“I was under the impression the demons followed the Pantathian rift,” Miranda said. “Or is there something else here you’re not telling me?”
“Not really. Just that it’s foolish to make assumptions. We both know we have things locked away up here.” He tapped his head with his forefinger. “We both feel comfortable that the knowledge is locked away for a good reason, but we are foolish not to draw a few likely conclusions from the fact of that hidden knowledge.”
“Such as?”
“Such as there may be yet another player who had a hand in the creation of these rifts. From what we know, the demons seized the advantage when the mad priests of Ahsart opened the seal between their realm and Shila, but no one has asked who built that portal in the first place. Why were the priests of Ahsart driven to open the rift to the demon realm? What compulsion or obsession involved them in that particular idiocy?
“We also know that the Pantathians came here easily with the Saaur, yet the demons must struggle to come here, and given the conflict between them, they are not allies.”
“Or at least allies who had a falling out.”
“That’s possible,” admitted her father.
Miranda said, “Well, we can chat about this until the world ends. What do you suggest?”
“We wait. I have a feeling that when Pug and Hanam finish on their side of the rift, things might get lively here.”
Miranda sighed. “Do we have the time?”
Macros shrugged. “Enough for a few more days.”
She stood. “Then I’m going to transport to Sorcerer’s Isle and get a bath. I’ll bring back some food.”
Macros shook his head. “Don’t bother. Tell Gathis I’ll be along shortly. I’ll visit with him while I eat there. It will be good to see him again. Then I intend to take a bath as well.”
She smiled. “Good. I wasn’t going to say anything . . .”
He returned her smile. “I know I haven’t been a father to you, but I must say I’m pleased with the woman I see here.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“Before you go, I would like to know one thing.”
“What?”
“Pug?”
“What about him?”
“Are you going to wed?”
“If he asks me,” she said. “I love him and think we could have a good life together.”
Macros said, “I have demonstrated without question no expertise when it comes to falling in love.” He sighed in memory. “Your mother was a woman of remarkable beauty and uncommon guile. I can’t claim I was young, but I was inexperienced, and at first our time together was pleasant.” He frowned as he said, “Your birth was something neither one of us dealt with well, and for that I apologize.”
Miranda said, “What’s done is done.”
“True, but at least I can say I regret some of it.”
“Only some of it?”
“Well, I do like how you turned out, and if I could I don’t know what I would change, for to change anything in your past would risk turning you into less than you are now.”
“Or more?”
He smiled. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”
She smiled at her father. “Thank you for that.”
“I mean it.” He sat back and stared at the rift. “Pug is fortunate, and if he doesn’t ask you, you do the asking. I think you need each other.”
“I thought you said you had no expertise.”
“It’s a father’s prerogative to give unwelcome advice. Now run along and take your bath.”
She vanished, and he sighed. He let regrets about past failings fade into the background as he returned his attention to the rift and wondered what was happening on the other side.
Pug stood panting, his robe torn and his face bathed in perspiration. He and Hanam had fought a battle with six man-size fliers, and the conflict had come close to ending their quest.
One of the creatures alone would not be any match for either of them, but three on Pug and three on the Saaur Loremaster had proved a close thing. Hanam feasted on the three remaining dead demons. Pug had vaporized the other three.
He watched in fascination as Hanam ate flesh and drank energies. As he shifted his perceptions, he could see how the Saaur Loremaster had used his intelligence to subvert the creature. When he was finished eating, Hanam said, “This feast will make it easier for me to concentrate.”
“How far have we to go?”
“The demons are not that clever, but they are being driven to wider patrols looking for anything to eat.” Pointing to the bits of flesh thrown around the rocks on which they stood, he said, “These would have been required to bring back anything they found to Cibul, to feed those captains attempting to open the rift to your world.” He glanced around, as if apprehensive about further detection. “By traveling along this course, we avoid many of the demons.”
“We have been flying over ice and mountains for a day and more,” said Pug.
“True.” The demon form pointed to the south. “There we will find Cibul. We may be able to come close before we have to hide ourselves from demon sense. And be warned, the spells you use to confound the simple demons may not suffice for the captains and lords.”
“I will do what needs to be done.”
“Then we must plan,” Hanam said. “I have no wish to continue this life. My soul begs to be joined with my brothers in the Sky Horde, here on Shila. So here is what I propose. Let me attack whichever great lord we may discover, drawing off any guards and servants nearby. That will give, you time to examine and close the rift to the demon realm. ”
Pug said, “A brave plan, but I don’t know if it will gain me enough time. There are things here that worry me. I have the vanity to think I know as much about the nature of rift magic as anyone, including Macros, and until I saw the empty altar at Ahsart, I would have told you that an open rift could not be moved in the fashion you describe. That means there are forces at play beyond my knowledge. It may also mean that closing the rift may be beyond my ability.”
“What will you do if that is the case?”
Pug said, “I will do the only thing I can think of: destroy the rift to Midkemia and hope that is enough.”
“With Macros attempting the same feat from the other side, will you be able to?”
“Undoubtedly one of us will succeed.”
