Читать книгу Into a Dark Realm - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 8

THE PRISONER GLARED DEFIANTLY.

Jomo Ketlami hung by shackles from the stone wall. His clothing had been cut away, leaving him no dignity, but Pug had judged it necessary as his dark body was tattooed with arcane symbols, black, white, red, and yellow, and some of these were wards.

He was a powerfully built man. To the three boys at the back of the room, he looked strong enough to rip the iron rings out of the wall. His head was completely shaved and glistened with perspiration. He had a wrestler’s neck and shoulders, and his bare torso rippled with muscle. His black eyes showed no hint of fear. He snarled as he confronted his captors.

Half a dozen guards had been stationed outside the door and Magnus stood watch inside against any magical incursion, either to rescue Ketlami or to silence him. Caleb and the boys stood against the opposite wall, out of the way. Two men entered the room.

It was Pug, followed by Nakor.

Magnus asked, ‘Where’s Bek?’

‘Outside, if I need him,’ said Nakor. ‘He doesn’t need to see this.’

Magnus’s glance at his brother communicated a silent question: but these boys do? Caleb nodded once. Magnus studied his brother’s face then returned a single nod. The boys had proven themselves so far, showing iron will when needed and a fearlessness that was the hallmark of youth, but which was being rapidly replaced by a more sober appreciation of the real dangers they faced, youthful bravado becoming genuine bravery before Magnus and Caleb’s eyes. But combat was one thing, and torture another.

No one spoke for a moment longer, then Ketlami shouted at Pug, ‘You may as well kill me now, magician! I’m oath bound to take the secrets of the Guild to Lims-Kragma’s Hall!’

Pug said nothing, but turned towards the door as two more men entered the small chamber. The boys moved to the left side of the rear wall, giving the newcomers room to make their way to where the prisoner waited.

One of the two men wore a black leather hood and a faded tunic covered in old stains. Tad glanced at his two companions and knew instantly they all concluded the nature of those stains. The torturer took up a position before the prisoner, while the second man came to stand beside Pug.

He was a nondescript man of middle height, with no distinguishing features and brown hair, and he wore the shirt and trousers of a trader or farmer. His feet were clad in modest leather boots. He stared at the prisoner, who suddenly turned and locked eyes with him. Ketlami’s eyes widened. After a moment, he closed his eyes and an expression of pain crossed his face. More perspiration beaded on his forehead and he let out an animal growl, half pain, half aggravation. ‘Get out of my head!’ he shouted, then with an expression of triumph, he laughed and said to the newcomer, ‘You’ll have to do better than that!’

Pug glanced at the other man with an unspoken question. The other man looked at Pug, nodded once, then looked once more at Ketlami.

Pug said, ‘Begin,’ and the torturer took a quick step forward and drove his fist straight into Ketlami’s stomach. He stepped back while the prisoner gasped, his eyes watering. After a moment, Ketlami sucked in a deep breath and said, ‘A beating? What next? Hot irons and pincers?’

The torturer struck Ketlami in the stomach again, but this time it was two quick blows, and suddenly the contents of the victim’s stomach emptied onto the floor.

Jommy’s expression was grim as he looked at his companions. All three boys had been trained in hand-to-hand combat and an early lesson had been about double strikes to the stomach. A strong man could take a single blow and not miss a stride, but two quick strikes, the second coming before his stomach muscles could recover fully from the first, and he was doubled over, losing his last meal.

Magnus, Caleb, Pug and Nakor stood implacably, watching as Ketlami spat. The first indignity was but a start in slowly breaking the man down and learning what they needed to know, the location of the Grand Master of the Nighthawks.

Everyone remained silent as the torturer struck Ketlami across the face with the back of his hand. It was an insulting blow as much as a damaging one, and did nothing more than bring tears to the prisoner’s eyes again and make him even more defiant. Caleb turned and whispered to the boys, ‘It will be some time before he truly begins to feel hopelessness. He is a strong man: moreover, he’s a fanatic.’

The three boys stood quietly, their grim expressions reflecting the proceedings they observed. The torturer was methodical and appeared to be in no hurry. He would strike the prisoner repeatedly, then pause, as if letting Ketlami catch his breath. He struck him in the face, the torso, the legs.

