Читать книгу Wrath of a Mad God - Raymond Feist - Страница 12

MAGNUS DIVED BEHIND THE WALL.

Three humans and three Lessers all crouched down behind a low wall, more of a boundary than a barrier. One of the Deathknights turned his varnin – a cross between a big lizard and a horse – and started towards their place of concealment. Pug threw himself behind the wall too, landing next to Magnus.

He risked discovery by rising just high enough to gain a clear line-of-sight to a point behind the approaching riders and cast a spell, hoping it would function here on Omadrabar as it had in his own native realm. He had spent so much time learning how to adapt magic that it was almost as much second nature to him in these alien conditions as it was at home. Most of the time he judged correctly, but occasionally he had had unexpected results.

This time things went as desired, and a sudden commotion behind the riders caused them to look around. A particularly fine illusion appeared some distance away: that of women and children fleeing in the opposite direction from where Pug and his companions hid. The Deathknights reacted in true Dasati fashion, howling their war chants and giving chase.

Pug signalled for everyone to wait until the Deathknights were safely gone. In most confrontations with a small band of armed men – or Dasati in this case – Pug had little concern for his own safety. He could easily dispose of the dozen or so riders who were now chasing the mirage. But he had no desire to take Dasati lives unnecessarily, even those bent on killing every member of his race – they were a people bent by dark forces which were beyond their power to control. And he knew that tonight was not just a circus of random slaughter, but a planet-wide ceremony, a massive ritual of blood and that death and each killing gave more power to His Darkness. Even if he could deny only half a dozen lives to the Dark God, Pug would do it.

Pug considered this deity, this supreme god of evil. From what he had studied about the nature of the gods on Midkemia over the years, he knew this was the fate that awaited his home world if the Nameless One gained ascendancy. Still, that possibility was far less immediate a worry than keeping His Darkness out of Pug’s native realm. If he could aid in the destruction of this Dasati Dark God, he would be saving the Dasati as well as every human on Midkemia and Kelewan.

Pug knew they had gained only a few moments and that the Deathknights would quickly realize the ruse and return. He wanted to avoid a confrontation if at all possible. Moreover, he desperately wished to avoid any chance that their true nature might be discovered. If he employed magic to destroy the Deathknights he would have to ensure that no one, including any hidden Lessers nearby, could reveal their presence. He, Macros, Magnus, and Nakor combined could hold off a veritable army of Deathknights, killing thousands if need be, but while each of them might be a match for two or three Deathpriests or Hierophants, even they couldn’t withstand an assault by a score or more determined to obliterate them and unconcerned about their own lives. His years with the Tsurani had taught Pug all he wanted to know about the danger of foes willing to die for their cause.

Nakor signalled back that the way was clear and the fugitives hurried along a path near the roadway. They were still within the boundaries of the great city, but in one of the miles-wide open enclaves called a raion, an administrative district devoted to agriculture within the city proper, but under its own rule. Macros had not taken the valuable time to explain the subtle points of Dasati civic administration, but he had left Pug with the impression that while raions were less dangerous environments than the rest of the city under normal circumstances, these were no normal circumstances.

Because the outer perimeter of the raion was encompassed by the city itself, most of the usual wild animals had been hunted out years ago, but that didn’t mean there were no other dangers. Night-flyers, while not common in this region, were not unheard of, and occasionally larger land predators somehow found their way inside. Moreover, tonight every Dasati who wasn’t with them was their enemy. Bands of Lessers who normally wouldn’t consider aggressive behaviour were roaming the byways, availing themselves of the rare opportunity to indulge in the Dasati appetite for violence. A foolish Deathknight who became separated from his society brethren could find himself dealt with harshly by those who normally lived or died at his whim. Even lords of great houses had to limit those in their presence to only their most loyal and trusted retainers.

For the demand of the Dark God during the Great Culling was that the weak must fall. Any Dasati unable to survive was by definition weak and must be given up by blood and fire to His Darkness.

