A Darkness at Sethanon

Tomas turned to Pug with a smile. ‘I think her so. In my dreams of ancient days I touched the minds of her ancestors, and this dragon is to them as they were to your Fantus.’

‘Then it is good she joins us willingly. It would have been difficult to persuade her otherwise.’

Tomas agreed. ‘I could have destroyed her, without a doubt. But bend her to my will? I think not. The days of the Valheru ruling without question are long since vanished.’

Pug studied the alien landscape below the ledge. ‘This is a sad and hollow place. In the tomes harboured in Elvardein this world is described. It was once adorned with vast cities, homes to nations; now nothing is left.’

Tomas asked quietly, ‘What became of those people?’

‘The sun waned; weather changed. Earthquakes, famine, war. Whatever it was, it brought utter destruction.’

They turned to face the cave as a figure appeared in the entrance, shrouded from head to foot in an all-concealing robe; only one thin arm appeared from a sleeve. That arm ended in a gnarled old hand holding a staff. Slowly the man, or so he appeared to be, approached, and when he stood before them, a voice as thin as an ancient wind issued from within the dark hood. ‘Who seeks out the Oracle of Aal?’

Pug spoke. ‘I, Pug, called Milamber, magician of two worlds.’

‘And I, Tomas, called Ashen-Shugar, who has lived twice.’

The figure motioned for them to enter the cave. Tomas and Pug passed into a low, unlit tunnel. With a wave of his hand, Pug caused light to appear about them. The tunnel opened into a monstrous cavern.

Tomas halted. ‘We were but scant yards below the peak. This cavern cannot be contained within …’

Pug placed his hand upon Tomas’s arm. ‘We are somewhere else.’

The cavern was lit by faint light issuing from the walls and ceiling, so Pug ended his own spell. Several more figures in robes could be seen in distant corners of the cavern, but none approached.

The man who had greeted them upon the ledge walked past them, and they followed. Pug said, ‘What should we call you?’

The man said, ‘Whatever pleases you. Here we have no names, no past, no future. We are simply those who serve the oracle.’ He led them to a large outcropping of rock, upon which rested a strange figure. It was a young woman, or, more appropriately, a girl, perhaps no more than thirteen or fourteen, perhaps a few years older; it was difficult to judge. She was nude, covered in dirt, scratches, and her own excrement. Her long brown hair was matted with filth. Her eyes widened as they approached, and she scampered backward across the rocks, shrieking in terror. It was obvious to both men she was entirely mad. The shrieking continued while she hugged herself, then it descended the scale, changing into a mad laugh. Suddenly the girl gave the men an appraising look and began to pull at her hair, in a pitiful imitation of combing, as if she was suddenly concerned about her appearance.

Without words, the man with the staff indicated the girl. Tomas said, ‘This, then, is the oracle?’

The hooded figure nodded. ‘This is the present oracle. She will serve until her death, then another will come, as she came when she who was oracle before died. So it has always been and so will it always be.’

‘How do you survive on this dead world?’

‘We trade. Our race has perished, but others, such as yourselves, seek us out. We abide.’ He pointed to the cowering girl. ‘She is our wealth. Ask what you will.’

‘And the price?’ inquired Pug.

The hooded man repeated himself. ‘Ask what you will. The oracle answers as she chooses, when she chooses. She will name a price. She may ask for a sweet, a fruit, or your still-beating heart to eat. She may ask for a bauble with which to play.’ He indicated a pile of odd devices, cast off in the corner. ‘She may ask for a hundred sheep, or a hundredweight of grain or gold. You must decide if the knowledge you seek is worth the price asked. She sometimes answers without a price. And ofttimes she will not answer, no matter what is offered. Her nature is capricious.’

Pug stepped up to the cowering girl. She stared at him a long moment, then smiled, absently playing with her stringy hair. Pug said, ‘We seek to learn the future.’

The girl’s eyes narrowed and suddenly there was no hint of madness within. It was as if another person instantly inhabited her. In a calm voice she answered, ‘To learn this, then, will you give me my price?’

‘Name your price.’

‘Save me.’