After nearly half an hour of this slow beating, Jomo Ketlami hung from his chains, unable to stand. He appeared to be on the verge of unconsciousness.

‘Revive him,’ said Pug.

The torturer nodded and moved to the far corner of the room where a table stood, upon which rested a variety of bags and instruments of his trade. He opened one of the bags and removed an item, a small vial. Stepping up to the limp form of Ketlami, he unstoppered the vial, holding it under the man’s face. Ketlami’s head jerked back and everyone heard his sharp intake of breath, followed by a faint groan.

‘Where hides your master?’ Pug demanded.

Ketlami raised his face to face Pug. Both his eyes were swollen nearly shut and his lip was split. He could barely speak for the swelling of his mouth, but he still retained a look of defiance. ‘You’ll never break me, magician. Kill me and get it over with.’

Pug glanced at the man standing next to him who shook his head slightly. ‘Continue,’ Pug said.

The torturer returned the vial to his bag and then came to stand before the prisoner. Ketlami glared at him. The man suddenly brought his knee up, brutally striking the Nighthawk in the groin. Ketlami collapsed completely, and hung for a moment from his chains, gasping for air.

And the beating continued.

Well into the second hour, Tad appeared to be on the verge of collapsing himself. With each repeated blow he would wince visibly. Caleb observed his adopted son’s behaviour, then motioned him to leave the room with him. With a wave of his hand, he instructed Jommy and Zane to stay.

Outside the door, in a long corridor with guards on either hand, Ralan Bek was hunkered down with his back against the wall. The strange and dangerous youth had been given over to Nakor’s supervision and seemed content with the situation.

‘Are you all right?’ Caleb asked Tad.

Tad took a long breath and let it out slowly. ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘I’ve seen a few fights, as you know, but this …’

‘It’s different,’ finished his step-father.

Tad took a deep breath. ‘I know what he is, but …’

Caleb looked Tad in the eyes. ‘It’s brutal. It’s evil, and it’s necessary. You know what he is: he would kill you without a thought; kill me, your mother, anyone, and then sleep the night like a baby after doing so. He is not worthy of your conscience.’

‘I know, it’s just that I feel as if …’

Caleb, in an uncharacteristic act, suddenly put his arms around Tad and hugged him close. ‘I know; believe me, I know.’ He released his step-son. ‘Something is lost by this, and it is something I doubt any of us can earn back.

‘But those who oppose us mean naught but ill for those we love and they must be stopped. Now, this is going to take a while longer. If we didn’t have the resources we do, it might take days. But this man will give up what we wish to know in another hour or two. If you wish, you may remain out here.’

Tad thought it over for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. Some day I may have to do this myself.’

Caleb nodded, knowing that both Jommy and Zane would have missed this aspect of the lesson. ‘Yes, more’s the pity.’

They returned to the room and found the torturer reviving Ketlami again. Caleb and Tad resumed their place alongside the others, and Zane whispered, ‘Surely he can’t last much longer?’

Caleb whispered in return, ‘You will discover that men are a great deal more resilient than you think if they believe strongly in their cause. This man is a depraved animal, but he thinks he serves a higher cause, and that makes him very difficult to break. Talk to Talwin Hawkins—’ as he remembered his own father’s stories of his years in a Tsurani labour camp, ‘—or your grandfather about what men can endure. You’ll be surprised, I wager.’

For almost another hour the punishment was meted out, then suddenly the torturer halted. He glanced at Pug, without a word, and the magician nodded. Pug then turned to the man next to him who made a noncommittal gesture.

Pug said, ‘Give him water,’ and the torturer complied, giving the prisoner a long drink from a copper cup. The drink seemed to restore Ketlami a little and he spat in the torturer’s face. The implacable man in the black hood merely wiped away the spittle and looked at Pug for instructions.

Pug asked again, ‘Where is your Grand Master?’

‘I’ll never tell you,’ said Ketlami.

The man next to Pug reached over and gripped his forearm. ‘I have it,’ he said in a low voice.

‘You’re certain?’ asked Nakor.

‘I am certain,’ replied the man.