They ran along a pathway just wide enough for a cart, Pug constantly checking over his shoulder to see if they were being followed. As they hurried down the narrow lane, sheltered from view for almost a mile by a tall grain crop called sellabok, the sky above was beginning to lighten. Pug called for a halt. ‘Wait.’

The others turned and Pug softly said, ‘Listen.’

The pre-dawn air was still, and only the distant sounds of night creatures punctuated the silence. Then a distant shout from behind them signalled the location of the Deathknights they had encountered earlier. ‘How far?’ Pug asked Macros.

‘Another two hours if we don’t encounter any delays will put us outside the area known as Camlad, at which time we must either decide to circle it along the outer reaches of the city, adding several hours of journey time, or to cut through to the heart of the district. The latter is preferable, but the danger is much greater.’

‘Why?’ asked Nakor.

‘The first spate of bloodletting will have occurred within hours of the call for the Great Culling,’ said Macros. He was more out of breath than normal and Pug realized that his illness was beginning to manifest itself, probably as a result of the exertions of the previous night. ‘To put it in Dasati terms, the stupid, weak, rash and foolish perish within hours. Traps will have been sprung, and skirmishes fought. Then after a lull of perhaps an hour or two, the more reckless and bold will clash with one another. That band of Deathknights we just eluded were bloodied, most likely after an encounter with another like band they vanquished.

‘Those who are left are dangerous, tough-minded killers looking for prey. The blood frenzy is now at its highest and will continue that way throughout the morning. Later in the day,’ he added softly, ‘things will quieten down as even the most bloody-handed murderers will start to sense the coming sundown and realize that only their like remain out there, in other words those adept at killing and those equally adept at hiding.

‘At that point, everyone will hunker down and wait for sunset – anyone moving through any part of the city will be an easy target for ambush. So, that means our first need is to get through Camlad and into the next raion before noon. Once we are out of the city again we will be mere hours from the Grove of Delmat-Ama. The White controls the Grove and most of the district around it completely; there we will be safe and there we can wait to find out just what this latest butchery signals.’

Magnus asked, ‘What do you think it signals?’

Macros was silent for a moment, pondering the question. ‘A beginning,’ he said at last. ‘His Darkness is a covetous god. He demands blood, but when he hungers greatly, it usually heralds a great change.’ The Dasati who was once human sighed. ‘I cannot imagine that invading a higher realm is an easy thing, even for a god. It may be that he himself intends to follow his army.’ He looked from face to face. ‘Come, we can discuss this in more detail once we’ve reached the Grove of Delmat-Ama.’

As one they and the three servants turned and hurried along the path once again as the sky in the east brightened with the approaching dawn.

The open fields of the raion came to an end when they reached a wide boulevard bordered on the opposite side from where they stood by a seemingly endless wall of buildings which rose up ten to twelve storeys, Macros said, ‘There. Over to the right is a servants’ tunnel.’ He glanced around. ‘Don’t let the silence mislead you. There are eyes behind every window and knives concealed at every hand. Right now at least a dozen Lessers are considering how dangerous we are – are we bold and powerful, or foolish and weak – and what their chances might be at an ambush. We must proceed cautiously. Once through Camlad we will reach the Grove of Delmat-Ama.’

‘Didn’t you suggest we circle to the outside of this precinct?’ asked Nakor.

Macros began walking. ‘We’ve lost too much time.’ Three times since midnight they had hidden, once for over an hour, to avoid confrontation with the Dasati.

Magnus asked, ‘Is there much magic in use today?’

Macros hesitated. ‘I’m not sure what you mean?’

‘So far we have been concealing our powers to prevent detection.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Macros. ‘We could have destroyed everyone in our path, but only Deathpriests on this world employ magic – at least only those sanctioned by His Darkness – and the presence of unknown practitioners of magic would certainly attract attention.’

‘But with Deathpriests and Hierophants among the roving bands, the presence of magic itself would hardly draw notice.’

‘What do you intend?’ asked Pug.