Tomas looked at the guide. From deep within the hood the dry voice said, ‘We do not truly understand what she means. She is trapped within her own mind. It is that madness which grants her the gift of oracularity. Free her of that madness and she no longer will be the oracle. So she must have another meaning.’

Pug said, ‘Save you from what?’

The girl laughed, then the calm voice returned. ‘If you do not understand, you cannot save me.’

The figure in robes seemed to shrug. Pug considered, then said, ‘I think I do understand.’ He reached out, seizing the girl’s head between his hands. She stiffened, as if about to scream, but Pug sent a comforting mental message. What he was about to attempt was something formerly thought to be solely the province of clerics, but his time with the eldar at Elvardein had taught him that the only real limits to magic were those of the practitioner.

Pug closed his eyes and entered madness.

Pug stood in a landscape of shifting walls, a maze of maddening colours and shapes. The horizon changed with each step and perspective was nonexistent. He looked down at his hands and watched them suddenly grow larger, until they were the size of melons, then just as rapidly shrink, until they were smaller than a child’s. He looked up and could see the walls of the maze receding and approaching, seemingly at random, while their colour and pattern flashed through a dozen changes. Even the ground beneath his feet was a red and white chessboard one moment, a pattern of black and grey lines the next, then large blue and green spots on red. Angry, flashing lights sought to blind him.

Pug took hold of his own perceptions. He knew he was still within the cavern and this illusion was an extension of his own need for a physical analogue in dealing with the girl’s madness. First he stabilized himself so the strange shifting of limbs halted. To act rashly at any point could destroy the girl’s brittle mind, and he had no way to judge what that would do to him, given his present contact with that mind. He might somehow be trapped in her madness, an unpleasant prospect. Over the last year Pug had learned a great deal about controlling his arts, but he had also learned their limits and he knew what he did carried some risk.

Next he stabilized the immediate area around him, changing the shifting, vibrating walls and dazzling lights. Realizing that any direction was as valid as another, he set out. Walking was also illusory, he knew, but the illusion of movement was required for him to reach the seat of her consciousness. Like any problem, this one required a frame of reference, and it would be one the girl would provide. Pug could only react to whatever her demented mind dreamed up for him.

Abruptly he was plunged into darkness, so silent that only death could match that stillness. Then a single, odd sound came to him. A moment later, another came, from a different direction. Then a faint pulse in the air. With more rapidity, the darkness was punctuated with movement in the air and odd sounds. At last the blackness was full of pulsing noises and fetid odours. Strange breezes blew across his face and odd feathery things brushed against him, moving away too quickly for him to seize. He created light and discovered himself in a large cavern, much like the real one in which he and Tomas now stood. Nothing else stirred. Within the illusion he called out. No answer.

The landscape shuddered and shifted, and he stood upon a beautiful greensward, lined by graceful trees, too perfect to exist in reality. They formed boundaries that pointed toward an impossibly lovely palace of white marble adorned with gold and turquoise, amber and jade, opal and chalcedony, a place so startlingly wonderful that Pug could only stand in mute appreciation. The image was emotionally laden with the feeling that this was the most perfect place in the universe, a sanctuary where no trouble intruded, where one could wait out eternity in absolute contentment.

Again the landscape shifted, and he stood within the halls of a palace. From the white marble floors flecked with gold to pillars of ebony, it was the most lavish image of wealth he had ever perceived, surpassing even the palace of the Warlord in Kentosani. The ceiling was carved quartz, admitting sunlight with a rosy glow, and the walls were bedecked with rich tapestries, woven with gold and silver threads. Ebony doors with ivory trim and studdings of precious stones were common to every portal, and wherever Pug looked, he saw gold. In the centre of this splendour a white circle of light illuminated a dais, upon which stood two figures, a woman and a girl.

He stepped toward them. Suddenly warriors erupted from the floor like plants springing from the ground. Each was a powerful creature of terrible aspect. One looked like a boar made human, another like a giant mantis. A third seemed a lion’s head upon a man, a fourth wore the face of an elephant. Each was armed and armoured in rich metals and jewels, and they bellowed fearsomely. Pug stood quietly.

The warriors attacked and Pug remained motionless. As each nightmare creature struck, its weapon passed through Pug, and the creatures vanished. When they were gone, Pug stepped toward the dais upon which the two figures stood.

