Into a Dark Realm: Book Two of the Darkwar Saga

  “What is it you do, exactly?”

  “I procure hard-to-find items and other…things: rare artifacts, unique devices, lost people, information. If you have something you wish to find cheaply, I am most certainly not your first choice. If you have something you are desperate to find, I am almost certainly your final choice.” He regarded Pug and the magician discovered he was beginning to understand the Ipiliac’s facial expressions. The merchant was curious.

  “I need to find a guide.”

  “Guides are plentiful, even the good ones. You must need a special guide if you seek me out. Where do you wish to go?”

  “Kosridi,” said Pug.

  Pug had no doubt that the expression he read on Vordam’s face was one of surprise, for the merchant’s eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Very.”

  For a long moment the merchant sat appraising him, then he said, “May I ask your name?”

  “Pug of Midkemia.”

  A slow nod. “Then perhaps…” Vordam considered his choice of words, then said, “Perhaps it is possible. Your reputation in the Hall has grown, young magician.”

  Pug smiled. It had been some years since anyone had called him “young.”

  “I knew your mentor, Macros.”

  Pug’s eyes narrowed. No matter what occurred in his life, he found signs that his father-in-law’s hand was in it somewhere. “Really?”

  “Yes, he had occasion to do business with me, several centuries ago. When you first arrived in the Hall, in his company and with two others, your passing was not unnoticed. Tomas of Elvandar caused quite a stir, you see, as he appeared at first glance to be a returned Valheru, a potential cause of great distress to several races on many worlds. The young woman, though remarkable by all reports, was, and remains, unknown to us.”

  To the best of Pug’s recollection of their traveling back to Midkemia through the Hall, after rescuing Macros from the Garden in the City Forever, they had encountered no other person along the way. “Apparently, you have very acute sources of information,” said Pug. “Did you know Macros well?”

  The trader sat back farther, allowing his left arm to hang over the back of his chair in a relaxed pose. “Did anyone? I have not met another like him, however.”

  Pug realized that the merchant was holding something back, something he was unlikely to divulge until he was ready, so he moved back to the reason for his visit. “The guide?”

  For a moment the merchant was silent. Then he said, “It is very difficult.”

  “What is?”

  “For any being from this plane of reality to journey to the Dasati realm.”

  “Yet you are here and claim kinship with the Dasati.”

  Vordam nodded, then looked toward the door, as if expecting someone. Slowly, he said, “Understand…great thinkers and philosophers from myriad worlds have grappled with the nature of reality. How to explain the existence of so many worlds, so many sentient races, so many gods and goddesses, and most of all, so many mysteries.” He looked at Pug directly. “You are not a man to whom I need describe the nature of curiosity. So I have no doubt you have often spent time considering these and other imponderables.”

  “I have.”

  “Think of everything, I mean everything, as an onion. Each layer you peel away has another layer below. Or if you could start from the center, each layer another above. Only it’s not a sphere, this ‘everything,’ but, well…everything.

  “I know you to be a man of keen perception, Pug of Midkemia, so forgive me if I sound like a tedious lecturer, but there are things you must understand before even considering a journey to the Dasati realm.

  “Above and below this universe we inhabit there exist discrete realities, which we have knowledge of only indirectly. Much of what we know is filtered through mysticism and faith, but most scholars, theologians, and philosophers hold that there are other dimensions, the seven higher and lower levels.”

  “The Seven Hells and the Seven Heavens?”

  “So many races call them,” answered Vordam. “There are probably many more, but by the time one reaches the seventh level of either the Heavens or Hells there are no frames of reference beyond them that…well, that make enough sense to bother with. The Seventh Heaven is a realm believed to be so blissful, so joyous that mortal minds cannot encompass even the concept of it. The Sixth Heaven is populated with beings whose brilliance and beauty would bring such wonder and joy to us that we would die, overwhelmed by happiness from merely being in their presence.

  “According to some accounts,” said Vordam, “you’ve had dealings with the demons of the Fifth Circle, the Fifth Hell.”

  “One of them,” said Pug with a grim expression. “It nearly cost me my life.”

  “The Fifth Heaven is its opposite. Those beings are concerned with matters beyond our ability to apprehend, but they mean us no harm. Yet to see them would be dangerous in the extreme, so intense is the state of their being.” He paused. “Beyond the so-called Spheres, or Planes, lies the Void.”

  “Wherein dwell the Dread,” Pug supplied.

  “Ah,” said Vordam. “Your reputation is not overstated.”

  “I have had dealings with the Dread.”

  “And live to speak of it. My respect for your abilities grows by the second. The Dread are anathema to both the Heavens and Hells, as the Void surrounds them, and would devour them if it could.”

  “You speak as if the Void has awareness.”

  “Doesn’t it?” Vordam asked rhetorically. “Directly above us, so to speak, is the First Heaven, as the First Hell is seen to be below us.” He looked into Pug’s eyes and said, “Just so we have no misunderstanding, Pug. That is where you wish to travel. That is the Dasati realm of which you speak. You’re asking for a guide to take you to Hell.”

  Pug nodded. “I think I understand.” His expression was a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “At least in the abstract.”