Magnus’s features, though Dasati, still revealed his mood to his father. Unlike his mother, Magnus was adept at holding in his feelings, even more so than his father at times, but when frustration reached a certain point, he took on a tone and a set of features that was familiar to Pug. Magnus was feeling frustrated.

‘I am not suggesting we cast off our guises, and boldly walk into the canton, defying all in our path. That would be folly. But can we not use our arts to fly above this madness and hide ourselves from view?’

Macros laughed. ‘The boy is wiser than both his father and grandfather. It never occurred to us to combine invisibility with flight—’

‘Because no magician we know of can do both at once,’ finished Nakor. He grinned, and the familiar expression, although in an alien visage, reassured everyone. ‘But we have more than one magician in this party.’

‘I can lift us all,’ said Magnus, indicating the three other magicians and the three Lesser servants – all of whom now revealed an apparent terror at the idea of flying.

‘I can shield us from scrying and other arcane detection,’ said Macros.

‘And I will ensure we are not seen,’ said Pug.

A brief discussion of how they would manage this feat was followed by the two older magicians chanting their spells, and then Magnus began his.

Soon everyone was invisible but voices out of thin air indicated that the three servants were unable to endure the experience silently. Pug realized it must be an unnerving experience for them to feel themselves picked up by invisible forces and be suspended above the ground.

Magnus directed them to where Macros had indicated the best route lay, and they began to speed over the city. Pug found looking down exhilarating, as much for the novelty as for the view; he couldn’t remember the last time he had flown without having to employ his own abilities. He didn’t much care for the experience, as it always left him fatigued and with a mild headache. But this time his son was doing all the work, and he was free simply to enjoy the journey. Macros had a harder task: concentrating on discovering any scrying magic and counteracting it as quickly as possible, but with Pug’s spell for rendering them invisible now in place, he had no work left to do.

The scene below again drove home to Pug just how alien the Dasati were. He had called many places on both Midkemia and Kelewan home, and had visited a dozen worlds containing intelligent beings exotic in both appearance and nature, but the strangest race he had so far encountered looked like family compared to these people.

The city stretched on for miles in all directions. Pug couldn’t begin to imagine the labour required to build these … he couldn’t call them buildings, for every single one was interconnected, all appearing to be of a piece. He was certain that sections have been added over centuries, but in such a way as to make everything appear seamless, integrated, without boundary. Completely lacking were the endless varieties of design found in even the most homogeneous culture – the Tsurani, whose city buildings were almost all uniformly painted white, indulged in a vast variety of murals and good luck symbols. But here … everywhere the eye travelled there were edifices of stone, dark grey blackened doorways which were almost perfectly uniformed, the only relief being a play of subtle energies throughout the stone that would have been invisible to the human eye. If you looked more closely you would find scintillating hot reds and deep vibrating purples and plays of gleaming sparkles that looked like tiny gleaming reflections of sunlight on mother-of-pearl, glimpsed for a moment, then fading. Pug thought that such touches would have been beautiful if they were not adorning such grim surroundings. Other than that, the Dasati architecture was very formalized. There were six windows set between each doorway, with a tunnel into the heart of the building every four doorways. Above the street, each storey had a landing and a balconied walkway, the design was repeated over and over. The monotony was disrupted only by vast interconnecting walls that had broad boulevards upon their spines, highways hundreds of feet above the ground upon the which much of the travel and commerce of Dasati society depended.

Amongst the buildings were areas of open plaza or parkland. Each open space, be it parkland, hunting range, agricultural raion, or market-place, was miles long on each side. But even these, Pug could observe as they rose higher, were uniform in placement and design.

Aloud he said, ‘The Dasati lack originality.’

‘Not entirely,’ said Macros, ‘but they do have a decided tendency to stick with something once they judge it to be useful. As densely packed as the population can be towards the city centre, these arrangements of parklands and agricultural districts provide an efficient system of getting goods to market.

‘The only different environment to be seen is along the shores of the oceans. The sea is far less amenable to being formed than the land, so compromises had to be made. Yet even in the coastal cities the attempt to replicate this design is evident. They have bridges and networks of vast rafts, even pilings driven deep into the sea bottom just so that they can do this.’

