'I think I can take us straight away to the Grove, Father.'

Pug looked surprised. 'Really?'

Looking on as four young women came to pick up the dead Dasati and carry him away, Magnus said, 'Mother's been teaching me and I'm sure I can do it. I can transport us there without a device.'

'We need to collect Valko and go,' said Pug.

Audarun held up her hand. 'Young Valko will not travel with you.'

Pug looked warily at the old woman. Whatever else these Bloodwitches were, they were Dasati and capable of instant and extreme violence. This enclave of women might lack the aura of insanity of the rest of this race, but that made them no less potentially dangerous. 'Why?'

'He has a role to play, which is as critical in its own fashion as yours, of that I'm certain.' She rose slowly. 'If the Dark One vanished this instant, the slaughter in his name would not. There are too many, from the TeKarana down to his lowest servitor, who have a vested interest in seeing things remain here as they are.

'The society we live in has at its heart an evil that infects every aspect of our lives. Even if that heart dies now, the infection will continue for centuries. Too many would continue as if nothing had changed.

'There must be a wholesale reordering of our culture,' said the oldest of the Triarch. 'Not only must the Dark G.o.d be destroyed, but the TeKarana and the Karanas, as well as the topmost leadership of the Dark One's temple, all must be removed, and once that has occurred, we will still have to endure decades of unrest.'

'As powerful lords rush to seize power,' said Magnus. 'You speak of chaos.'

'It is better for there to be chaos,' answered Audarun, 'than an order that calcifies a race, stagnates it until it becomes a thing despicable, a culture of death and horror. It would be better to become the animals we devour, for at least they care for their young.' She fixed Magnus with a steady gaze. 'Let the strong survive, but we shall teach them,, eventually, to care for the weak.'

Pug said, 'You choose a harsh path.'

'It was chosen for us long ago, magician.' Audarun rose. 'We are not your allies, but we do share common interests. We have no desire to see your realm invaded or your world subjugated. Our race can survive only through expansion, for we will turn on ourselves if we cease to look outwards. So, we must force that inward turning, create a civil war that will last generations and end the horror that is what we have become. We must cut off our own hand before it does even graver injury.'

Pug nodded. 'Harsh indeed. But many will attempt to seize power in the name of the Dark One, even if he is somehow vanquished, and they will use the existing social order to crush opposition.'

'We are the only opposition,' she said. 'In our hallowed history we were more than you see now, and we had many G.o.ds, human. We served them with joy and they guided us. But now we have no rallying point save to oppose the Dark One. If somehow they were to return to us, perhaps we might find a less terrible fate, but that is the stuff of dreams.' She indicated the direction Valko had been taken. 'He is our beacon, he will stand in opposition to the horror that our leadership has embraced.

'Valko has been chosen, along with several others of n.o.ble rank and honoured lineage, to be the next generation of leaders for our race. With good fortune, he may even be the next TeKarana.

'You have no concept of how remarkable it is that he could learn the truth and a.s.similate it as rapidly as he has; most young warriors would have flown into a killing frenzy at a suggestion of the things he has calmly embraced. Most would have killed you by now for the mere fact of your existence.

'We, the Triarch, have lived here in this refuge our entire lives, spared the constant madness emanating from the pit wherein lies the Dark One. His poison seeps out of there and reaches across the stars and d.a.m.ns every last Dasati. We are among the few who have escaped that touch, yet even to us your presence is a... trial.'

'Then, lady,' said Pug, 'we shall remove ourselves as quickly as we can, and be on our way. Know that while the survival of our race is our paramount concern, I also hope we will be helping yours and we wish you well.'

'Then you are a better race,' said Audarun. 'But one day perhaps we shall equal you.'

Pug turned to Magnus. 'Let us go now.'

Magnus came to stand next to his father and put his hand on Pug's shoulder. He closed his eyes for the briefest second, recalling the secret room below ground in the Grove, and instantly they were there.

Two Lessers leaped away in terror until they saw the faces of the two who had mysteriously appeared before them. Pug made a gesture of rea.s.surance, as he glanced around to find themselves alone, then said to Magnus, 'Let us rest and see if Martuch and Hirea return this night. Else it is just the two of us in an alien place and we have a difficult task ahead.'

'To find Nakor?'

'To find Nakor.'

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - Secrets.

BEK LASHED OUT WITH HIS SWORD.

The trainer barely leaped aside quickly enough to survive, and received a glancing blow off his left shoulder. It rocked him and he staggered a step back, which saved him from losing his head as Bek halted the travel of his sword to his left, and reverse-cut to his right, a backhand blow that was all but impossible for any but the strongest, fastest swordsmen in the Dasati Empire. For a novice Deathknight, it should have been impossible.

