He put this belt around his waist, took the blade in his right hand, picked up the first vial with his left. He coated his blade with its contents, then tossed the empty container aside. Then he picked up the second vial and waited.

The two elves were upon him without further warning. His instincts told him that it was time to move, and without thought he did, and in just the right direction.

A sword blade cut into the tree trunk where Jim had crouched just moments before and that was all the opening he needed. He broke the vial between thumb and forefinger and flicked the contents into the elf's eyes. In seconds the elf was on his knees clutching at his face and screaming in pain.

The second elf was the one called Sinda. He drew back his bow and let fly with an arrow. Jim didn't think; he reacted, moving to his left, Sinda's right, and forcing the elf to traverse his line-of-fire across his own body. That tiny adjustment saved Jim's life, for the arrow sped by his neck, close enough for the fletching to slice a shallow cut in his skin. Jim rolled forward, ignoring the rocks and twigs that cut into him, and came up hard, his shoulder driving into Sinda's stomach.

In close, the elf's bow was useless and before he could get his belt-knife unsheathed, Dasher drove him to the ground, drew back his fist and struck him hard on the point of the jaw. The elf's eyes went vacant for a fraction of a moment, but that was all the time Jim needed. He pinned the elf's left arm under his knees and reached out and grabbed the other wrist with his left hand. He pressed his small blade hard enough against Sinda's neck so that the elf could feel it and said, 'If you wish to live, do not move! There's poison on my blade and one cut will kill you swiftly.'

The elf was dazed but understood enough to go limp. After a second Jim said, 'Good. Listen. I don't have much time. Your friend has mossback venom in his eyes. You know what that means. You have perhaps an hour or two at most to get him to one of your healers. Now, you must decide what is more important, to kill me and let him die, or to save his life. You cannot do both. And killing me will not be easy. Can your people afford to lose two more warriors?'

Jim got up quickly leaving Sinda on his back, confused. 'Why didn't you kill me?' he asked.

Jim Dasher reached around his neck and pulled something off. He tossed it to Sinda and said, 'I am not your enemy. None of the men you hold is your enemy. If you let us, we will help you survive. But I need to warn my people of what we saw on the beach, for that black sorcery means more pain and death than you want to imagine is coming to these sh.o.r.es. No one else will try to escape. Let them help you while they wait.'

'Wait for what?' asked Sinda.

'For your leaders to decide to kill them or let them live. Now see to your friend.'

Almost as quickly as an elf, he vanished into the gloom, leaving the confused Sinda considering what he had just heard. The elf looked at the object that had been tossed to him and his eyes widened. In the faint light his elven vision easily made out the design. This was no forgery, but a genuine token given to an elf-friend by the Queen of the Elves.

Sinda helped his companion to his feet. The worst of the pain had pa.s.sed, but both elves knew that the venom of the mossback lizard would slowly reduce the victim to a vague and listless state, followed quickly by death. It was an effective poison, but easily cured, if one had the antidote. Sinda put his arm around his companion's waste, pulled the staggering man's arm over his shoulder and began to return to Baranor.

CHAPTER EIGHT - Threats.

MIRANDA RAN.

The alarm had sounded almost instantly accompanied by shouts from the hallway. She had been resting in the suite set aside for her by the Emperor, waiting for a summons to the imperial apartments within the palace for a meeting with the Light of Heaven. Dozens of servants and Imperial Guards ran to answer the clarion call. The signal was unique, for only one such rare metal trumpet existed in the Empire, and it was used to warn the Emperor when he was in danger.

Miranda didn't need to be told that dark magic was involved: she could feel it making her skin crawl and there was the illusion of a foul stench in the air as she approached the entrance to the imperial apartments. The giant wooden doors were closed, their ancient carved surfaces being hammered at futilely by a dozen guardsmen. 'Stand aside!' shouted Miranda.

Several of the soldiers hesitated, but the servants all moved away. The sight of a black robe, even if it wasn't truly black but a very dark grey, and the commanding presence of any magic-user, evoked years of conditioning, and several bowed their heads and said, 'Your will, Great One.'

The soldiers followed suit, and Miranda raised her hands. Thinking this was not a time for subtlety, she focused her mind on the great hinges and willed the stone in which they were set to become dust. Then with a shout to focus her thoughts, she extended her hand, as if pushing something away, and the air before it rippled as energy coursed through it, striking the ma.s.sive doors like an invisible battering ram. They fell backwards, slamming into the stone floor of the imperial quarters with a thunderous crash. Before the echo diminished, the soldiers were through.

Miranda turned to the servants. 'Stay back. If you are needed you will be called.'