‘Why?’ asked Nakor. ‘I appreciate a good design as well as any man, but one must accommodate to changing circumstances.’

‘Not the Dasati,’ said Magnus. ‘If the design doesn’t fit the circumstances they change the circumstances.’

Pug was surprised at how relaxed his son sounded. He knew that had he been transporting everyone he would not have been so relaxed. Magnus was just coming into his power still relatively young as magicians went, and already there were things he was capable of that would be difficult for both his mother and father.

Pug’s mind returned to that terrible day, so many years before, when he had stood before Lims-Kragma, after his foolish attempt to overpower the demon Jakan, and the horrifying choice he had been given. He would do what needed to be done, return to the living to finish the tasks an unkind fate and the gods had put before him, but in exchange for that respite from death he would have to pay a price. He would have to watch everyone he loved die before him.

When those of advancing age died it was hard enough. He recalled losing his first teacher, Kulgan, Father Tully, later Prince Arutha and his good friend Laurie. The untimely deaths were more difficult to accept than those lost in war to a capricious fate. But nothing had prepared him to anticipate the loss of his children before their time. He had already lost two: William, who had died on the walls of Krondor before the onslaught of the Emerald Queen’s army, and his adopted daughter Gamina, lost in the same struggle with her husband, Lord James. Yet both of them had led full lives, Gamina having come to know her grandchildren.

Pug considered ruefully that he had distant family, people he hardly knew. His great-grandchildren, Jimmy and Dash, had fathered children and Pug wondered for a bitter moment if they too would be lost before him.

His reverie was broken by Nakor asking, ‘What is that?’

It took only seconds for Pug to see what ‘that’ was. In the distance, against the rising sun, a black tower of something that resembled smoke rose up, but as they approached Pug could see that it wasn’t smoke. It was an energy of some kind, and it while it was wispy and smoke-like it was not rising but rather being drawn downwards.

‘We must move now,’ came Macros’s voice.

‘What is it?’ Nakor asked again.

‘The Temple of the Black Heart,’ said Macros. ‘The holiest of holies on this world. It is the entrance to the domain of the Dark God.’

‘What are those energies?’ asked Pug.

‘Life,’ said Macros. ‘Given your unusual perspective in this realm, you can see it, as can I, but to the average Dasati, even to the Deathpriests and Hierophants, the air above the temple is clear. You are seeing the life essence of thousands of the dying rushing to that monstrous entity. It is feeding on them. It is growing stronger.’

‘To what end?’ asked Magnus.

‘That we must find out,’ said Macros. ‘Move us to the right, in line with that flickering light to the south-east. It is a lake within the next raion and beyond that lies the Grove of Delmat-Ama. It is there we shall begin to gather information and assess what has occurred, and see if we can make some sense of this insanity.’

Pug remained silent, but he wondered if sense could ever be made from insanity. Thinking of that, he wondered how went the hunt for Leso Varen on Kelewan, and for a brief moment he ached to hear from Miranda and wondered if he would ever hear from her again. Pushing aside such black musings, he turned his attention to keeping them invisible from the thousands of Dasati hiding below.

They sped along in the direction Macros had indicated, until they were again over a series of parks and temples. The parks were almost always on lower rooftops, merely four or five storeys above the ground, not on top of the highest blocks of structures. If there was a single building in the centre, with high-peaked steeples and turreted towers, that would be a temple to His Darkness.

These parks had been arranged in a pattern, Pug could see from on high. The buildings formed a cross, with the parks occupying the remaining space of a vast square, the north-west, south-west, south-east, and north-east quadrants. The northernmost building was a gigantic structure, huge even by the Dasati’s overblown standards. A massive foundation supported half a dozen pillars, with a centre tower rising up highest of all.

‘Look at the size of that place,’ observed Nakor.

‘And more of the life-energy is leaving there,’ Macros said, pointing.

Pug saw that thousands of tiny wisps of the black life-energy were leaking from the top of the highest tower, seeding back towards the massive intake they had observed earlier.