  “Then let me provide you with a less abstract image. You can’t breathe the air or drink the water for more than a little while. The air may act like corrosive gas and the water like acid. That is an analogy, though the truth is likely to be far more subtle, for their air may not be corrosive nor their water contain acid.”

  “I am…confused,” Pug admitted.

  “Think of water running downhill. The higher up the realms we climb, from the lowest hell to the highest heaven…all energy, light, heat, magic, everything burns brighter, is hotter, is more powerful; and therefore, all energies flow down from the highest to the lowest. The air and water of Kosridi world would literally drag all the energies from your body: you would be like a handful of dry straw thrown onto a low fire. It would burn brightly for a while, then fade.

  “The inhabitants of that realm have an equally difficult time in your realm, though their problems would be different; they would become blissful as they drank in all the abundant energies surrounding them, but after a while, they would be like men who have had too much to drink and eat, and be overwhelmed by drunkenness and gluttony, barely able to move until excess caused their death.”

  “How then can you, kin to the Dasati, exist here in the Hall?”

  “Before I explain that, might I suggest you select your companions who wish to accompany you and return here with them?”

  “Companions?” asked Pug.

  “You may be willing to risk going to the Dasati world, but only a madman would venture there alone.” The merchant regarded Pug with an expression that could only be called calculating. “I’d suggest a small party, perhaps, but a powerful one.” He stood. “I will explain the rest of this to you once they’ve arrived. While you are away, I shall set about finding you a guide, who will also be your teacher.”

  “Teacher?” asked Pug.

  With what Pug could only call a smile, an expression another might regard as a fearful-looking grimace, Vordam said, “Return here in one week by your c
alendar, and all will be ready for your instruction.”

  “What instruction, Father?” asked Valko.

  Aruke sat back in his chair. They were once again in the room where he had taken his son to speak after their first supper together. “There is a place maintained by the Empire in which we train our sons.”

  “Train? I thought you would train me,” Valko said, preferring to stand by the window rather than sit opposite his father. “You are an excellent warrior, one who has ruled his house for twenty-seven winters.”

  “There is more to ruling than the ability to lop off heads, my son.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Aruke had brought two large flagons of wine into the chamber. Valko’s sat untouched on the floor next to his chair. The Lord of Camareen drank from his. “I remember emerging from my Hiding. I was at a disadvantage compared to you, for my mother was not as clever as yours. I knew how to fight. No one survives living in the Hiding without that, but the ability to knock someone down and take what you need is only part of it.” He studied his son. In the few days he had been living here, Aruke had come to feel a sense of pleasant expectation at seeing the boy. They had even gone hunting two days earlier and he had found the lad able, if not polished. Yet he had stood fearlessly before a charging tugash boar defending his sow and their litter, decapitating the animal with a deft move that prevented the creature from killing him. Aruke had been visited by an odd notion: that had the beast killed Valko he would have felt a sense of loss. He wondered whence that alien emotion had arisen, and if it was a sign of that weakness which came with age: sentiment?

  “This place is called a school. It is not far from here so you will be able to return to visit from time to time. It is a place where Facilitators and Effectors will show you the things you will eventually need to know if you take my head and rule after me.”

  “That will be years away, Father, and I hope when I do you will welcome it.”

  “If you spare me weakness and prove my line is strong, no man can ask for more than that, my son.”

  “What will I be learning?”

  “First of all, the ability to learn. It is a hard concept: sitting for hours listening to Effectors and watching Facilitators can numb the mind. Secondly, to hone your fighting skills. I remember how I learned, as a child, with wooden sticks at first, battling the other boys who were Hiding. Then the forays into a neighboring village at night, to steal what we needed, eventually trading with Facilitators for enough gold to buy armor from a monger.” He sighed. “It seems so long ago.

  “But no amount of scuffling with older boys, not even your defeat of Kesko’s son, means you’re a skilled warrior. You have raw talent, but it needs refinement before you’re fit to ride with the Sadharin.” Aruke sat back, sipped his wine, and then added, “And, as unpleasant as it may sound, a ruler has to know how to deal with the Lessers.”

  “Deal with them? I don’t understand. You take what you need, or they are killed.”

  “It’s not that simple. The Effectors will teach you just how complex things can be, but do not worry; you appear intelligent enough to understand. And the Facilitators will show you how to implement what the Effectors have taught you.”

  “When do I go to this school, Father?”

  “Tomorrow. You will leave with a full escort, as befits the heir to the Camareen. Now, go and leave me to my own thoughts.”

  Valko rose, leaving his untouched drink sitting by the chair. As the door closed, Aruke wondered if the boy had somehow guessed the drink was poisoned or just hadn’t been thirsty—he never would have let him die so early in his education, but a little writhing in pain was a good point-maker, and an Attender had been standing close by to administer the antidote.

  As the door closed behind him, Valko smiled slightly. He knew that right now his father must be wondering if he had known the drink was poisoned. His smile widened. Tomorrow he would start the serious education his mother had told him about. He looked forward to the day he could send for her and tell her all that she had taught him had not been wasted. What she had told him about his father had been true, and what she had told him about school would certainly be true. Perhaps then she would tell him the truth about why she had him lie to Aruke about her death. He put that thought aside, and instead remembered her parting words: Always let them underestimate you. Let them think they are more clever than you. It will be their undoing.