Pug took a deep breath, then looked at Ketlami, whose distorted features couldn’t hide the malevolence of his expression. Pug said quietly, ‘Finish.’

With a quick, unhesitating motion, the torturer drew a sharp blade from his belt and made a single downward cut, sliced through an artery which fountained blood into the air. Ketlami’s eyes widened in shock for a brief instant. ‘What—’

Then his mouth filled with blood and his head fell forward.

Nakor turned to the three boys. ‘Sever the blood-flow to the head and he loses consciousness before he even understands he’s been cut. It looks like butchery, but it’s kinder than any other cut I know of.’

Jommy whispered, ‘Kind or not, dead is dead.’

Pug motioned for everyone to depart as the torturer began to take Ketlami’s body down.

Seeing everyone leaving the room, Bek stood up and said to Nakor, ‘Can we go now? I’m bored.’

Nakor nodded. ‘We will have some bloody work to do soon enough.’ He turned to Pug. ‘We will meet you upstairs,’ he said, leading Bek away.

The room where the torture had taken place was in the cellar of one of Chezarul’s warehouses on the edge of the City of Kesh. The now dead Nighthawk had been transported there by Magnus against the threat of any agents lingering in Durbin. They were nearly certain the Conclave had destroyed the Nighthawks in Great Kesh, but nearly certain wasn’t absolutely certain.

Pug turned to the man who had stood next to him and said, ‘Where?’

‘Cavell Keep.’

Pug’s expression turned thoughtful, as if he was trying to recall something. ‘I remember,’ he said, finally. ‘Thank you,’ he told the man, and motioned for him, and the guards, to depart. After a moment only Magnus, Caleb and the boys remained in the hallway.

‘Who was that man, Father?’ asked Caleb.

‘Joval Delan. Though he is not one of our community, he is someone who owes the Conclave a favour or two. He’s the best human mind-reader I’ve ever encountered, but rather than use his ability for a cause, he hides it except when he exploits it for profit.’ He glanced at the back of the retreating man. ‘A shame. He could teach us much. He knew Ketlami would have strong wards to prevent his mind being read, but that eventually he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about what he wished to hide.’ Glancing at the three boys, he added, ‘That was the reason for the beating. Remember the child’s game where you say, “Don’t think of the dragon in the corner?”

‘You can force yourself not to think of something for a great deal of time if you have the training, and the physical and mental resources, but if you’re beaten down enough, what you are trying to hide does eventually come to the surface of the mind.’ To his son he said, ‘Which is why we now know the Grand Master of the Nighthawks hides at Cavell Keep.’

‘Cavell Keep?’ asked Caleb. ‘I know Cavell Town, north of Lyton, but a keep?’

‘Abandoned,’ said Pug. ‘High in the hills above the highway. From the distance it blends into the rocks; you’ll only notice it from the road or river if you’re looking for it. It’s up a draw from the town. You have to want to find it.

‘The last Baron Corvallis refused to live in it … it’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it some other time, but what I know is that the ancient keep used to guard a fair portion of the trade route between Lyton and Sloop. Baron Corvallis’s daughter married a man from Lyton, a commoner I believe, and the King let that title fall vacant. The Earl of Sloop was given that area to rule, despite it being closer to Lyton.

‘In any event, the old keep was linked to Nighthawk activity nearly a century ago, and it was one of my students, Owyn Belfote, and Prince Arutha’s man James who ended that particular threat to the region.’

Pug tapped his chin with his forefinger and considered for a moment. ‘They must have decided enough time has passed for them to utilize the place again, and it’s a smart choice: no one goes there, even the villagers, because of superstition, and it’s an inconvenient place to visit by any measure. As long as people think it’s deserted, why bother?’

Caleb said, ‘Shall we go to Lyton?’

‘No,’ said Pug. ‘I’m going to give this to Nakor. He’s close to Duke Eric and the Kingdom should handle this final confrontation.’ He looked at Magnus. ‘I’m sending you along with Nakor, though, just to make sure Eric has enough protection against any magic the Nighthawks might still muster, and you know I’m only moments away if you have need of me. I’ll ask your mother to visit the Assembly and see what progress is being made with the Talnoy.’

Magnus nodded, smiling wryly. ‘We know how much the Great Ones of the Empire enjoy that.’

