He led them quickly to the ramp leading down to the door into the basement and found the door refused to open. He pushed, and despite his above-human-level strength, the door wouldn’t budge. Magnus whispered, “Let me.”
The younger magician moved to stand before the door and held up his hand. With a short motion and a single word, the door moved in balky fits and starts until it was open enough for them to see what blocked it.
“Bodies,” whispered Magnus.
The stench of decomposing flesh rose up and even Brandos swallowed hard.
Sandreena said, “What happened here?”
“We won’t know until we get inside,” said Pug. He spoke in a normal tone, not evidencing any concern over being heard. “I think the demons have quit this place and decided not to take the prisoners with them.”
Magnus waved his hand again and the door veritably flew off its hinges, back into the room. The large room that led into the dungeon cells and up to the kitchen was littered with corpses: humans, elves, and dwarves all piled atop one another. It was clear a good number of them were racing for this door, to escape, and were cut down from behind. The wounds were mixed, some smooth cuts, from sword or knife blades, others torn, ragged, as if made by fang or claw.
Once they had cleared a way though the piles of bodies, Pug knelt and inspected the corpses. “Some of the clothing I recognize,” he said softly. “I think this dwarf here is from Dorgin, perhaps a companion of Keandar’s. That pattern in the weave of the tunic is common there. But these elves…”
Gulamendis said, “They are unknown to me, but then until we found Home…Midkemia, we knew only the Taredhel.”
“I don’t think they’re from Midkemia,” said Pug. He felt an undamaged piece of shirt on a dead elf and said, “I do not recognize this material. It’s not silk or linen, but it’s light and…” He stood and said, “Too many mysteries. Too many distractions. Where is the tower?” he asked.
“That way.” Gulamendis pointed.
Sandreena and Brandos had both seen their share of battlefields, yet both appeared pale and shaken by the carnage in the room.
The light was faint and at the end of the hall, Magnus raised his hand, creating a bright blue-white glow that illuminated their surroundings more efficiently than a lantern. They reached the bottom of the tower stairs and moved quickly to the top.
The door was still unlatched and once they moved inside, Pug said, “I can feel it.”
“Grandfather?” asked Magnus.
“Yes, though how long ago…” He shrugged. He reached up and pulled a book off the shelf at random and glanced at it. “I have a copy of this in my library.”
Magnus came to his side and said, “I will look for anything that I don’t recognize.” He started with the volumes on the desk and quickly tossed those on the floor that were duplicates of those already on Sorcerer’s Island.
Soon Pug had a small stack of books set aside. He was taking one off a low shelf when a massive upheaval in the ground below the keep threw them to the floor. Dust ground from between ancient stones rained down on them and the stones of the tower seemed to undulate for nearly a half minute. When it subsided, Brandos looked out the window and said, “Look!”
In the distance the biggest of the three volcanoes was shuddering and a wave of smaller shocks was rolling through the soil beneath them, causing the keep to feel as if it might shake itself apart. Then there was an explosion of titanic proportions, a massive upheaval of brilliant hot lava, and a funnel of white steam blowing straight into the sky like the gods’ own teakettle on boil. All around rock, ash, and liquefied stone were spewing out and up at astonishing speed. Pug said, “In about one minute a wave of poisonous air hot enough to broil the skin from your bones will hit us. Grab those books!” Everyone grabbed an armful of books. “Stand close!” he instructed.
At the sound of wind rising to an earsplitting shriek, there was a sudden pulse of air in the room and less than six inches in front of Brandos’s nose a grey void appeared. Without a word the old fighter leaped into it, while others followed, with Pug pushing his son through, and suddenly they were back on Sorcerer’s Island. The hasty transport through the rift landed them hard on the ground, and Amirantha, Sandreena, and Gulamendis all lost their footing and fell. The others staggered a bit.
Pug let the books he held fall from his arms and turned. A wave of his hand dismissed the rift just as a pulse of super-heated steaming air came through, and Pug erected a shield that vented the scalding wet air around them.
Everyone could feel the heat suddenly dissipate before anyone was burned. It gave them all a queasy feeling at how close they had come to being boiled alive in their own skins.
Pug turned and said, “I think”—then his legs went weak. His son let go of the books in his arms and grabbed his father. As Pug was gently lowered to the grass, he muttered, “Damn. I so wanted to bring that gate back here.” Then he closed his eyes and fell into darkness.
Pug awoke with a massive headache. He found his son sitting at his bedside and said, “How long?”
“All night and half the morning.”
Pug sat up and felt light-headed.
Magnus said, “That was a prodigious feat, punching a rift through from that tower to the meadow where we left in so short a time. No wonder you passed out.”
“We didn’t have a lot of choice.”
Magnus said, “That got me to thinking. Even if we know a world has a rift we’ve visited, it might be a good thing to send a vision orb through just to be safe.”