“Then let us go among them and do what we can.”
The demon figure launched himself outward, with a snap of gigantic wings, gliding down the mountain slope rather than flying. He let his downward speed build up, and then, with a flex of his wings, he was soaring high in the air. Pug used his magic to fly after him.
They dove and flew close to the ground, in the hope of avoiding detection. Pug glanced to the west and saw the sun set. The lack of light would help a little, though demons saw at night almost as well as cats.
Above a world devastated by forces alien to anything Pug had witnessed in his life they flew; from trees to grass, from humans to the smallest insect, the lands around the once-great city of Cibul were devoid of life. Pug could sense it was more than the destruction of war or forest fire, where the land was burned, for there a sign of life would be seen here or there, even if only a blade of grass.
Here there was nothing.
They were within a mile of the city when Hanam said, “Cloak our passage, magician.”
Pug forced his mind into the difficult task of rendering the two of them invisible while flying. He felt terrible pain from the unusual exertion but accomplished the requirements for both without faltering. For a few minutes the pain lingered, then it began to lessen as Pug mastered this combination of magics.
As they flew over the city, several demons below turned to look up, as if sensing something, but none gave alarm. Pug hoped they would reach their destination soon.
Hanam landed in what had once been a lush garden, and now was a burned-out mass of dead plants on rock. No moss or lichen, algae or
mold clung to the tiniest corner of this formerly flourishing place.
Once they were safely inside a vast hall, Pug dropped the spell of invisibility. “Are you all right?” asked the Saaur Loremaster.
“It will take a minute for me to regain my strength. I need to catch my breath.” Pug managed a smile. “It’s getting easier to do this, but I’d rather not have to practice in the future under these conditions.”
“Understood. Abide here awhile. I will be back.”
So saying, the Saaur Loremaster in demon body left the room. Pug sat on the wreckage of a once-grand bed, on a piece large enough to provide him a comfortable resting place. The faint evening light could not hide the opulence of the residence. A Saaur noble of rank had slept here, perhaps the leader or his primary consort.
Pug heard a faint scuffle outside and was on his feet as Hanam entered, carrying a struggling demon by the head. As Pug watched, the Saaur cracked the skull and drank the creature’s life energies.
“Is that wise?” asked Pug.
“Necessary. If I am to face Tugor or Maarg, and hold them at bay even for a few minutes, I must gather as much strength as possible. If I prayed for a chance of victory, I would lie in wait for months, killing as many demons as possible, until they became aware of my hunt and sought me out. After I battled the hunters and survived, I would then come and announce myself to the one whom I challenged. At that point I would be granted single combat.
“But I have no desire to win. I wish release from this prison.” He tapped the crystal vial hanging from a chain around his neck. “This is a favor I must ask of you, magician.” He removed the vial and handed it to Pug. “When the battle is high, release my soul by smashing the vial.”
“What will happen?”
“I will be free, and the demon whose body I control will be destroyed. But if that vial isn’t broken, any demon who found it would be able to continue my captivity.”
Pug nodded and took the vial, placing it inside his robe.
“Time is short,” said the Loremaster. “Come.”
They hurried through several halls to a large chamber, where several other demons gathered. Two rifts hung in the air, only a few meters apart, while strange cloaked figures, hunched over and shambling, moved between them. The demons didn’t notice them.
“What are they?” asked Hanam.
“I recognize them,” said Pug. “They are Shangri, also called Panath-Tiandn, creatures I have faced once before. They live on a world called Timiri, where magic is a solid matter, manipulated by machine and will. They may be related to the Pantathians. I still don’t know their part in all this.”
“What are they doing?”
“They’ve moved both rifts!” Pug exclaimed. “They mean to create a direct path from the demon realm to Midkemia!”
“Then Maarg is soon to come through.”
A demon turned and saw them, and screeched an alarm. Hanam didn’t hesitate, but launched himself at the creature. Rather than engage the first creature, who crouched, claws extended in anticipation of the attack, he leaped past, slashing its throat with a talon.
One demon, larger than Pug could have imagined possible, turned and shouted, “Hold!”
Hanam screamed, “Tugor! I challenge! Meet me and die!”
The other demons fell back. Pug didn’t know if they ignored him because of the challenge, but he rendered himself invisible.
Hanam and Maarg’s captain squared off. Pug saw at once that Hanam had been right, for in a fair fight, Tugor would quickly destroy the lesser demon. But what the captain didn’t understand was that the Loremaster of the Saaur faced him, not another lesser demon, and that being was prepared to die.
Pug hurried to the two rifts and attempted to make some sense of them. The two shambling creatures ignored the demons, working like automatons on the two rifts. When Pug had first encountered these creatures, years before, he had found them nearly mindless servants of an unknown dark power, technicians of magic, clever in their ability to work the solid form of what was an invisible force on Midkemia, but without a strong intellect. They had been servants of others then, and here again they were servants.
Once more Pug confronted the knowledge locked away in his own mind, and he intuited that these creatures were serving whatever the greater power behind this madness might be. He knew that to dwell further on their part in this would be to risk distraction.