Pug smiled, the first time he hadn’t looked grim in days. There was some amusement in his tone as he said, ‘They still have trouble with women magicians in general, but your mother … I’ll tell her to mind her manners.’

Magnus’s smile broadened. ‘And Mother began doing what you tell her to … when?’ Pug’s wince showed that his son’s barb had hit home. ‘Shall I tell Nakor to make ready?’

‘Nakor is always ready to travel; it’s a legacy of his gambling days. Meet me upstairs in a few minutes. I want a word with Caleb and the lads.’

Magnus departed and Pug turned to the boys. ‘That was bloody work,’ he said.

Jommy glanced at Tad and Zane. ‘It was, but he deserved it.’

Pug put his hand on Jommy’s shoulder. While not properly an adopted grandson like Tad and Zane, Pug had grown fond of the brash red-head and treated him as he did the others. ‘No man deserves such treatment, Jommy.’ He glanced at Zane then Tad then returned his gaze to Jommy. ‘Some men deserve death for what they’ve done, but causing suffering, that harms you rather than the man you make suffer.’ He looked from face to face. ‘What makes us better than those we oppose is that we know when we are doing evil. And it should sicken us. Even if we justify it by saying we serve a larger good, or that it’s necessary.’ Glancing at the door where the torturer was getting Ketlami’s body ready for disposal, he added, ‘It’s the price we pay and while it’s necessary, it does diminish us.’ He looked at each boy in turn. ‘Your only solace is knowing that if you were not part of this, those you love would be at that much more risk.’

He turned to Caleb. ‘I’m thinking you and Marie have not had much time alone since you’ve been wed.’

Caleb smiled ruefully. ‘A fact she has reminded me of from time to time, although she hardly complains, Father.’

‘Things are under control for a while. I’ve got Kaspar down in Novindus with Rosenvar and Jacob, and Nakor and Magnus are going to the Kingdom to deal with the Nighthawks. Right now, we don’t need you.’

Caleb fixed his father with a questioning expression and said, ‘And …?’

‘Why don’t you return home and have your mother give you the orb we use when we travel to our own little retreat? It’s not much – an island in the Sunsets – but there’s a small hut, well provisioned, and you can be alone for a few days.’

‘Sounds lovely. What about these three?’

Pug smiled. ‘Send them along to Talwin. They can guest at the River House, earn their keep for a week or two, and improve their swordsmanship.’

Zane grinned. ‘The River House!’

Jommy patted his friend hard on the stomach. ‘I thought you were going to lose that?’ The River House was the finest restaurant and inn in Opardum, and arguably the finest dining establishment in the world. Zane had developed an appetite for fine food since his mother had married Caleb and he had had the opportunity to sample better fare than he had known as a child.

‘I’ll work extra hard, trust me,’ answered the stocky young man.

‘Well, I’m sure Talwin and his wife will find ample work for you.’

‘What of you, Father?’ asked Caleb.

‘I have a journey I must make, a short one, but one long overdue. Tell your mother I’ll be home in another day or so, but not to wait for me; she should go to Kelewan and see what the Assembly is doing with the Talnoy.’

They embraced, and Pug waved goodbye to the four of them, and vanished.

Jommy shook his head and sucked in his breath. ‘Crikey, I’ll never get used to seeing people just vanish like that!’

Caleb laughed. ‘You’ll get used to a lot of things before you’re done, my lad.’ He pulled an orb out of his tunic and said, ‘We’re off home: then you three are going to Olasko!’

Glancing at the door into the torture room, Tad said, ‘I’m glad we’re done with this part of it, that’s for certain.’

Without another word, each put a hand on the next man’s shoulder, while Caleb activated the orb, and they vanished as well.

A vast presence was veiled in darkness, its form barely recognizable in the faint light emanating from a single lantern set within a sconce on the opposite wall.

A voice spoke without sound: Welcome, Pug of Crydee.

Pug smiled as he said aloud. ‘I haven’t been called that in years, m’lady.’ He knew the presence required no honorific, and that the one he chose was barely appropriate, yet he felt the need to convey respect.

‘As you wish, magician,’ said the deep voice. ‘Do you wish more light?’

