasati riders on the other side of the ridge. “Where are we?”
Zane said, “Tad was the last to see the map.” He looked at his foster brother and asked, “Where are we?”
The slender blond youth held out his hand, palm outward and fingers down. “This,” he said, pointing to his middle finger, “is the ridge behind us. Over here,” he said, pointing at the ring finger, “is where everyone else went. We need to get from there to there.”
“With a couple of thousand Dasati Deathknights between us,” said Servan.
Jim Dasher said, “Wait, I have an idea.”
“What?” asked Jommy. Since arriving with messages for Lord Erik, Dasher had been seconded to General Alenburga’s staff, joining Jommy, Tad, Zane, and Servan as a “captain.”
/> He pointed southwest. “The Dasati are going that way.”
“Yes,” said Tad.
“So, let’s go that way,” he said, pointing northeast. “We cut 3 7 9
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across the valley floor, and we’re on the other side where we can catch up with the General and the others.”
“Brilliant idea,” said Jommy, “but you’re overlooking one thing.”
“What?”
“Everyone else at headquarters is mounted. They have horses. We don’t. We’ll never catch up with them.”
“Well,” said Zane, “we certainly won’t if we stand here arguing about it. I say we do as Jim says. Eventually the General will throw up another headquarters and if we just keep following the line of retreat, we’ll find it sooner or later.”
With no better course of action, the boys agreed and they started back up the ridge they had just fled down. Reaching the top, they paused, crouching just below the ridgeline. They could hear no sounds of mounted Dasati, but experience had taught them that Dasati often had secondary patrols following after the raids to catch anyone who had been in hiding.
Jim was about to stick his head over the rise when he heard something. He held up his hand in a sign of caution and listened.
Then he recognized the sound. Someone was humming!
He peered over and saw a lone figure moving up the trail, wearing the black robe of a Tsurani magician, and he was humming a tune. “What is this?” Jim asked.
The others peered over and saw the figure vanishing up the trail and Jommy said, “Was he singing?”
“Humming,” corrected Jim Dasher. “Loudly.”
“Should we go after him?” asked Zane.
“No,” said Tad. “If he’s a magician he can take care of himself, and look where he is!”
Where he happened to be was approaching the outer limits of the “safe” area around the Black Mount. Anywhere closer was likely to result in suddenly finding yourself inside the dome the next time it expanded. They watched the robed man vanish along the trail, then they moved over the ridge and down to the floor of the valley.