Читать книгу Rage of a Demon King - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 13

Tomas sat motionless.

King Redtree, Aron Earanorn in the elves’ language, spoke. ‘In the years since we abandoned the Northlands to return, we have attempted to understand our cousins.’ The leader of the glamredhel, the ‘mad’ elves, those left to fend for themselves in the Northlands beyond the Kingdom ages ago, fixed Queen Aglaranna with a steady stare. ‘We bow to you as ruler, here, lady’ – he made an all-encompassing gesture with his right hand – ‘in Elvandar. But we do not accept any suggestion that you rule us, absolutely.’

Tomas glanced at his wife. The ruler of the Elves of Elvandar turned her softest smile on the warrior who had ruled over his followers for almost as many years as she had reigned in the elven glades. ‘Earanorn, no one here is suggesting anything,’ she countered. ‘Those who chose to come to Elvandar, by the call of ancient blood or as guests, are free to leave at any time. Only those who chose to remain here of their own accord are subject to our rule.’

The former King tapped his chin. ‘That’s the rub, isn’t it?’ He looked at the assembled elves in the Queen’s Council: Tathar, her senior adviser; Tomas, the half-human Warleader and prince consort; Acaila, leader of the eldar who had remained on the world of Kelewan until the human magician Pug had found them; and others, including Pug and his current companion, Miranda. After a long silence, the old king asked, ‘Where would we go? Back to the Northlands and our less generous cousins?’

Tomas glanced at Pug, his boyhood companion, foster brother, and ally in the Riftwar, and his eyes revealed that he, too, knew the answer: there was nowhere else for these ‘wild’ elves to go.

Tomas turned his attention to Acaila, whose knowledge and power never failed to astonish Pug, and raised a finger so slightly the human magician barely noticed it. Acaila inclined his head but a fraction of an inch, yet the Queen returned the barely perceptible nod.

‘Why leave at all?’ asked the leader of the Eldar, those ancient elves who were closest to the Dragon Lords, and who kept their lore and knowledge. ‘You have found your lost kindred after centuries of isolation and no one seeks to return you to slavery, yet you seem ill at ease. May one ask why?’

Redtree let out a long sigh. ‘I’m an old man.’ At this, Tathar, Acaila, and some others laughed, without malice but with genuine amusement. ‘Very well, so I’m merely three hundred seventy years of age, while some here are twice that, but the truth is the Edder Forest of the Northlands is a harsh place, rife with enemies and scant of food. You have little sense of that here, in the midst of Elvandar’s bounty.’ He hugged himself slightly as if memory of the Edder was chilling. ‘We numbered no spell weavers and the healing magic of Elvandar did not exist. Here a mild wound heals with rest and food; there festering can take a warrior as surely as an enemy’s arrow.’ He held out his hand in a balled fist, anger coloring his words. ‘I have buried my wife and my sons. By my people’s experience, I am a very old man.’

To Pug, Miranda whispered, ‘And a long-winded one, too.’ She stifled a yawn. Pug tried not to smile on the heels of the old king’s emotional words, but he, like Miranda and the others, had heard the tale of Redtree’s battles and losses many times in the months they had lived with the elves.

Calin, Aglaranna’s older son and heir to her throne, spoke. ‘I think over the last thirty years we have demonstrated our goodwill, King Redtree. We mourn your losses’ – others of the council nodded agreement – ‘yet here rests your people’s best chance to thrive, returned to the heart of our race.

‘During the Riftwar and the Great Uprising, we lost many who now rest in the Blessed Isles, yet we have gained, by your having found your way here. In the end, all of elvenkind are profited.’

Redtree nodded. ‘I have considered my people’s choices.’ He seemed to let go of something, a hint of pride. ‘I have no sons.’ Looking at Calin, he said, ‘I need an heir.’

A young warrior of the glamredhel stepped to his King’s side, handing over a bundle wrapped in leather and tied in thongs. ‘This is the mark of my rank,’ said Redtree, untying the bundle. As much as elves could display surprise, the assembled council was surprised. Inside the skins was a belt of marvelous beauty: silken threads that Pug judged were something more alien than silk held gems of stunning brilliance in a pattern both lovely and compelling. ‘Asle-thnath!’ proclaimed Redtree.

Pug studied the belt, shifting his perceptions. To Miranda he whispered, ‘This is a thing of power.’