‘That would be agreeable,’ Pug replied.

Suddenly the room was ablaze in light, as if the sun shone through glass walls. Pug glanced around, for he had not visited this chamber in years. It was a cavern, deep beneath the city of Sethanon, where Tomas had bested a conjuration of the Dragon Lord Drakin-Korin, and Pug and others had battled to seal a rift that threatened to destroy all of the Kingdom, if not the world of Midkemia.

The being before him was the body of the great dragon, Ryath, but the mind housed in it was that of an ancient being: the Oracle of Aal. In that epic struggle, the dragon had given everything in defeating a Lord of the Dread, and it had taken magic of unmatched power and skill to keep a spark of life in the body after the mind and spirit had fled, so that the Oracle could find a living host. The dragon’s natural scales had been obliterated and a makeshift solution had turned the creature into a being of unsurpassed magnificence. The great Dragon Lords’ treasure secreted below the city ages before had provided gems used to repair the damaged scales, forming a creature unmatched in majesty and power in this world, a great jewelled dragon. Light danced off the facets of thousands of stones and the creature seemed to glitter as if moving, even when she rested, motionlessly.

‘The cycle of renewal has ended well?’ asked Pug.

‘Yes,’ answered the Oracle. ‘The cycle of years has passed and again I possess all my knowledge.’ She sent out a mental call, and a dozen white-robed men entered the room. ‘These are my companions.’

Pug nodded. These men had come to understand the nature of the great dragon of Sethanon, and had volunteered to give up their freedom in exchange for a lifespan many times normal, and the honour of serving a greater good.

For the Oracle was more than a simple seer. She possessed the ability to see many possible outcomes that might result from a given choice, as well as alert those she trusted to the approach of grave danger. And she trusted no one in this world as much as she did Pug. Without his intervention, the last of the race of Aal – perhaps the eldest race in the universe – would have perished a century before. Pug inclined his head in greeting to the Oracle’s companions and they returned the honour.

‘Do you know why I’m here?’ asked Pug.

‘A grave threat approaches, faster than you think, but …’

‘What?’ asked Pug.

‘It is not what you think it to be.’

‘The Dasati?’

‘They are involved, and are the primary cause at this point, but there is a much larger danger behind them.’

‘The Nameless?’

‘More.’

Pug was stunned. From his perspective, there could be nothing ‘more’ in the universe than the Greater Gods. He gathered his wits. ‘How can there be a greater threat than the Nameless?’

‘I can only tell you this, Pug of Crydee: across the expanse of time and space the battle between good and evil transcends all else.

‘What you perceive is but the smallest part of this struggle. It is ageless, begun before the first of the Aal rose from the mud of our homeworld, and it will endure until the last star is extinguished. It is part of the very fabric of reality, and all creatures struggle within that conflict, even if they are unaware of it.

‘Some beings live their entire lives in peace and security, while others struggle without let. Some worlds are virtual paradises while others are ceaseless wretchedness. Each in its own fashion is part of a much larger balance, and as such, each a vital battle ground in this struggle. Many worlds are in balance.’ The Oracle paused for a moment, then said, ‘Some worlds are teetering on the brink.’

‘Midkemia?’

The great dragon head nodded. ‘Your lifetime is long compared to other mortals, but in this struggle, what will come to this world occurs within the blink of a god’s eye.

‘Midkemia has been too long without the influence of the Goddess of Good. What you and your Conclave have begun has blunted the Nameless One’s efforts for a century and more.

‘But he lies sleeping, and his minions are but dreams and memories, powerful by your measure, but nothing compared to what would be faced should he awaken.’

‘Is he waking?’

‘No, but his dreams are more fevered, and his cause is embraced by another, a being even more powerful and deadly.’

Pug was stunned. He could not imagine any being more powerful and deadly than the God of Evil. ‘What sort of being could possibly …’ He could not finish the question.

‘The Dark God of the Dasati,’ said the Oracle.