  “Instruction?” asked Jommy. “What for?”

  “Because,” answered Caleb, who had just arrived from Sorcerer’s Island.

  Talwin Hawkins added, “Pug says you need it.”

  Tad and Zane exchanged glances. They knew that Jommy was in a mood to argue, and when he did, he became as stubborn as a mule with its hooves nailed to the floor. The boys had been enjoying a long stretch of city life, and all had been delighted by the distractions and amusements offered by Opardum, capital of the Duchy of Olasko, now part of the Kingdom of Roldem.

  They sat in the empty main dining room of the River House, the restaurant Talwin had opened after returning to Opardum. So successful had the endeavor been—people waited for hours to gain seats—that he had been forced to expand. He had just purchased the building next to his and would enlarge his seating capacity by half again. Lucian, who had been Tal’s personal cook in Roldem before joining him in Opardum, had elected to call himself “chef,” a Bas-Tyran word for a master cook. He and his wife Magary were celebrated throughout Olasko. The boys worked as cleaners in the kitchen, occasionally lending a hand as servers. The best part of the work was the food: there were all manner of wonderful dishes, and at the end of the day Magary often kept aside special desserts or other treats boys of their station would never usually experience, for she had developed a fondness for them.

  The boys had come to regard Talwin as something of an uncle, the one who let you have fun when your father didn’t. But that father, Caleb, had arrived the night before after having spent a few weeks alone with Tad and Zane’s mother, then another week running some errand for his father.

  And the boy who had become something of a cousin to them sat quietly trying not to live up to his name. Laughter-in-His-Eyes Hawkins, as precocious a seven-year-old as any of them had encountered, was failing miserably at hiding his glee. Named for his grandfather, the boy was the eldest of Hawkins’s two children, the second being a delightful baby girl named Sunset-on-the-Peaks.

  Jommy shot the boy a black expression, and it tipped the balance: Laughter could not contain his amusement any longer. “What’s so funny, Laff?” asked Jommy.

  “You’re going to school!” whooped Laughter. He had his mother’s reddish-blond hair and his father’s features, and his blue eyes held an evil glint as he grinned at Jommy.

  At last Tad said, “Don’t think me stupid for asking, but what exactly is a school?”

  Caleb said, “You’re not stupid for not knowing something. You’re only stupid if you don’t ask. A school is a place where students go to study with a teacher. It’s like having a tutor for a lot of boys and girls at the same time.”

  “Ah,” said Zane, as if he understood. He obviously didn’t.

  “In Roldem they have schools,” said Tal. “Lots of them, most run by the various guilds. It’s different from in the Kingdom or Kesh or here in Opardum.” Glancing at Jommy, he added, “And very different from anything you knew down in Novindus.”

  “We’ve got schools where I came from,” offered Jommy with a hint of defiance in his voice, which made it clear he had never heard of a school before in his life. “Just never saw one, that’s all.”

  Their lives since arriving at the River House had been equally divided between hard work, which none of them minded, and hard play. In the time the three boys had been together a bond of brotherhood had formed that had conspired to keep them constantly on the edge of trouble, when they weren’t undertaking tasks for the Conclave. When they were, it was usually under the direction of their stepfather, or one o
f Pug’s appointed agents. But when left to their own devices the lack of supervision was decidedly noticeable. On more than one occasion, Tal had had to intercede with one city official or another on their behalf.

  “It’ll be good for you,” said Caleb. “Tal tells me you country boys seem to find a little too much trouble in the city for my liking. So, beginning tomorrow you will no longer be working here, but students at the University of Roldem. You will seem to leave by ship, for the benefit of the thugs and tarts you socialize with, but later tonight Magnus will take you to Roldem where you will appear to have arrived by a ship before dawn.”

  “Roldem!” said Tad, suddenly enthused. It was, as Talwin opined, the most civilized city in the world, and as he had undertaken their education for the last month, his opinion on the matter counted for much with the boys.

  “I thought you said we’d be going to a school,” said Jommy, no longer hiding his confusion.

  Tal laughed. “It is a school. It’s a school where they try to study everything, hence the name. You will be taught alongside the sons of Roldem’s nobility and those from other nations surrounding the Kingdom’s sea.”

  “Sons?” asked Tad. “No daughters?”

  Tal shook his head sympathetically.

  Caleb said, “Father’s view on educating women is…distinctive, perhaps unique. No, you’ll be lodging with boys, most of them a few years younger than you, but some your own age.”

  “Lodging?”

  “Yes, you’ll be living at the university with other students under the supervision of the monks.”

  “Monks?” asked Zane, his tone showing what the others revealed in their expression. “What monks?”

  Hawkins feigned a cough to hide his smile. “Why, the Brothers of La-Timsa.”

  “La-Timsa!” shouted Tad. “They’re…”

  “Strict?” supplied Caleb.

  “Yes, they are that,” agreed Talwin.