He quietly stunned both creatures, letting them fall to the floor.
He quickly studied the rift to the demon realm, and realized it was readily opened at any time. He decided Maarg, their great ruler, was waiting safely in his own realm until his captain opened the rift to Midkemia. Then he could easily cross into the lush, life-filled world without long pause in Shila.
Pug turned to study the other rift with the thought that should Maarg reach Midkemia, he might be in for a rude surprise should Jakan reach the Lifestone.
Screams of pain and rage filled the hall as Tugor fought Hanam. The demon lord was injured, because rather than keep his distance, the smaller demon closed and accepted wounds in exchange for giving them.
Pug tried to ignore the combat, knowing seconds counted. He looked at the Midkemian rift and saw the Shangri were on the verge of punching through whatever barriers had been erected on the other side. His intervention had forestalled that.
Then a chilling presence behind Pug caused him to cease moving. A voice that ground his bones together said, “What have we here?”
Pug turned and looked into the face of horror.
A face the size of a dragon’s leered at him through the rift.
For a brief instant Pug was astonished to witness a rift that was as transparent as a window, that looked like a hole in the wall between two worlds, but that fascination lasted less than a second, for it was what confronted him through that transparent rift that demanded his undivided attention.
While the other demons looked muscular and powerful, Maarg looked gross. Jowls hung down from a face eight feet from brow to chin. Fire burned in the pits of its eyes, and evil emanated from it like a visible miasma of black smoke. The creature’s face seemed fashioned from the skins of living beings, which still moved and twitched in agony. A face contorted in torment was stretched across Maarg’s right cheek, mouthing silent screams while a clawed hand moved feebly along his right jawline. Details of the various bodies devoured and incorporated into the Demon King became evident as the creature moved closer to the other side of the rift to inspect Pug.
The figure behind the face was immense. Maarg must have stood thirty-five feet tall when upright. His body was likewise covered with other beings, twitching and undulating in the faint red light of the demon home world. Wings to hide the sun spread out behind him, and a long tail with the head of a serpent at the tip writhed behind him, hissing and spitting at Pug from over Maarg’s shoulder.
Pug didn’t hesitate. He knew instantly he was over-matched. He turned and with all the power he could muster, he blasted open the rift to Midkemia.
“Tugor!” came the cry from the other side of the demon rift as the room rang with the explosion of powers Pug unleashed. The rift to Midkemia seemed to contract, then expand, then rush forward with a tremendous ripping sound.
Then Pug was staring at Macros and Miranda.
Macros returned from his bath and a meal. “That was delightful. I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed Sorcerer’s Isle.”
Miranda said, “Has it changed much?”
“A great deal. Pug has it crawling with students, some rather interesting ones, I must say. Gathis is the same as always. It’s as if I had left yesterday.” Macros sighed. “I’m afraid he’s become something of a fixture there. It would be a shame to ask him to leave with all the good work he’s doing for Pug. Why—”
Suddenly he looked wide-eyed and distracted.
“What?” asked Miranda.
“I don’t know. Something—”
Before he could finish, the s
ilence in the cave was shattered by a tremendous keening sound. Abruptly, the rift before them ripped open and Pug stood on the other side of a window between worlds, looking at them. Behind him a vision of horror reared up into view.
Miranda raised a mystic shield to protect herself, reflexively, but her father reacted by leaping forward, landing on the other side of the rift beside Pug. He unleashed a furious blast of mystic energy, which tore through the opened rift into the demons’ realm, striking the Demon King in the face. The horror that was Maarg reared back, shrieking in pain.
Miranda followed her father and shouted, “What is going on?”
Pug said, “They’ve moved the rift. We arrived just as Maarg was preparing to come across!”
Macros said, “You must close both rifts, now!”
Pug looked at Miranda’s father and said, “What are you going to do?”
“Distract that thing,” he said, and he leaped through the rift into the demon realm.
“Father!” shouted Miranda. “No!”
Pug spared a glance to the other struggle, and saw that Hanam had managed to sink his fangs into Tugor’s neck. Pug was no judge of such things, but it appeared to him the Loremaster might take his foe with him into death. The other demons in the room shrank back, for to them there would emerge a victor, Tugor whom they feared, or another who had destroyed Tugor, making him one to fear even more.
At the other side of the demon rift, Maarg fell back as Macros’s flames seared his face. Then he raised an arm, to shield his face, and screamed in pain. Macros kept the blast of blue flame directed at the Demon King’s head.
Pug quickly examined the rift. He said, “This one is much like that created by the Tsurani Great Ones, to reach Midkemia. It is vulnerable, from within.”
“From within?” said Miranda in astonishment. “How do we get inside a rift?”
Pug looked around it one last time, and said, “By attacking it from the void.”
They risked a glance at Macros as he continued to press his attack against the Demon King, who backed away. Perhaps it was that a relatively small creature dared to confront him, or that he had not been forced to face a challenger in years, but Maarg was on the defensive. He now used his great wings as a cloak, keeping Macros’s flames from his eyes.