Pug materialized in his study. He took one quick glance around the room to see if he was alone, for his wife often curled up in the corner to read in peace when he was absent. He was shaken by what the Oracle had told him. He had thought himself a man of experience, one who had faced calamitous events and survived, one who had seen countless horrors and endured, one who had confronted Death in her very hall and returned to the realm of life. But this was beyond any ability he had to comprehend, and he felt overwhelmed. More than anything at this moment he wished to go somewhere quiet and sleep for a week. Yet he knew such feelings were only the result of the shock he experienced, and would soon pass once he began grappling with the problems at hand. Ah, but there was the rub, as the old expression ran: where to begin? With a problem as immense as the one now confronting the Conclave, he felt like a baby asked to move a vast mountain with his tiny hands.

He went to a cabinet in the corner and opened it. Inside were several bottles, one containing a strong drink Caleb had brought to him the year before. Kennoch whisky: Pug had developed a fondness for it. He also had a set of crystal cups given to him by the Emperor of Kesh recently, and he poured a small dram of the drink.

Sipping the pungent, yet flavourful and satisfying drink, he felt its warmth spread through his mouth and down his throat. He closed the cabinet and moved across to a large wooden box sitting upon a bookcase. It was simple in design, yet beautifully carved, acacia wood, dove-tail and glue, without a single nail of brass or iron. He set aside his drink and lifted the top, putting it aside, and looked into the box, wherein rested a single piece of parchment.

He sighed: he had expected to find it there.

The box had appeared one morning, years before, on his desk in his study in Stardock. It had been warded, but what had surprised him wasn’t that it had been warded, but that it had been warded in a fashion he quickly recognized. It was as if he, himself, had warded the box. Expecting a trap, he had transported himself and the box a great distance away from the Island of Stardock and had erected protective spells around himself; then he had opened the box, easily. Three notes had been contained within.

The first had said, ‘That was a lot of work for nothing, wasn’t it?’

The second had said, ‘When James departs, instruct him to say this to a man he should meet: “there is no magic”.’

The last had said, ‘Above all else, never lose this box.’

The handwriting had been his own.

For years Pug had kept the secret of this box, a device that allowed him to send notes to himself from the future. Occasionally he pondered the device, studying it at leisure, for he knew eventually he must unravel its secret. There could be no other explanation than that he was sending himself messages.

Eight times in the intervening years he had opened the box to discover a new message inside. He didn’t know how he knew, but when a message arrived he sensed it was time to open the box once more.

One message had said, ‘Trust Miranda.’ It had arrived before he had met his wife, and when he first encountered her, he realized why he had sent the message. She was dangerous, powerful and wilful, and at the time, an unknown.

Yet even now he still didn’t completely trust her. He trusted her love for him and their sons; and her commitment to their cause, as well. But she often had her own agenda, ignoring his leadership and taking matters into her own hands. For years she had agents working for her in addition to those working for the Conclave. She and Pug had endured several heated arguments over the years, and several times she had agreed to keep her efforts confined within the agreed upon goals and stratagems of the Conclave, yet she always managed to do as she pleased.

He hesitated. Whatever was in that parchment was something he needed to know, yet something he dreaded knowing. Nakor had been the first person he had told of the messages – just in the last year – though the box was still known only to Pug. Miranda thought it merely a decorative item.

As he began to unroll the parchment Pug wondered, and not for the first time, if these messages were to ensure that a certain thing happened, or to keep something terrible from happening. Perhaps there was no distinction between the two.

He looked at the parchment. Two lines of script in his own handwriting greeted him. The first said, ‘Take Nakor, Magnus, and Bek, no others’. The second said, ‘Go to Kosridi, then Omadrabar’.

Pug closed the box and sat down behind his desk. He read the note several times, as if somehow he might discern a deeper meaning behind those two simple lines. Then he leaned back, sipping at his drink. Kosridi he recognized as the name of the world shown in a vision to Kaspar of Olasko by the god, Ban-ath; it was one of the worlds upon which resided the Dasati. Where lay Omadrabar, he had not even an inkling. But he knew one thing: somehow he had to find a way into the second realm of existence – to the plane of reality to which no one from this reality, to the best of his knowledge, had ever ventured. From there, somehow, he and his companions must make their way to the Dasati world of Kosridi, and from there to this Omadrabar. And if he was certain of nothing else, he was certain that this Omadrabar would be the most dangerous place he had ever visited.