'Hold!' came the command from above.

The trainer and Bek both looked up to see who had shouted the command. A man resplendent in black armour edged with gold peered down from the gallery overlooking the arena. Every instructor and trainee in the ma.s.sive arena halted at his command. The black armour he wore was of the TeKarana's personal guard, and he sported decorative pauldrons which made his shoulders impossibly wide and came to an upswept point ending in a wicked-looking golden barb. His helm was topped by a high metal crest fronted by a stylized serpent twining around a tree. The crest ended in a fall that dropped at the back between his shoulders. He exuded power.

Pointing at Bek, he shouted, 'Who trained you?'

Bek laughed, and shouted back, 'I trained myself.'

Nakor stood to one side, eyes down. He winced at the arrogance.

But the man above returned the laugh. 'Can I believe it? I must, for no sane warrior would teach a move such as that. Wait on the sand.'

It took only a minute for the observer to leave the balcony and work his way to the training floor, but in that brief respite, Nakor came to Bek's side, offered him water, and whispered, 'Remember, you are the protege of Martuch and you were trained by Hirea. Remember!'

The large warrior in the decorative armour strode across the yard and came to stand before Bek, the only person on the floor who was taller. All eyes turned to witness the exchange. The warrior said, 'Attack me.'

Without hesitation Bek unleashed a furious combination of blows, feints and thrusts that had all the onlookers gaping. But the warrior in the black armour was obviously no novice to combat, for he moved out of Bek's line of attack with a nimbleness of foot that was unexpected in someone so large, let alone burdened by heavy armour.

Then he countered and let loose a blow that came close to crushing the side of Bek's skull. Bek merely twisted his wrists and brought his blade up to block, and the shock of the blow reverberated across the sand.

Back and forth the two men duelled, Bek's ferocity and power matched and countered by the other man's speed and experience. The onlookers began to form a circle around them because it was becoming clear that something unusual and amazing was taking place, and that should either warrior err, someone would die suddenly.

Back and forth they moved, exchanging blows and parries, until finally the warrior in black stepped away and shouted, 'Hold! Enough!'

Bek hesitated, then put his sword down.

The warrior in black said, 'Again, who trained you?'

This time Bek looked him in the eye and said, 'Hirea of the Scourge.'

'I know him. Scourge, small society... but respected, old house, good man. One of the best on Kosridi.' He removed his helm, and Bek saw a battle-scarred face, an older Dasati warrior, but one still in the height of his power. 'I am Marian, Imperado of the Justicants, First Order of the TeKarana's guards. I have never seen anyone like you, Bek.'

Bek was dripping with perspiration. He said, 'You're fast. Strong, too. You are very hard to kill.'

The older warrior grinned. 'I will mention your name. We shall need replacements, and we shall need them soon. Who knows? You may be the one to take my head some day if I don't die on some cursed alien world.'

'I'll make it quick and salute you,' said Bek, returning the grin.

With a slap on the shoulder, Marian turned and departed.

The instructor said, 'You have been honoured, young Bek.'

Nakor was dying to ask questions, but he knew that here, more than most anywhere in the Dasati realm, not acting the part of a Lesser would get him killed in seconds. The instructor turned to him and said, 'Clean up this mess. We are done.' To Bek he said, 'Retire to the barracks and wait for the mid-day meal call. You have earned some extra rest.'

Nakor hurriedly picked up the items belonging to Bek, and turned to see the large warrior grinning at him. 'What?' he whispered.

Bek said, 'He got tired and was afraid I was going to kill him.'

'Who, Marian?' asked Nakor softly as he bent over to pick up a large, dirty cloth of some wool-like material Bek had been using as a towel.

Bek laughed. 'Him, too. No, I mean the instructor. He was getting tired.'

'How do you feel?'

'I feel wonderful, Nakor.'

Nakor said quietly, 'Good. I am pleased you feel well; Now, let us return to the barracks and wait.'

'I like to fight.'

'I know, but we must do as we are told a little while longer.'

'Yes, Nakor.'

They hurried out of the training arena, down a vast corridor that led to the recruits' barracks. A pair of young warriors was there, resting after their arduous training that morning. One sported a huge welt on the side of his face where the instructor had unceremoniously demonstrated why he needed to keep his guard high, and the other had a slight cut to the thigh that was bandaged. Nakor observed the Dasati constantly, and was astonished that the culture managed to survive, given their murderous ways. Had either of those young warriors sustained a serious wound, they would have been left to die, their lingering agony the source of amus.e.m.e.nt to the others on the training floor. Since coming to the training floor the day before, Nakor had witnessed one such incident. The jeering Dasati considered watching such a death an entertainment, a respite from training.