Macros said, ‘Deep under this structure, dozens of levels below this plaza, are cavernous murder rooms. While mayhem is the word for this day, ritualized slaughter takes place on appointed holidays. His Darkness apparently needs a steady supply of Dasati life-energy to thrive, and so has bent the will of his people to this unspeakable practice.’

‘How have they survived?’ asked Magnus.

‘In times past,’ said his grandfather, ‘by conquering other worlds. The Twelve Worlds were once populated by other intelligent beings, and the Dasati put every one of them to the sword or sacrificial altar and have their hearts cut from their chests.

‘Over the ages, they ran out of victims, so they began to prey on one another, evolving into this culture of death and madness you see today.’ Macros fell silent to let what he was saying sink in. Then he said, ‘The truth of what occurred is hidden. History has been overlaid with dogma until the canon of the Dark God and history are the same thing. Only the Bloodwitch sisters have some perspective on what really occurred over the centuries, and their archives are sketchy at best.’

‘Why is that?’ asked Nakor.

‘Over there,’ said Macros to Pug, ‘move us towards that large spire and straight on beyond. That will lead us to the Grove.’ To Nakor he said, ‘For centuries the Bloodwitch sisters were part of the faith of the Dark God, though it’s almost certain they predated his ascension and were servants of a goddess of life or nature.

‘But even though the Sisterhood finally recognized the pointless folly of a society so murderous that even its own young were at risk, they didn’t come to that realization until after much of the old lore was lost. Had I longer to study …’ His words fell away.

Pug suspected Macro’s condition was more dire than he admitted. Certainly there was a sense of urgency in everything he did, and Pug couldn’t escape the feeling that matters were quickly heading for a turning point.

War was coming. Either to Midkemia or Kelewan, the twin of this world, and the only things holding off the initiation of a bridgehead into the next realm were the preparations being made for the Dark God’s forces. This gathering of energies must be the final preparation for such an invasion.

Pug sensed the logical need for such a war. He was only beginning to form opinions as to the root cause of this society’s twisted behaviour, but it was clear to him that a brittle homeostasis existed here, social forces locked together by their own pressures: one blow from an oblique angle would cause the entire structure to collapse. How fast this society recovered from this day of wholesale butchery would be instructive, for such a thing in Midkemia would surely bring a town, city, or even a nation to its knees.

Pug understood that in every human culture too much disruption at any level, among farmers and labourers, merchants and traders, the military or the gentry and society would descend quickly into chaos.

It had taken the Western Realm nearly twenty years to recover fully from the Serpentwar, and that was only because bright and talented men and women rose up to serve, including members of his own family.

Pug turned his attention to the parkland below. He could see a band of armed Dasati – Lessers from their attire – crouched in a shallow wash, screened from view from everywhere but above by dense shrubbery. They were bloodied, exhausted, and from what Pug could observe as he sped above them, they had finished fighting and were now trying to wait out the coming day.

As they reached the south-western boundary of the parkland, Pug thought the hiding Lessers were unlikely to survive this day, for a large contingent of heavily armed, mounted Deathknights and a pair of Deathpriests were marshalling in a square, clearly intending to conduct an organized sweep of the area. Pug wished he could intervene, but to what end? And just because in the normal course of social behaviour the Deathknights were more often the predators than the Lessers, that hardly made the latter any less bloodthirsty and murderous. He knew that given the chance they would destroy him and his companions without hesitation.

Pug realized bitterly that even though he had been able to assimilate Tsurani culture when he was a captive on Kelewan in his youth, and had become adept at navigating the cultural byways of many other alien societies, he would never fully be able to grasp the essence of the Dasati, any more than he could fathom the thinking of ants in a hill, even if he could appreciate and apprehend their social order. He then admitted to himself that he had a better chance of understanding the ants.

They continued to fly over the cityscape, seeking out potential threat amongst the uniform buildings. But the journey proved uneventful and after a long flight in relative silence they heard Macros say, ‘Over there, near that open area with the small lake.’