‘Really?’ she asked dryly.

Pug glanced at her and saw her smile, as she tried to keep from laughing at him outright, and again he was visited by the certainty that her power and knowledge were more than she revealed.

Acaila stepped down from the circling benches and came to stand before Redtree. ‘May I?’ he asked.

Redtree handed him the belt.

He examined it and then turned to Tathar. ‘This is a great and wonderful magic. Did you not know it was here?’

Tathar, senior among the Queen’s Spellweavers, shook his head. With a hint of irritation, he said, ‘Did you?’

Acaila laughed, as he had often laughed when teaching Pug for the year the magician had lived with the eldar, in Elvardein, Elvandar’s twin forest, magically hidden under the ice-cap on the world of Kelewan. There was no mockery in that laugh, ever, but with a hint of irony, Acaila said, ‘There is that.’ He turned back toward Redtree and the ruler of the glamredhel nodded slightly. Acaila turned as Tathar stepped down from his place in the Queen’s circle. Even though Acaila was the undoubted leader in age and experience among the Queen’s advisers, he was a newcomer, and Tathar was Aglaranna’s seniormost adviser.

As Tathar took the belt and turned to present it to Calin, Redtree spoke. ‘The belt is worn in high council and is passed from the King to his son. As he who was my father gave the belt to me to mark my position as heir, so I give this to you, Prince Calin.’

The Elven Prince bowed his head as Acaila handed him the belt. He took it and touched his forehead to it, and said, ‘Your nobility is unquestioned. I accept your generosity with humility.’

Then Aglaranna rose and said, ‘Again our people are one.’ To Redtree she said, ‘You are truly Aron Earanorn.’ She bowed her head to him. An elf appeared behind him with a new robe, and at the Queen’s bidding, he placed it over the armor and furs Redtree wore in the fashion of his people. ‘You would honor our council by accepting a place in it.’

The old King said, ‘The honor is mine.’

Acaila put out his hand and led Redtree to a place between Tathar and himself.

Pug smiled and winked at Miranda. By placing the glamredhel above himself in council, yet behind Tathar, the wise leader of the Eldar avoided years of possible resentment by the glamredhel. Redtree would stand second only to Tathar in council.

Miranda motioned with her head for Pug to move away from the council and when they were safely away from the discussion, she said, ‘How long is this going to continue?’

Pug shrugged. ‘Redtree’s people first came here about thirty years ago, twenty years or so after Galain and Arutha ran into him after the fall of Armengar.’

‘They’ve been arguing who’s in charge for thirty years?’ asked Miranda, her face showing disbelief.

‘Discussing,’ said Tomas, appearing behind them. ‘Come with me.’

Tomas led Pug and Miranda to a private area, screened from the Queen’s court by cleverly arrayed branches. On the other side, he could look out over the tree city of Elvandar.

Pug asked, ‘Do you ever get used to it?’ He studied his friend, again finding the echoes of his foster brother in the alien etched features of the tall warrior.

Even in his ceremonial robes, Tomas radiated strength and power. His pale blue eyes, nearly colorless, gazed across the vista of Elvandar as he said, ‘Yes, but its beauty never fails to move me.’

Miranda said, ‘No one who’s alive could not feel something.’

It was evening and Elvandar was ablaze with a hundred cooking fires, some on the ground below, others on platforms erected in the branches of the trees. Throughout the community, glowing lanterns had been ignited, but rather than the harsh yellow flame of a city lamp, these glowed with a softer, blue-white light: elven globes, part natural, part magic, and unique to this place. But the trees themselves also were alight, branches illuminated with a soft glow, a faint bluish or greenish haze, as if the leaves were phosphorescent.

Tomas turned, the golden trimmed red robe flaring slightly, and said, ‘Is it time for me to don my armor, old friend?’

‘Soon, I fear,’ said Pug.

Almost wistfully Tomas said, ‘When we were victorious at Sethanon, I hoped we were done with this business.’

Pug nodded. ‘Hoped. But we knew sooner or later the Pantathians would come again for the Lifestone.’ Pug’s forehead furrowed, as if he was about to say something additional, but he halted himself. ‘So long as your sword rests within the stone, and so long as the Valheru are not finally vanquished, we did but buy time.’