She hurried after the soldiers and had no trouble discovering their objective. A searing wave of heat washed over her as she entered the long hallway leading to the lush gardens. The soldiers before her faltered as the heat washed over them, then redoubled their efforts. She heard screams and shouts ahead as she hurried towards the conflict.

This apartment complex was the largest in the palace, a series of interconnecting rooms that allowed for the imperial family and their most loyal retainers to live apart from the rest of the administration of the Empire for long stretches. A lavish garden rested at the entrance to the residence as you approached from the centre of the palace. It was an oasis of calm in an otherwise constantly busy and noisy community, complete with a huge pool surrounded by pavilions with hanging curtains of silk in which to evade the heat of the day. Now those precious silks were ablaze as if some wayward magical bolt of energy had ignited them.

It took Miranda only a moment to apprehend the situation. A pair of Dasati Deathpriests lay dead next to a fountain. Somehow several had materialized inside the Emperor's garden. The evidence of the carnage around them suggested that without considering their situation, they had started casting their death-spells in random directions, at any human they spied. The Tsurani magician who had been with the Emperor had answered instantly with a blazing ball of fire, probably to cover the Emperor's retreat or to forestall the Deathpriests easily locating him. Either way, the result was a conflagration that was quickly burning its way through a small fortune in silks and cushions. Miranda glanced around, her vision obscured by the smoke and dying flames. From what she could see, many servants and Imperial Guards had died a horrible, painful death. None of the bodies was garbed in imperial fashion, so the Emperor must be in another part of the complex. Miranda felt a sense of relief at the realization.

The Emperor was young, without a wife, so his life was seen as doubly precious: with no heir to crown should he die in an untimely fashion, the Empire would be without a ruler and the political chaos in such a time of great turmoil would be disastrous. As was Tsurani custom, in times of war after the formal breaking of the Red Seal on the great doors of the Temple of the War G.o.d, a herald with the imperial clarion was stationed nearby, to signal any danger to the Light of Heaven. A priest of the order of Jastur also stood watch outside the Emperor's door.

Miranda arrived just behind the first wave of Imperial Guards who were outside the family complex, and was in time to see the powerful priest of Jastur unleash his magic warhammer. It flew through the air to strike a Deathpriest in the chest, slamming him backwards through the air. A fountain of orange blood exploded from the creature's chest as he slid half a dozen yards across the stone floor, almost to Miranda's feet.

Over the tumult, Miranda tried to be heard. 'We need the other one alive!'

She instantly knew that her cry was in vain, for Tsurani soldiers, pledged to give their life for the Emperor, swarmed over the remaining Deathpriest, bearing him down quickly under their weight and before she could reach the ma.s.s of bodies they had pierced him countless times with sword-points and daggers. Pushing aside any irritation over things she couldn't control, she turned to see an officer in the guard standing with his sword drawn, covered in orange blood. 'Where is the Light of Heaven?' she demanded.

'In his bedchamber,' answered the officer.

Miranda noticed that his skin was beginning to blister where the Dasati blood had touched it and she said, 'Wash that off before you suffer seriously, Strike Leader.'

'Your will, Great One,' he answered. Even though she had no official position within the a.s.sembly of Magicians, because she was the wife of Milamber and confidante of the Emperor, the tradition-bound Tsurani insisted on addressing her with that honorific. She had stopped correcting people: it was a useless exercise.

She hurried past servants and guards, to where armed guards protected the entrance to the bedchamber. 'The danger is past,' she instructed them. 'I must see His Majesty.'

The senior guardsman motioned for her to stay. He moved inside the chamber and a moment later reappeared with word that the Emperor would see her. She was through the door before he had finished and found the young ruler wearing his traditional armour, all gold, holding an ancient metal sword, ready to fight. There was something about his manner and bearing that spared him any appearance of the ridiculous. He looked every inch the Tsurani warrior, despite his sheltered life.

Standing at his side was a slender magician named Manwahat, who nodded once at Miranda. He gave her a questioning look. She returned a curt nod, and could sense that somewhere under that immobile Tsurani exterior, he must be breathing a sigh of relief. He was a young magician, as the a.s.sembly accounted such, but Miranda knew him by reputation: he was level-headed and powerful.

Without preamble, she said, 'Majesty, you must leave the Holy City.'

The Emperor blinked as if he didn't understand her words, then his manner changed. He took a deep breath and sheathed his ceremonial sword. 'May I ask why, Miranda? I rarely receive orders.'

Miranda understood belatedly that her informality was ill-suited to any situation where they weren't alone. 'My apologies, Majesty. In my concern for your welfare, I forgot my place. It must be Varen. Disguised as Wyntakata, he has been through this palace a dozen times, and he's the only one who would know how to get those Deathpriests into your private garden.'

'Deathpriests?'