Pug nodded. “I think you’re right. Had we stepped through as that shock wave washed over the plateau rather than a half hour before, we’d all be dead now.”
“Caution,” said Magnus with a nod. “What next?”
“Look over what we’ve found, see if there’s anything that has any bearing on what we’re facing, then you and I and the demon experts take a journey down to Kesh to see what’s being built down there.”
“I’ll have food sent up.”
Getting out of bed, Pug said, “Don’t bother. I’m in need of a lot of water and some food. I’ll get some down in the kitchen. Have you been studying those books of your grandfather’s?”
“Of course,” answered Magnus. “There are a couple I’ve put aside for you to look at, but I think he made copies of things here and took them there, after he left this island, before you found him wandering around mindlessly.”
Pug paused. “That would explain part of his absence. But what was he doing on that world, and who was he serving? And does it have anything to do with this coming demon host? I find it difficult to believe that Macros just coincidentally happened to visit a world that is infested with demons and left behind his library that we just happened to find when we were facing a demon army.”
“With grandfather anything was possible.” Magnus had never met his grandfather, but he had encountered a Dasati called the Gardener who had possessed the memories of Macros the Black—it had been a ploy by Kalkin, the Trickster God, and it had provided Pug and his son with useful information leading to saving Midkemia from a dreadful invasion, but at great cost: the utter obliteration of the world of Kelewan and most of the inhabitants. Even if the Dasati’s memories had not been his own, his belief that he was Macros had given Magnus the opportunity to get to know his grandfather slightly.
Magnus went down to the kitchen with his father, and found Amirantha and Brandos waiting at a table, just finishing a meal. “Where are the others?” asked Pug.
Brandos said, “Gulamendis is studying that demon book you found on Queg, and Sandreena is busy being somewhere else.” The last was said with a glance at Amirantha, who almost winced but managed to keep his reaction to the comment minimal.
Magnus said, “Anything interesting in the books we brought back?”
“Not really,” said Magnus. “There are a couple of things that are probably worth a little study, but this was Grandfather’s work from a long time ago,
if I can judge these things. I remember the story you told of coming here after the Riftwar ended, and finding a letter from him about his library, giving it to you. What he took to Telesan were copies. Exact copies, so I think they were magic duplicates, not made by scribes. Perhaps if we had saved everything by considering the titles there we might get some idea of why he went there after leaving Midkemia and what he was hoping to accomplish.”
“You have a better memory than most, Magnus,” said Pug. “I can remember a dozen titles I tossed aside. Let’s quickly draw up a list and compare them, and with those we brought back with us, perhaps we’ll get some understanding of this previously unknown jaunt of your grandfather’s.”
Magnus made a slow exhalation, not quite a sigh, and said, “Again another reason to miss Mother.”
Pug reached out and took his son’s hand for a moment, squeezing it slightly, then releasing it. “I know.” Both father and son knew that Miranda might have provided an insight into what her father had been doing on that other world. “One thing,” said Pug. “More than anything else, Macros having lived for a time on Telesan—and from having his own quarters, in some station of importance—clearly indicates a connection between our world and that one. It seemed a little too coincidental that the brothers would flee from their Hub world and end up somewhere that just happened to be a former residence of Macros the Black.”
“Kalkin?”
“Who knows what the gods are doing?” replied Pug. “I have long ago accepted the notion that I will never fully understand this struggle, our part in it, or just how much good we are accomplishing.”
Amirantha said, “I’d say quite a bit, even if not intentionally.”
Pug asked, “How do you judge that?”
“Your friend, Kaspar, he is doing remarkable things in Muboya and the region has never been this peaceful in my lifetime, and that’s over a hundred years.
“You’ve got people from various nations around the world putting the safety of this planet ahead of their personal interests and their national interests. I am hardly anyone’s idea of a good man, Pug, yet here I am doing my bit for the greater well-being of the world.” He smiled slightly and said, “That’s no mean achievement.”
“Perhaps,” Pug said. “There are times I wish it was worth the price.”
No one at the table said anything. Amirantha and Brandos had both witnessed Miranda’s death at the hands of a demon who had been feigning death and then leaped upon her back before anyone could prevent it.
Finally Brandos said, “So, if I might presume to ask, what’s next?”
Pug said, “We—the same group as before—head down to Kesh and inspect that thing being built in the Valley of Lost Men. From Sandreena’s description, I don’t have a remote idea what they are doing.”
Amirantha said, “Neither do I. Gulamendis and I have talked into the night about what we thought we knew of demon lore and what we are now discovering.” He shook his head in wonder. “I am not ashamed to admit I have been humbled to discover how little I truly understood.”
Brandos grinned and clapped his old friend on the shoulder. “That’s a good start.” He stood and said, “Well, if we’re going off again, I think I should go spend a little time with my wife. She’s starting to feel neglected and that’s never a good thing.”