Nakor had travelled throughout the Empire of Great Kesh and down into the client states south of the vast mountains called the Girdle of Kesh he had been born in the foothills of those great peaks. He had seen many strange things, but nothing as alien and difficult to fathom as the Dasati. He had encountered a travelling troupe of players once, in a small city called Ahar, and remembered a remark made by the company's leader, the man responsible for writing the skits and songs as well as staging them. Nakor had asked what the key was to making the audience laugh, for while he knew little of performance, he realized that the more the audience laughed, the more money the players earned.

The two of them had been playing at cards and Nakor hadn't seriously begun to cheat, so the head of the company of players was winning. He was in a good mood and paused to answer the question. 'It's all about pain, Nakor,' he had said. 'If you care for our hero and feel his pain, that's tragedy. If you laugh at him, that's comedy. Comedy is other people's pain.'

The Dasati carried the concept to an insane length. Since reaching this realm he had seen a number of people in pain or dying, and the general reaction was to laugh at them. Only some of the Lessers seemed inclined to help, and they were despised for it. Empathy was weakness to the Dasati.

As they reached their place in the barracks a heavy bunk for Bek and a mat on the stone floor for Nakor a bell's deep peal reverberated throughout the building so loud that it felt as though the stones beneath their feet shook. Nakor looked at the two resting young warriors and saw they were as uncertain what to do as he and Bek were.

A moment later a warrior in black armour strode through the far entrance and shouted, 'Stay where you are! That was the muster call for the Palace Guard. You will wait and attend the mid-day meal when called.'

The ma.s.sive bell sounded again, and a third time, then fell silent. From a short distance away, Nakor could hear the sound of running feet, and knew that hundreds of Lessers were scurrying around in antic.i.p.ation of whatever was required of the Guard by that call. Nakor's curiosity was piqued, but he knew there was no way he would risk his usual indulgence of that curiosity. Had he been alone, he might have risked being killed out of hand for being in the wrong place for over the years he had become very adept at staying alive but he did not dare to leave Bek alone for even a minute.

They waited and a few few minutes before the mid-day meal, a dozen recruits entered the barracks, stripped off dripping tunics and trousers, bathed quickly, and donned clean clothing, while their Lessers ran about, trying to antic.i.p.ate their masters' needs. Nakor sat quietly on the floor at Bek's feet, watching the almost reflexive manner the young warriors kicked or cuffed their Lessers when annoyed. He sighed. He had always been a vagabond, and thought of no place as home, even the village of his birth, but for the first time in his life he felt homesick, wishing he was back on Midkemia, anywhere on Midkemia. The searing heart of the Jal-Pur desert looked attractive to him right now. minutes before the mid-day meal, a dozen recruits entered the barracks, stripped off dripping tunics and trousers, bathed quickly, and donned clean clothing, while their Lessers ran about, trying to antic.i.p.ate their masters' needs. Nakor sat quietly on the floor at Bek's feet, watching the almost reflexive manner the young warriors kicked or cuffed their Lessers when annoyed. He sighed. He had always been a vagabond, and thought of no place as home, even the village of his birth, but for the first time in his life he felt homesick, wishing he was back on Midkemia, anywhere on Midkemia. The searing heart of the Jal-Pur desert looked attractive to him right now.

Bek rose without saying anything, and Nakor took a second to realize he was moving to the serving hall where the mid-day meal would be provided. Nakor and the other Lessers would wait until the warriors had departed, then after a frenzy of cleaning up the barracks, they would scurry off to the room where their food was provided, eat quickly then hurry back to be here waiting for their masters. In so many little ways, it was an existence without joy.

Nakor grabbed a bowl of something resembling stew and a hunk of coa.r.s.e-grain bread he discovered that even with the successful translation to Dasati form the food here was disagreeable: it was one of the many examples he could cite as to what a joyless society the Dasati were. Food was regarded as a necessity and sometimes the excuse for social events, but it was never considered an art form. He remembered with longing a meal he had had at Talwin Hawkins' River House in Olasko, and wondered if he'd ever have a meal like that one again.

He heard voices through a door that led to the Imperial Guards' marshalling yard. Glancing around to see if he was observed, Nakor slipped down the hallway and hung back, just out of sight. A commander stood on a dais and addressed his warriors. '- this night! We muster at once, and depart at dawn! Worlds to conquer await! Each of you has found favour in His Darkness's sight and your willingness to serve His will until the last has gained you a special place in his regard. Rejoice in this, for we shall begin a campaign of conquest unmatched in the annals of the Dasati Empire! For the Dark One!'