'Two Dasati Deathpriests materialized within your garden and started killing everyone in sight.' She paused for a moment, then said, 'It was a suicide attack, without a doubt. Varen wouldn't care how many Dasati die and they are fanatics in the service of their Dark G.o.d.'

'Return to the subject of why I must leave my palace,' said the Emperor.

'As Wyntakata, Varen has enough knowledge of the palace to continue to attack you here. He knows that despite a fierce loyalty to the Empire, the High Council would be thrown into confusion by your death. With no obvious heir-'

'It becomes a struggle between cousins as to who next sits upon the Golden Throne,' finished Emperor Sezu. 'Yes, it makes sense. But where should I go?'

'Has Wyntakata visited any of your country estates, Majesty?'

'I cannot be certain,' said the Emperor. 'Perhaps before I took office...'

'Not that far back,' said Miranda. She considered how long it was since Varen's last apparent 'death' during his attack on Sorcerer's Isle. 'Just in the last year or so.'

'No, not that I'm aware,' said the Emperor. 'I will have my First Advisor consult with the house staff.' Then he brightened. 'One place I'm certain he has not visited. The ancient Acoma estates, south of Sulan-Qu. No one has lived there since my grandfather took the throne, but we have kept those lands and the buildings in the imperial house as a shrine, a site of veneration as the birthplace of the Mistress of the Empire. Yes, it is certain he has never been there.'

She nodded to Manwahat, and the young magician said, 'If the Light of Heaven pleases, I can have you and your closest retainers there in a matter of minutes.' The Emperor seemed about to object, but the magic-user added, 'Others can ensure that your household follows quickly.' He nodded at Miranda.

'I'll pa.s.s word back through the a.s.sembly and if we must we'll move the entire seat of government down there. I can issue orders from there as quickly as here if the Great Ones will aid us.'

Manwahat nodded. 'If it is your will, Majesty, it is our will.'

The Emperor turned to a servant. 'Instruct the Warlord to convene the High Council tomorrow, and I shall leave instructions on what must be done to prepare for the coming invasion.' The servant bowed and hurried off to discharge his duty.

A palace official appeared to inform the Emperor that the fires in the garden pavilion were extinguished. The Emperor dismissed everyone, but bade Miranda to linger. When they were alone with the remaining bodyguards, the Emperor's calm mask fell away and Miranda now saw a very angry young man before her. 'The war has begun, hasn't it?'

Miranda a.s.sumed a level of familiarity she wouldn't have risked even hours before. She reached out and put her hand on the Emperor's shoulder. Guards in the room shifted position slightly, ready to leap to their ruler's defence if the outland woman should attempt any harm. 'It has begun,' she said softly. 'And it will not end until the Dasati are completely repulsed from this world and this realm, or Kelewan lies in ruins at their feet. You are about to do something no other Emperor has ever been forced to do: order every house in the Empire to arms, to muster the entire armed might at your command, for never in its two-thousand-year history has the Empire stood at greater risk.'

The anger remained, but the Emperor's voice was calm. 'We will do what we must. We are Tsurani.'

Miranda hoped that would be enough. 'What of the message?' she asked.

The Emperor looked off into the distance. 'I... where would we go?'

Miranda knew that was the heart of the issue. The cryptic message from some future Pug to the Emperor instructing him to make ready an evacuation left a lot of room for interpretation. But taken at its worst possible meaning, to remove everyone from this world, or even just from the Empire, would be a colossal enterprise. A hundred rifts would have to be fashioned and controlled day and night, a task that would challenge the entire a.s.sembly. Even with help from the Academy and Sorcerer's Isle, the enormity of the undertaking would be overwhelming. And during a war with the most dangerous enemies ever confronted? Miranda knew what the Emperor was thinking: it was an impossible choice.

Moreover, his question still hung in the air: where would they go?

Miranda saw a look of relief on her son's face as she entered the office her husband had created at the rear of their home. She wished she could smile at the look, but she knew that he was about to be disabused of any notion that she was there to relieve him from his duty.

'Mother,' he said, rising and kissing her on the cheek.

'Caleb,' she replied, 'you look as if you're ageing before my eyes.'

'I had no concept of how difficult it was to coordinate all the Conclave's activities as well as manage this school on a day-today basis.'

'Any problems?' she asked, taking the chair behind the desk he had just vacated.

'The school? None to speak of. As Father instructed, we're turning down requests to send new students, focusing our efforts on training to make our magicians ready to help in the coming fight, and everyone's cooperating.'

'And?' she asked. 'What isn't going well?'

'We've heard nothing from Kaspar's expedition to the Peaks of the Quor.'

'How overdue is contact?'

'A few days.'

'I won't start worrying until he's a week overdue,' she said. 'Remind me of the mission?'