The dais began to move away, as if upon tiny wheels or legs, picking up speed. Pug walked directly toward it, willing himself to overtake it. Soon the landscape about him was a blur in passing, and he judged the illusion of the palace must be miles in subjective size. Pug knew he could halt the fleeing dais with its two passengers, but to do so might be harmful to the girl. Any overt act of violence, even one as minor as commanding the pair of fugitives to halt, could permanently scar her.

Now the dais began a careening, banging passage through an obstacle course of rooms, and Pug was forced to dodge and move to avoid objects hurled into his path. He could also have destroyed anything that blocked his way, but the effect would have been as harmful as if he had ordered the pair to halt. No, he thought, when you enter another’s reality, you observe her rules.

Then the dais halted and Pug overtook the pair. The woman stood silently, studying the approaching magician, while the girl sat at her feet. Unlike her real appearance, here the girl was beautifully clothed in a gown of soft, translucent silk. Her hair was gathered atop her head in a magnificent fashion, held by pins of silver and gold, each bearing a jewel. While it was impossible to judge how the girl looked in truth beneath the dirt, here she was a young woman of astonishing beauty.

Then the beautiful girl stood and grew, changing before his eyes to a horror of gigantic proportions. Large hairy arms sprouted from soft shoulders, while her head became that of an enraged eagle. Lightning cascaded from her ruby eyes as claws came crashing down upon Pug.

He stood motionless. The claws passed harmlessly through him, for he refused to take part in this reality. Suddenly the monster vanished and the girl was as he had seen her in the cave, nude, filthy, and mad.

Looking at the woman, Pug said, ‘You are the oracle.’

‘I am.’ She was regal, proud, and alien. While she looked entirely human, Pug guessed that was part of the illusion. She would be something else in truth … or had been when she was alive. Pug now understood.

‘If I free her, what of you?’

‘I must find another, and soon, or I will cease my existence. That is as it has always been and how it must be.’

‘So another must succumb to this?’

‘That is as it has always been.’

‘If I free her, what of her?’

‘She will be as she was when brought here. She is young and will regain her sanity.’

‘Will you resist me?’

‘You know I cannot. You see through the illusions. You know these are only monsters and treasures of the mind. But before you rid her of me, understand something, magician.

‘At the dawn of time, when the multitude of universes were forming, we were born, we of the Aal. When your Valheru companion and his kin raged across the heavens, we were old and wise beyond their understanding. I am the last female of my race, though that is a convenient label and not a description. Those in the cavern are males. We labour to maintain that which is our grandest heritage, the power of the oracle, for we are the husbanders of truth, the handmaidens of knowledge. It was found in ages past that I could continue to exist within the minds of others, but at the price of their own sanity. It was considered a necessary evil to corrupt a few members of lesser races in exchange for maintaining the power of the Aal. We would that it were otherwise, but it is not, for I need living minds in which to exist. Take the girl, but know that I will soon have another to reside within. She is nothing, a simple child of unknown parentage. On her homeworld she would have become at best the drudge of some peasant, at worst a whore for men’s amusement. Within her mind I’ve given her riches beyond the dreams of the most powerful kings. What will you give her in its place?’

‘Her own fate. But I think another sort of salvation was spoken of, one for you both.’

‘You are perceptive, magician. The star around which this world moves is close to dying. Its erratic cycle is the cause of this planet’s ruination. Already we endure an age of vulcanism not seen for aeons. Within a hand’s span of years this world will end in fiery death. We stand upon the third world to be called home by the Aal. But now our race has vanished into time, and we lack the means of finding a fourth world. To answer your needs, you must be willing to answer ours.’

‘Relocating you to another world is no difficulty. There are less than a dozen of you. It is agreed. Perhaps we may even find a way to prevent another’s mind being sacrificed.’ He inclined his head toward the figure of the cowering girl.

‘That would be preferable, but we have not as yet discovered means. Still, if you will find us a haven, I will answer your queries. A bargain has been set.’

‘This, then, I propose. Upon my world I have means to ensure a place of safekeeping for you and yours. I am counted kin to our King by adoption, and he will be favourably disposed to my request. But know that my world stands in peril, and you will share that risk.’

‘That is unacceptable.’