'His Darkness!' shouted the gathered guards, and Nakor quickly turned and fled back to the room where the other Lessers waited. He darted around the corner and sat down before he was noticed then stood up as if he had finished, put down his dish and returned to the barracks to wait for Bek. Something important was underway and it began tonight. It could not be the invasion Pug feared, for there were not enough Deathknights gathered, but this mustering of the Imperial Guard was a prelude to something vital.

He wished he could have heard more.

Jommy turned to Kaspar and the others. 'Now that's something you don't see every day. And here we are seeing it for the second time.'

Kaspar nodded. Captain Stefan said, 'But I wager it's something we're never going to see again.' The four of them were standing a short distance away from the welcoming elves, Servan hunkered down while Jommy, Stefan, and Kaspar leaned back against the wall of the long hall.

The ma.s.sive dragon had been astonishing enough when it had carried Tomas and Jim Dasher into the compound the day before, but now it landed with a party of three on its back. A pair of women, both dressed in long dark dresses, was sitting close behind the white-and-gold-dad figure. They dismounted nimbly and came to where Castdanur and his two advisors waited.

Tomas announced, 'Castdanur, this is Miranda of Sorcerer's Isle and her student Lettie.'

The girl with Miranda was young and slender with an upright posture that was almost rigid. She looked from face to face with a calm mask, and nodded. Miranda said, 'I am going now,' and vanished.

Castdanur said, 'What is this-?'

Suddenly Miranda appeared again, this time surrounded by a band of elves, dressed in leather of a similar cut to the clothes worn by the Sun Elves. This band of newcomers wore necklaces of stones and rough gems, and two had eagle-feathers hanging behind their ears, tied into locks of their hair.

Jommy glanced at Kaspar who said, 'Those are the elves from north of the Teeth of the World.' He dropped his voice. 'They're called something like "the Mad Ones" by the other elves, because of something back in history. You don't have to be told they're different: you see them in Elvandar and they stand out. Baranor looks more like their kind of place.'

The leader of the band with Miranda walked straight up to Castdanur and said, 'Brother, we hear of your need. We answer it. I am Talandel.'

The old elf stood with shining eyes, and said, 'We welcome our brothers and sisters.' He looked to where Miranda stood and saw that four of those with her were children. 'You return life and hope to us, brother.'

The children stood rooted in astonishment, staring up at the huge red dragon who now crouched peacefully in the courtyard. Miranda shooed them away and vanished. Less than a minute later she appeared with another small band of elves, who crossed to stand with the first. This process continued until more than a hundred elves from Elvandar had been transported to Baranor.

Within minutes the courtyard was filled with the sound of voices, and Jim Dasher turned to Kaspar and said, 'I never heard it quite this lively in Elvandar.'

Kaspar shrugged. 'I doubt we've ever seen that many happy elves before.' He pointed to where the children who lived in Baranor were already starting to play with those who had newly arrived.

Castdanur spoke loudly, so that all might hear. 'Our new brothers and sisters, there are halls and rooms enough for all! Pick those that you will, for this is your new home. Tonight we feast!'

Tomas approached Kaspar. 'How are your men doing?'

'The wounded will live. We've been helping the elves hunt since Jim vanished to fetch you. All in all, for a band of prisoners we've been treated more like guests.'

Tomas dropped his voice. 'Castdanur is like many of the old spellweavers in Elvandar. He adheres to tradition, which can be a trap.' He glanced over. 'I remember enough of my human heritage to recall when the elves' sense of time seemed far more leisurely than good sense dictated. But in this case, it almost lost us something far too dear.'

'The Sun Elves?' asked Jommy.

'The Quor,' answered Tomas.

Kaspar introduced the Captain and the two youngsters to the dragon-rider, and Tomas said, 'You're Caleb's fosterling.'

Jommy said, 'In a manner of speaking. He and Marie welcomed me like another son.' He grinned. 'They're as good as people can be.'

Tomas returned the smile and the alien aspect of his heritage dropped away for a minute. 'His father was like a brother to me when we were boys; he was my parents' fosterling.' He looked over at the gathering of elves and said, 'I must stay for a while longer, to preside at the feast tonight.' He lowered his voice and said to Kaspar, 'This is a far better situation for those who have come here today; they are the most restless among the glamredhel, and they have found kindred spirits among the anoredhel.'