Tomas did not reply, but he continued to stare out over the railing at the splendor of Elvandar. ‘I know,’ he said at last. ‘There will come a time when I must retrieve that sword and finish what we started that day.’ He had listened with keen interest when Miranda had recounted what she and his son had discovered on their last voyage to the southern continent. Tathar, Acaila, and the other Spellweavers had questioned her repeatedly over the months since she had come, ferreting out details she had forgotten. While Miranda’s patience had been worn thin on many occasions, the long-lived elves took the interminable investigation as a matter of course.

The sounds of voices announced that Aglaranna and her advisers were coming to join her husband in their private quarters. The Queen, followed by Tathar, Acaila, Redtree, and Calin, entered.

Miranda and Pug bowed their heads, but the Queen said, ‘Court is over, my friends. We are here to discuss important issues in an informal fashion.’

Miranda said, ‘Thank the gods.’

Redtree scowled. ‘My familiarity with your race is limited,’ – he glanced at Acaila, who mouthed a word – ‘milady.’ He pronounced the word as something alien. ‘But this rushing to action I’ve observed in humans … it’s incomprehensible!’

‘Rushing!’ said Miranda, allowing her astonishment to show openly.

Pug said, ‘We have been dealing with the Pantathians for fifty years, Redtree.’

The old elf took an offered goblet of wine and said, ‘Well, you should have come up with some sense of the enemy, then.’

Suddenly Pug realized that the old elf had his own sense of humor. It was different from Acaila’s, while just as dry: it had a mocking edge. Pug grinned. ‘You remind me of Martin Longbow.’

Redtree smiled and years dropped from his face. ‘Now, there’s a human I like.’

‘Where is Martin?’ asked Tomas.

‘Here,’ came a voice as the old former Duke of Crydee climbed into view, mounting a flight of steps from below. ‘I don’t move quite as spryly as I once did.’

‘You’re still a fair hand with a bow, Martin,’ said Redtree. Then he added, ‘For a human.’

Martin was the oldest living human Redtree might call a friend. Nearly ninety years of age, Martin looked a man in his late sixties or early seventies. His powerful shoulders and chest were still broad, though his arms and legs were thinner than Pug remembered. His skin looked like old leather, sun-dried and wrinkled, and his hair was now completely white. But his eyes were still alert, and Pug realized that Martin, over the months he had stayed in Elvandar, continued to have his wits about him. There was no hint of the doddering in this old man. While not quite rejuvenating him, the magic of Elvandar kept him vigorous.

Nodding at Miranda, Martin smiled. ‘I’ve known the edhel,’ he said, using the elves’ own term for their people, ‘since I was a baby, and their humor is often lost on humans.’

Miranda said, ‘As is their sense of haste.’ She looked at Pug. ‘For months now, close to a year or more, you’ve been saying that we must be about this or that – mostly, “We must find Macros the Black” – yet I find us spending a great deal of time sitting around doing little.’

Pug’s eyes narrowed briefly. He knew Miranda was far older than she looked, perhaps even older than his own seventy-odd years, but often she displayed what he could only call an impatience that surprised him. He seemed about to say one thing, then another. At last he said, ‘Macros’s legacy to me included many things – his library, his commentaries, and, to some extent, his powers – but nothing could replace his experience. If anyone can help us unlock the mystery of what is behind all we face, it is he.’ Pug stood before Miranda and looked into her eyes. ‘I can not help but feel that far behind all we have seen lurks another mystery, one far more profound and dangerous than what we yet know.’ Then his tone lightened slightly as in a mock-chiding voice, he added, ‘And I would expect you, as much as anyone, to realize that often when one is motionless, the most thought is being applied to the problems at hand.’

Miranda said, ‘I know, but I feel like a horse too long held under rein; I feel the need to be doing something!’

Pug turned to Tomas. ‘There we have the problem, don’t we?’

Tomas nodded, glancing at the oldest, wisest minds in the Council of Elvandar. ‘What is to be done?’ he asked.

Pug said, ‘Once you found Macros by leading me into the Halls of the Dead. Would it be useful to return there?’

Tomas shook his head. ‘I don’t think so; do you?’

Pug shrugged. ‘Not really. I’m not even sure what I would say should we again face Lims-Kragma. I know more now than I did then, but of the nature of the gods and those other agents who serve them I still feel ignorant. In any event, I’m grasping at straws.’ He was silent a moment, frustration clearly evident on his features. Then he said, ‘No, the realm of the dead would be a waste of time.’