‘Then we shall have no bargain, and all will perish. For I will fail in my undertaking, and this world will vanish in a cloud of flaming gases.’

The woman remained grave in appearance. After a long silence she said, ‘I shall amend our bargain. I will provide you with the power of the oracle, in exchange for this safe haven, when you have completed your quest.’

‘Quest?’

‘I read the future, and as we near agreement, the lines of probability resolve themselves and the most likely future is revealed to my sight. Even as we speak, I see what you will undertake, and it is a way fraught with perils.’ She stood silently for a moment, then softly said, ‘Now I understand what you face. I agree to these terms, as you must.’

Pug shrugged. ‘Agreed. When all has been favourably resolved, we shall carry you to a place of safety.’

‘Return to the cavern.’

Pug opened his eyes. Tomas and the servants of the oracle stood as they had done when he had begun the mind contact. He asked Tomas, ‘How long have I been standing here?’

‘A few moments, no longer.’

Pug stepped away from the girl. She opened her eyes, and her voice was strong, untainted by madness, but carrying a hint of the alien woman’s speech. ‘Know that darkness unfolds and gathers, coming from where it has been confined, seeking to regain that which was lost, to the utter ruination of all you love, to the redemption of all you hold in terror. Go and find the one who knows all, who has from the first understood the truth. Only he can guide you to the final confrontation, only he.’

Tomas and Pug exchanged glances, and even as Pug spoke, he knew the answer to his question. ‘Whom must I seek?’

The girl’s eyes seemed to pierce his soul. Calmly she said, ‘You must find Macros the Black.’

• CHAPTER FIVE •

Crydee

MARTIN CROUCHED.

He motioned for those behind to remain quiet as he listened for movement in the deep thicket. Sundown was approaching and animals should have been appearing at the edge of the pond. But something had driven away most of the game. Martin hunted the source of that disruption. The woods were silent except for the sound of birds overhead. Then something rustled in the brush.

A stag leaped forward, bounding over the edge of the clearing. Martin dodged to his right, avoiding the stag’s antlers and flying hooves as the frightened animal sprang past. He could hear the scurrying of his companions as they avoided being trampled by the fleeing animal. Then Martin heard a deep grumbling sound issuing from where the stag had fled. Whatever had spurred the animal into flight was approaching through the undergrowth. Martin waited, his bow ready.

He watched as the bear limped into view. At a time it should be getting fat and glossy, this animal was weak and scrawny, as thin as if it had just emerged from a long winter’s sleep. Martin studied it as it lowered its head to drink from the pool. Some injury had lamed the animal, sickening it and preventing it from getting the food it needed. Two nights before the bear had mauled a farmer who had attempted to defend his milk cow. The man had died and Martin had been tracking the bear since. It was a rogue and had to be killed.

The sound of horses carried through the woods, and the bear’s muzzle came up as it sniffed the air. A questioning growl escaped its throat as it rose on hind legs, followed by an angry roar as it smelled horses and men. ‘Damn!’ said Martin as he stood, drawing his bow. He had hoped to get a cleaner shot, but the animal would turn and flee in a moment.

The arrow sped across the clearing, taking the bear below the neck in the shoulder. It was not a quick killing shot. The animal pawed at the shaft, its growls a bubbling, liquid sound. Martin came around the pond, his hunting knife out, his three companions behind. Garret, now Huntmaster of Crydee, let fly his own arrow as Martin raced toward the bear. The second shaft took the beast in the chest, another serious but not yet fatal wound. Martin sprang at the bear while it pawed at the arrows embedded in its thick fur. The Duke of Crydee’s large hunter’s knife struck deep and true, taking the weak and confused animal in the throat. The bear died as it hit the ground.

Baru and Charles followed, their bows at the ready. Charles, short and bandy-legged, wore the same green leather clothing as Garret’s, the uniform of a forester in Martin’s service. Baru, tall and muscular, wore a plaid of green and black tartan – signifying the Iron Hills Clan of the Hadati – slung over one shoulder, leather trousers, and buckskin boots. Martin knelt over the animal. He worked at the bear’s shoulder with his knife, turning his head slightly at the sweetish, rotting stench that came up from the gangrenous wound, then he sat back, showing a bloody, pus-covered arrowhead. He said to Garret in disgust, ‘When I was Huntmaster for my father, I often ignored a little poaching here and there during a lean year. But if you find the man who shot this bear, I want him hung. And if he has anything of value, give it to the farmer’s widow. He murdered that farmer as much as if he had shot him instead of the bear.’