Pug nodded, a slightly sad expression on his face.
A young magician came into the kitchen and said, “Pug, we’ve just had word from Lord Kaspar that he will be here in an hour.”
Pug stood up and said, “Good. That means we leave after sundown. I wanted his military expertise.”
Amirantha said, “Well, I think I’ll leave Brandos and Samantha to their own…devices, and I will go find Gulamendis and see if he’s come up with any new insights from his reading. A little rest before we go would be nice.”
Magnus and his father were left alone at the table, while those in the kitchen were trying to ignore them as much as possible. Finally, Magnus said, “I wonder how Laromendis is doing up in Elvandar?”
Pug absently nodded. “I wonder, too.”
Laromendis stood before Tomas, and despite his complete understanding of what had been told to him about the figure he regarded being a human transformed by ancient magic into the likeness of a Valheru—a Dragon Lord—he still had to fight the alternating urge to kneel or to run in terror. He wondered if he would ever get over that feeling, no matter how many times he had come to see him.
“Laromendis,” said Tomas, motioning for the Taredhel conjurer to take a seat at the small table in the Queen’s private chamber. “You wished to speak to me in private?”
“Yes, my lord”—Tomas held up his hand. “Err, yes, Tomas.” He laughed slightly. “I may never get used to that.”
Tomas smiled and behind the warrior’s powerful visage a youthful humor seemed to peek out. “It took a while for a lot of people around here to get used to it, Laro. You don’t mind if I call you that? I overheard your brother call you that.”
Laromendis was startled, but the smile directed at him was infectious, even charming, and he said, “Why, no. I’d be flattered. He’s the only one who ever did, but, please, feel free.”
“So, why did you wish to see me alone?”
“Not alone, for I am certain you’ll need to consult the Queen. I’m here at Pug’s behest.”
At the mention of his childhood friend’s name, Tomas’s expression became concerned. “How is he?”
“Well, I guess. He took Miranda’s death very hard.” The elf said, “I don’t know how such things are with humans, I must admit, but I got a sense of a profound sorrow. Lately, however, as the matters that brought me here have arisen, well, I think he’s coming out of his darkness.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Tomas, adjusting the white tunic he wore when not armored. Even without the helm of gold and the white and gold armor, he was an impressive sight. Laromendis was one of the few beings Tomas met who was taller, yet the Star Elf was still in awe of the imposing Warleader of Elvandar.
“To the point, then,” said Laromendis. “Pug asks if you might be disposed to convey the following to the Lord Regent at E’bar: indications are that the Demon Legion may be arriving in Midkemia soon. Would he be willing to discuss a mutual defense?”
Tomas was silent for a moment, then laughed. “Why is he asking you to ask me?”
“Because I am not particularly in a position to influence the Lord Regent and, frankly, of all of those not of our race on this world, you are perhaps the only being he holds in…”
“Fear?” said Tomas with a slight smile.
“I was going to say respect, my lord.”
Tomas inclined his head slightly, as if considering a question. “Your Lord Regent is a complicated person. He exhibits a certain deference to My Lady and myself, yet I sense he views us with some suspicion.”
“He’s is a proud being, of ambition for our people and himself personally, as well.” Laromendis continued, “My brother and I have spent more time here than any Taredhel, so we begin to understand, at least a little, how profound the Eledhel ties to this world, this Home, are.” He fell silent a moment, then said, “But even we have no doubt that our branch of this far-flung family is…”
“Superior?” supplied Tomas with a slight narrowing of his eyes.
“I was going to say more highly advanced.” He glanced around the room, fashioned from within the living bole of a majestic “Star,” as Laromendis’s people called these magnificent trees. “There is a fundamental rightness here, Lord Tomas. Those who remained here kept intact an unbroken line of service, remaining in harmony with the most fundamental aspects of our world.
“We who fled the Chaos Wars took with us what we could carry, nothing more, and out of that humble beginning a ragged band of refugees conquered the stars.” He looked Tomas directly in the eyes for perhaps the first time and said, “If we tend to be arrogant, we earned the right.”
“I have lived the
life of a human, Laromendis, and recalled the life of a Valheru; I have lived here with My Lady’s people for more than a century and this I can tell you: power in and of itself is worthy of neither respect nor contempt. It simply is. It is how power is employed, for what purpose and toward what ends that ennoble or denigrate the wielder of power. When I don my armor, there are few beings on this world who can rival my abilities, Pug being perhaps the only one able to best me.” With an unexpected smile, again recalling a boyish quality that was very unexpected, he added, “It’s certainly a good thing he is my closest friend and ally.” His smile faded. “But I have done things under the sway of my own power, back in the early days of coming to my station, that I know now to have been cruel, base, and completely unworthy of any rational being.
“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.”