Acaila said, ‘Those beings are not meant for easy apprehension by those who live mortal spans. But indulge me one question, Pug: why would it be a waste of time to seek this person in the Halls of the Dead?’

Pug said, ‘I really don’t know. A feeling, nothing more. I’m certain Macros is alive.’ He then described how when they had last sought the Black Sorcerer, Gathis – then Macros’s and now Pug’s majordomo at Sorcerer’s Island – had indicated that there was a bond between them, and should Macros be dead Gathis would somehow know it. Pug finished by saying, ‘Several times over the last few years I’ve had this sense that Macros was not only still alive but …’

Miranda now looked thoroughly irritated. ‘What?’

Pug shrugged. ‘That he was somehow close by.’

Under her breath she let out a sound of aggravation. ‘That wouldn’t surprise me.’

Martin smiled with wry amusement and asked, ‘Why?’

Miranda glanced out over the lights of Elvandar and said, ‘Because my experience is that most of these “legendary” individuals turn out to be no more than a well-constructed sham, designed to convince us all of their importance, rather than any real indication of their true significance.’

Aglaranna sipped her wine and sat next to Tomas on a long bench by the railing. ‘You sound more than irritated in a general way, Miranda.’

Miranda dropped her gaze a moment; when she raised it to look at the Elf Queen, she was composed. ‘Forgive my petulance, lady. We of Kesh often struggle with issues of appearance, rank, and court standing that have nothing to do with worth or value in any real sense. Many rise high by dint of birth while others far more worthy never achieve any significance, their lives spent in trivial work. Yet those “great” nobles have no sense they achieved high rank by a simple accident of birth.’ She made a sour expression. ‘They think the fact their mothers were who they were ample proof of the gods’ favor. Given my … history, I have had to deal with more than my share of such men. I have … little patience, I fear, for such as they.’

‘Well,’ said Tomas, ‘Macros did construct his own legend to protect his privacy, I’ll grant, but as one who stood beside him more than once I can attest his legend is nothing but a shadow of his real power. He faced a dozen Tsurani Great Ones in this very forest, and while the magic of our Spellweavers aided our struggle, against the alien magicians he alone strove, and he destroyed their works and sent them fleeing to their own world. He is alone among men I would dread opposing. His power is nothing short of astonishing.’

Pug nodded. ‘Which is why we need to find him.’

‘Where do we start?’ asked Miranda calmly. ‘The Hall?’

Pug said, ‘I don’t think so. There are too many people willing to sell information who live in the Hall of Worlds.’ Dryly he added, ‘And not all of it is accurate.’ He sat across from the Elf Queen, and said, ‘I thought we might journey to the City Forever and question the Dreadmaster we imprisoned there.’

Tomas shrugged. ‘I doubt he would know much more than we already discovered. He was but a tool.’

Acaila said, ‘Have you considered this sorcerer might be here on Midkemia?’

Martin said, ‘Why?’

The eldar said, ‘Pug’s “feeling.” It is something I would not dismiss or set aside lightly. Often such feelings are our own minds informing us of something we haven’t apprehended consciously.’

‘True,’ said Redtree, taking a bite from a large red apple. ‘In the wilds one’s instincts must serve, else a hunter doesn’t return with food for his family, or a warrior is left behind on the field of battle.’ Looking at Pug, he said, ‘Where did you feel this Macros’s presence the most?’

‘Oddly enough,’ said Pug, ‘at Stardock.’

‘You didn’t say anything,’ offered Miranda, her voice almost accusing.

Pug smiled. ‘I was often distracted.’

Miranda had the grace to blush. ‘You could have said something at one time or another.’

Pug shrugged. ‘I dismissed it as stemming from the fact that most of his powerful tomes and scrolls are housed in my tower. I often feel as if he’s looking over my shoulder when I read them.’

Tathar said, ‘There is also this matter of that artifact retrieved from the southern continent.’

Aglaranna spoke. ‘The Spellweavers feel there is something alien about it.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Tomas, ‘and it is more than the Pantathian presence. There is something about this that is alien even to the Valheru.’

Martin said, ‘There is something I don’t understand.’

‘What, old friend?’ asked Calin.

‘In all of this, since the first Tsurani ship was wrecked on Crydee shores, to the fall of Sethanon, no one has asked one important question.’