Caleb's dark eyes narrowed. He knew that his mother had an almost perfect memory for details, when she bothered to study them and realized she must have neglected to apprise herself of the details of this mission, because it was one of the last Pug had approved prior to his departure for the Dasati realm.

'One of our agents in Freeport picked up a message between a smuggler and some unknown band of raiders whom Father suspected of either working for Leso Varen or perhaps with him.'

'For or with? He thinks they're either unwilling dupes or willing accomplices?'

'Something like that,' said Caleb. 'The west sh.o.r.e of the Peaks of the Quor, specifically a large cove called "Kesana Cove", along with an approximate date, was expressly mentioned in the message-'

'And your father was off and running to find out what that was all about.'

Caleb nodded. 'He also wanted to get some of the lads from different groups working together, so he asked Nakor to talk to Lord Erik about his... irregulars out of Krondor, and they joined with some lads from Kesh and Roldem and he put Kaspar in charge.'

'Well, your father's been curious about the Peaks of the Quor for years,' she admitted. 'We've had little luck finding out much and have both been too busy to go down there personally to poke about, so I understand his reasons.' Thinking about the coming confrontation with the Dasati, she added, 'Though his timing could have been better. Let me know if you hear anything from Kaspar. Now, go and take the rest of the day off.'

Caleb frowned. 'Only the rest of the day?'

'Yes, because you're not heading out to go hunting or whatever else you want to do. I'm sure your wife won't object to you staying at home for a few more days... or weeks.' Caleb's frown deepened. 'I'm not going to be here for long. I have a lot to do and I need to come up with a plan on how to accomplish it without your father and Nakor around.'

'Do what?'

Miranda sighed. 'Convince the Kings of the Isles and Roldem, as well as the Emperor of Great Kesh to accept refugees from Kelewan should it come to that.'

Caleb blinked in surprise. 'Refugees? You're thinking of contingency plans?'

Caleb saw his mother visibly wilt before his eyes. All her usual strength and vitality seemed to ebb away and she sat back in the chair with a look of resignation he had never see before. Softly she said, 'No. Not a contingency. An eventuality.'

Pug sat quietly watching the faces of those nearby, as the sun settled behind the western horizon, a portion of the city wall, so vast and so distant it looked like a remote ridge in the evening haze. He occupied a small bench where, he had been told, Lessers who farmed the grove came to eat their mid-day meal. The others were arrayed around the workers' shack, the only building in the grove, shielded from casual sight by hundreds of fruit trees. Pug considered the fruit a Dasati apple, though the colour was more of a yellowish-orange than red or green, and there was a luminous shimmer to the surface when it was freshly picked, the flesh of the fruit being a deep purple colour.

As the sun disappeared from view, Macros turned and said, 'It's done. The Great Culling is now over.' With a heavy sigh he came to sit down next to Pug. 'The killing will continue for a bit the fights don't simply stop because the sun has set, but combatants will now withdraw rather than press the issue, and those in hiding will slowly emerge, and tonight the cleaning-up will commence.'

Nakor stood a few feet behind Pug, observing the bucolic peace that all knew to be an illusion. Safety was almost an impossibility on this world, yet for a moment, he could see in the faces of the others the same thought: once this had been a tranquil, lovely world, with industrious people whose lives in many ways resembled those on Midkemia. Softly he said, 'This is how it should be.'

'Yes,' said Pug as the sun set completely and the sky above turned into a stunning riot of colours as the western clouds reflected a spectrum no human eye could ever appreciate. 'What happened?'

'The Dark G.o.d,' said Macros. Pug could tell that his illness was taking more of a toll than usual; the exertion of the last day was bringing him to the edge of exhaustion.

Nakor said, 'No, it's more than that.'

Magnus also approached. 'What do you mean?'

'It can't just be one local G.o.d, no matter if he's this world's version of the Nameless a Greater G.o.d disrupting the balance. We know what happened when the Nameless One tried to take dominance during the early part of the Chaos Wars on Midkemia: the surviving Greater and Lesser G.o.ds put aside their differences and combined to banish him to somewhere safe until order and balance could be restored. That didn't happen here. The Dark G.o.d overwhelmed the combined might of hundreds of other Dasati G.o.ds. But how?'

Macros said, 'Not hundreds. Thousands. We don't know how. The history of that era is lost.'

Pug nodded. 'Logic tells us that the Dark G.o.d could not have done it alone. He must have had allies.'

'Who?' asked Magnus. 'And what happened to them?'

'Perhaps he turned on them at a crucial moment, until he alone remained,' offered Macros.

'No,' said Nakor, again softly, as if afraid to be overheard. 'Too many things would have had to fall into place for him. It's too unlikely.' He offered a rueful smile.

Pug nodded in agreement. He weighed his words carefully, then looked at Macros. 'What do you know of the next realm?'