Garret took the arrowhead and examined it. ‘This arrowhead is home-cast, Your Grace. Look at this odd line running down the side of the head. The man who cast these doesn’t file the heads. He’s as sloppy in his fletchery as his hunting. If we find a quiver of arrowheads with the same flaw, we have our man. I’ll pass word to the trackers.’ Then the long-faced Huntmaster said, ‘If Your Grace had reached that bear before I’d hit it, we might have had two murders to charge the poacher with.’ His tone was disapproving.

Martin smiled. ‘I had no doubt of your aim, Garret. You’re the only man I know who’s a better shot than I. It’s one of the reasons you’re Huntmaster.’

Charles said, ‘And because he’s the only one of your trackers who can keep up with you when you decide to hunt.’

‘You do set a fast pace, Lord Martin,’ agreed Baru.

‘Well,’ said Garret, not entirely appeased by Martin’s answer, ‘we might have had one more good shot before the bear ran.’

‘Might, might not. I’d rather jump it here in the clearing, with you three coming, than try to follow it into the brush, even with three arrows in it.’ He motioned toward the thicket a few yards away. ‘It could get a little tight in there.’

Garret looked at Charles and Baru. ‘No argument as to that, Your Grace.’ He added, ‘Though it got a mite close out here.’

A calling voice sounded a short way off. Martin stood. ‘Find out who is making all that noise. It almost cost us this kill.’ Charles hurried off.

Baru shook his head as he regarded the dead bear. ‘The man who wounded this bear is no hunter.’

Martin looked about the woods. ‘I miss this, Baru. I might even forgive that poacher a little for giving me an excuse to get away from the castle.’

Garret said, ‘It’s a thin excuse, my lord. By rights you should have left this to me and my trackers.’

Martin smiled. ‘So Fannon will insist.’

Baru said, ‘I understand. For almost a year I stayed with the elves and now you. I miss the hills and meadows of the Yabon Highlands.’

Garret said nothing. Both he and Martin understood why the Hadati had not returned. His village had been destroyed by the moredhel chieftain Murad. And while Baru had avenged it by killing Murad, he no longer had a home. Someday he might find another Hadati village in which to settle, but for the time being he chose to wander far from home. After his wounds had healed at Elvandar, he had come to Crydee to guest for a while with Martin.

Charles returned, a soldier of Crydee behind. The soldier saluted and said, ‘Swordmaster Fannon requests you return at once, Your Grace.’ Martin exchanged a quick glance with Baru. ‘What’s afoot, I wonder?’

Baru shrugged.

The soldier said, ‘The Swordmaster took the liberty of sending extra mounts, Your Grace. He knew you’d left on foot.’

Martin said, ‘Lead on,’ and they followed the soldier to where others waited with mounts. As they readied themselves for the return to Castle Crydee, the Duke felt a sudden disquiet.

Fannon stood waiting for them as Martin dismounted. ‘What is it, Fannon?’ said Martin as he slapped at the road dust on his green leather tunic.

‘Has Your Grace forgotten Lord Miguel will arrive this afternoon?’

Martin looked at the lowering sun. ‘Then he’s late.’

‘His ship was sighted beyond the point at Sailor’s Grief an hour ago. He’ll be passing Longpoint lighthouse into the harbour within the next hour.’

Martin smiled at his Swordmaster. ‘You’re right, of course. I had forgotten.’ Almost running up the stairs, he said, ‘Come and talk with me, Fannon, while I change.’

Martin hurried toward his quarters, once occupied by his father, Lord Borric. Pages had drawn a hot tub and Martin quickly stripped off his hunter’s garb. He took the strongly scented soap and washing stone and said to the page, ‘Have plenty of cold fresh water here. This scent is something my sister might like, but it cloys my nose.’ The page left to fetch more water.

‘Now, Fannon, what brings the illustrious Duke of Rodez from the other side of the Kingdom?’