‘Which is?’ asked Acaila.

‘Why have all these plots, all these plans, involved such chaos and destruction?’

Tomas said, ‘It is the nature of the Valheru.’

Martin said, ‘But we haven’t faced the Dragon Lords; we’ve faced only their agents, the Pantathians, as well as those who’ve served or were duped by them.’

Pug tried to dismiss Martin’s observation. ‘I think we’ve seen ample proof of the nature of the Pantathians.’

Martin said, ‘You mistake my meaning. What I’m saying is that in all of this, much is without apparent motive. We’ve assumed things, over the years, about why and how the Pantathians were acting in the fashion they have, but we don’t know why they’re behaving the way they are.’

Pug said, ‘I must be guilty of some oversight. I still don’t see your meaning.’

Miranda said, ‘Because you’re not paying attention.’ She stepped past Pug to stand before Martin. ‘You’ve got an idea.’ It wasn’t a question.

The old bowman nodded. Turning to Tathar, Acaila and Redtree, he said, ‘Feel free to correct anything I say that isn’t as it should be.’ To Pug and Tomas he said, ‘You have powers I cannot begin to imagine, but I have spent most of my life here, in the West, and I know the lore of the edhel as well as most men, I wager.’

‘Better than any human living,’ offered Tathar.

‘In the lore of the eledhel,’ said Martin, ‘some things are said about the Ancient Ones.’ He faced the Queen. ‘Most Gracious Lady, why is that usage preferred?’

The Queen considered the question a moment, then said, ‘Tradition. It was once believed that to use the name of the Valheru would be to call their attention.’

Miranda said, ‘A superstition?’

Martin looked to Tomas. ‘A superstition?’ he repeated.

Tomas said, ‘Much of the memories given to me of the ancient times is clouded, and even those that are well remembered are the memories of another being. We share much, but much is also unknown to me. The power was once given to the eldar to call us by speaking our names aloud. That may be where this belief originated.’

Martin, better than anyone except Pug, fully understood the strange duality of Tomas. He had known this half-alien man when Tomas and Pug had been boys at Castle Crydee, and had watched as the mystic armor of the long-dead Dragon Lord Ashen-Shugar had transformed Tomas into the strange being he was today, neither fully man nor Dragon Lord but something of both.

Tomas looked at the eldar and said, ‘Acaila?’

The old elf nodded. ‘The legends say such. We who were first among the slaves of the Valheru were able to contact them. This may have given rise to the practice of never speaking their names aloud.’

Miranda said, ‘What, then, is your point?’

Martin shrugged. ‘I’m not even sure I have one, but it seems to me that we’re making many assumptions here, and if any one of them is incorrect, we risk all by building our plans upon such mistaken beliefs.’ He stared into Miranda’s eyes. ‘You returned from the land on the other side of the world with artifacts, apparently made by the Ancient Ones, yet Pug and Calis both say they are “tainted,” not what they seem to be.’

Acaila again nodded. ‘They are not pure. We know enough of our former masters to recognize another hand has touched these items.’

‘Yet they sing to you?’ offered Pug.

‘Yes, they are much of the Valheru,’ offered Aglaranna.

Martin said, ‘So, then, whose is that other hand?’

‘The third player,’ said Pug. Looking at Miranda, he said, ‘The demon – I assume that’s who he meant.’

Martin nodded. ‘I think so, as well. What if the Pantathians are not tools of the Ancient Ones, but rather are tools of these demons?’

Tomas said, ‘That would explain a few things.’

‘Such as?’ asked Redtree, taking a sip of wine.

Pug said, ‘The Dread, for one.’

Acaila asked, ‘What of them?’

Tomas said, ‘They are an unlikely ally for my brethren.’ He used the term brethren for the Valheru when he was caught up in thinking as one.

‘And an even less likely tool,’ supplied Acaila. ‘What lore has passed down through the generations of the eldar always shows the Dread to be rivals to the Valheru on the occasions when they crossed paths.’

‘Yet,’ said Pug, ‘we didn’t consider the oddity at the time.’

With a faint smile, Tomas said, ‘We were a bit preoccupied.’

Pug’s brow furrowed and his expression was a question.

‘The Riftwar?’ Tomas added, with a laugh.

Pug returned the laugh. ‘I know what you mean, but what I mean is, why didn’t you think of this before?’

It was Tomas’s turn to look perplexed. ‘I don’t know. I just assumed the presence of the Dreadmaster in the City Forever and the Dreadlord at Sethanon were part of the Valheru attempt to distract us. I assumed somehow the Pantathians made contact with those creatures –’

Acaila interrupted. ‘You have memories and some knowledge, and great power, Tomas, but you lack experience. You are less than a century of age, yet you wear powers not gained in five times that span.’ He looked around the gathering. ‘We are as children when we speak of beings like the Valheru and Dreadlords. We are presuming when we attempt to understand them, or apprehend their purpose.’

Pug said, ‘I grant that, but we must try, for there are things that cannot be allowed to simply come to us; we must discover the purpose behind those who seek to take the Lifestone and end us all.’

Miranda said, ‘All of which brings us back to this: we know little and we need to find Macros the Black, and you still haven’t suggested where we start to look.’

Pug looked defeated. ‘I don’t know.’

Acaila said, ‘Perhaps you should cease looking for a place, and begin looking for a person.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Pug.

The ancient elf said, ‘You spoke of a sense of Macros being close by. Perhaps it is time to turn your focus on that sense, look for the presence, and let it lead you to the man.’

Pug said, ‘I don’t imagine how that is possible.’

‘You studied with me for a brief time, Pug. There are many things we have to teach you still. Let me instruct you and Miranda now.’

Pug looked at his companion, who nodded.

‘Do I need to come along?’ asked Tomas.

Acaila looked at the Warleader of Elvandar and shook his head. ‘You’ll know when it is time to leave, Tomas.’

To those of the Queen’s Court he said, ‘We will need to retire to the contemplation glade. Tathar, I would appreciate your help in this matter.’

The old elven adviser bowed to his Queen and said, ‘By your leave, lady?’

She nodded and the four of them left the Queen and Tomas’s private quarters. Down through the bowers that formed the elven city in the trees they moved, until they came to the ground, where large cookfires were brightly burning.

They moved silently away from the heart of Elvandar until at last they came to a tranquil glade. Here Tomas and Aglaranna had pledged their vows; here only those ceremonies most important to the elves were conducted.

Pug said, ‘We are honored.’

‘It is necessary,’ said Acaila. ‘Here our magic is most potent, and I suspect we need to use it to ensure your survival.’

‘What do you propose?’

‘Tomas spoke to me of your previous travels to the Halls of the Dead, through the entrance at the Necropolis of the Gods. While we have a different vision of the universe and its order, we elves understand your human vision enough to know that only Tomas’s raw strength allowed you to survive that journey.’

‘I awoke with my lungs burning and feeling as if I had been frozen to my bones,’ said Pug.

Acaila said, ‘You do not enter the realm of death while you are alive – not unless you make extensive preparations.’

Pug said, ‘Are we to return to Lims-Kragma’s halls?’

‘Perhaps,’ said Acaila. ‘That is why we must do what we are to do here. Time passes differently in other realms, that much we remember from our Master’s travels across the dimensions. You may be gone but hours, yet experience years. You may be gone months, yet experience minutes. We have no means to know which will be true. However long it takes, you are to leave your bodies for a while. Tathar and I will ensure your bodies are ready to receive you when you return. We shall keep you alive.’

Miranda said, ‘We appreciate the effort.’

Pug turned and saw her dubious expression. ‘You don’t have to come,’ he said.

‘I must,’ she said. ‘You’ll understand.’

‘When?’

‘Soon, I think,’ she answered.

‘What must we do?’ Pug asked Acaila.

‘Lie down,’ he answered.

They did as he bade and he said, ‘First, you must remember what I said about the passage of time. This is important, for you must hurry while you are in spirit form. If you linger but for an hour, months may pass here on Midkemia, and we know how quickly the enemy approaches. Second, your bodies will follow your spirits. When you return, you may not find yourselves here. If all goes as we hope, you will arrive where you need to be, and Tathar and I will know you were successful because you will awaken here or your bodies will vanish from our sight. Last, we cannot help you return. This is something you must accomplish by your own arts. We shall know if you fail only when your bodies die despite our efforts. Our arts can do only so much.

‘Now close your eyes and attempt to sleep. You will see visions. When they first come to you, they will be as dreams. But they will become more real to you as the moments pass. When I call to you, stand up.’

Pug and Miranda closed their eyes. Pug heard Acaila’s voice as the ancient eldar Spellweaver began chanting. There was something tantalizingly familiar about the words, but he could not quite recognize them. It was as if he heard the words of a song forgotten the moment he heard the words.

Soon he dreamed of Elvandar. He could see the faint glow of the magic-imbued trees above him, as if his eyes were open. But they appeared to him as brilliant shimmering colors, blues and greens, golds and whites, reds and oranges, and the sky was as black as the darkest tunnel under the mountains.

Pug ‘looked’ deep into that void and soon found specks of color appearing against the blackness. Time passed unnoticed as he saw the spirits of stars dance across the heavens. A strange, distant keening sound intruded on his awareness, also familiar yet unrecognized.

Time continued to slip by, and Pug was lost in an awareness unlike anything he had ever experienced. The texture of the universe lay open to him, not the outer shapes, or even the illusions of matter and time, but the very fabric of reality. He wondered if this was the ‘stuff’ Nakor spoke of, the fundamental matter of all that was.

His mind started to soar, to voyage through the distances, and he discovered he could move at will from place to place. Yet he sensed he still lay in the grove. Something about his body had changed, and he felt alien powers and odd sensations course through him.

Not since his time on the Tower of Testing, high above the Assembly on the distant world of Kelewan, had he felt so connected to the world around him. Thinking of that time in his life, he turned and looked ‘down’ at Midkemia.

Suddenly he floated miles above the highest peaks of the Kingdom, with seas and coastlines looking like maps to his perception. But rather than flat lifeless things, the very land and seas were living things, pulsing with power and beauty.

He shifted his perceptions and saw every fish swimming in the sea. How very much like being a god! he thought.

‘Pug.’ A distant call and one that almost caused him to lose his perception.

‘Find Macros,’ came the instruction. ‘And ’ware the time!’

He glanced one way and another, and every being on the world had a signature of energy, a line of force that started at Sethanon, at the Lifestone, which bound all living things in Midkemia together. As time passed, lines vanished as beings died, and new lines sprouted from it as births occurred. It looked like nothing so much as an emerald fountain of pulsing energy, life incarnate, and it took Pug’s breath away.

Among the myriad strands he sought one, one with a familiar quality to it. He lost track of time, and did not know if hours or years passed, yet eventually he saw something familiar.

The Sorcerer! he thought as he saw a particular pulsing line of force. How strong and distinct it was, he thought as he focused. But it was odd. It existed in two places at the same time.

‘Arise!’ came the spoken command, and Pug stood up.

He saw Acaila and Tathar, but they looked alien to him, beings of coarse matter and finite energy, while he was a creature of enhanced perception and unlimited power. He glanced at Miranda and saw a being of stunning beauty.

She wore no clothing and revealed no hint of sex. Where he should have seen breast and hips, as familiar to him as his own body, he saw only smoothness, featureless and without distinguishing marks. Her face was an oval, with a pair of burning lights where eyes should be. She had no nose. A single slit where her mouth should have been moved, but rather than his hearing her voice, her mind touched his.

‘Pug?’ Miranda asked.

‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘Do I look as odd to you as you do to me?’ she said.

‘You look stunning,’ he replied.

Suddenly he was seeing himself through her eyes. He was as featureless as she. They were of like height and they both existed with a shimmer of energy illuminating them from within. Neither had hair or sexual organs, teeth or fingernails.

From a great distance they heard Acaila’s voice. ‘What you see are your true selves. Look down.’

They did, and saw their own bodies lying on the grass, as if asleep.

‘Hurry, now,’ said Acaila. ‘Follow the thread that leads you to Macros, for the longer you are out of your bodies, the harder it will be for you to return. We will keep you alive, and when it comes time to return, you only have to think of it. Your bodies will appear wherever you need them to be,’ he repeated. ‘May your gods protect you.’

Pug sent, ‘We understand.’ He said to Miranda, ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Where do we go?’

With a thought he made the thread appear to her, and he said, ‘We follow that!’

‘Where does it lead?’ she asked as he reached out with his mind and ‘took her hand’ leading her along the thread’s path.

‘Don’t you sense it?’ he asked. ‘It is going to the one place I should have expected it to lead us. It’s taking us to the Celestial City. We travel to the home of the gods!’