Raymond E. Feist - At the Gates of Darkness

At the Gates of Darkness

Demonwar Saga Book 2

Raymond E. Feist

Forthe ladies who make me look so good: (in alphabetical order) JenniferBrehl, Emma Coode, Jane Johnson, and Katherine Nitzel; rarely does anauthor get one good editor, let alone four.

H OWLSFILLED THE NIGHT.

Theblasted hills smoked and the stench of char filled the air. Hundredsof robed figures slowly wended their way between rocky debris toreach the huge clearing below the remains of a fortress gate tower. Apowerful man stood silently on top of the pile of stones, lookingdown upon his followers.

Anotherfigure waited in the shadows, using his considerable skill to remainunseen, and wishing fervently that he was anywhere else in the worldbut here. James Dasher Jamison took a slow, even breath, as much tocalm himself as to catch his breath, and struggled to keep his witsabout him. Within the courts of the three largest nations of theregion, he was known as a minor noble of the Kingdom of the Isles; aman who had inherited, not earned, his rank, being the grandson ofthe Duke of Rillanon. To others he was Jim Dasher, a businessmaninvolved in some petty criminal dealings in the city of Krondor; andto a few, he was known as the Upright Man, leader of the ThievesGuild: the Mockers. But even fewer knew James Dasher Jamison as thehead of the Kingdom of the Isles intelligent apparatus, reportingdirectly to his grandfather.

Inhis forty or so years, Jim had seen many strange and terrifyingthingsexperiences that came with his various positions. Attimes he feared he had become as heartless a bastard as those he hadput down in the name of the Crown, or for the Conclave of Shadows,with whom he often worked; but even his lifetime of violence andintrigue could not have adequately prepared him for what he now sawbefore him.

Amassive fire encompassed a circle of stakes, to which were tied fourhuman sacrifices. They were not the first, already the dead numberedin the dozens, if not hundreds; but what churned Jims stomachmore than this terrible scene, was that the slain had seemed willing,even eager to embrace a painful, flaming death.

Aroundthe edges of the clearing more victims dangled at the ends of ropes;moments before, Jim had witnessed them place the nooses around theirown necks, and jump off small ladders, to hang themselves. Many neckshad broken with an audible crack, but a few had died slowly, kickingfor what had seemed far too long a time. Jim had seen more than hisfair share of public hangings in Krondor, but this was far morehorrific than a criminal reaping his just deserts. This was achilling display of self-sacrifice to evil. The howls lessened as themasochists finally began to lose consciousness and die.

AsJim watched, sickened, another score were impaled on wooden stakes,their blood and faeces filling the air with the unforgettable stenchof death. Some of them quivered and twitched as their own weightdrove the stakes deeper into their bodies. Others gave out only onedeath spasm before they hung on the stakes, motionless.

Jimsaw nothing sane here. He turned his attention to the man standing ontop of the tumbled down masonry, who held his hands up in a welcominggesture. The mans expression and bearing made Jim wish to turntail and run away as fast and as far as he could. He had never seenthis man before, but his description fit what he had learned from Pugof Sorcerers Isle and a Demon Master named Amirantha: The manon the stones above was Belasco; one of the most dangerous men alive,and certainly one of the maddest.

Witha sweep of his hand, the domineering magic user conjured a mirage, ashimmering likeness that hung in the air above his head, one thatmade the mob at his feet cry out in supplication and awe.

Theimage was Dahun, and from what Jim had learnt over the last sixmonths, the appearance of his likeness, almost as if he stood here inthe flesh, meant that his servants were closer to opening a portalfor him.

Dahunwas twenty feet tall and roughly man shaped, but he also possessed along black, scaled lizards tail, which descended from the baseof his spine. His chest was massive and his stomach rippled withmuscles under reddish skin that stretched from black at his feet andblended to crimson over his chest. His face was human, save for amassive, jutting lower jaw and large bat-like ears. His eyes weresolid black orbs. Long tendrils of hair, braided with human skulls,hung to his shoulders. His brow was adorned with a massive goldencirclet, set with a dark stone that pulsed with purple light. Thefingers of his left hand ended in black talons and flexed restlessly,as if in anticipation of tearing his enemies apart. In his right handhe held a flaming sword. His hips were girded with a studded kilt,and two large leather bands crossed his chest with a massive goldenemblem at their centre.

Jimspent a moment fixing the image in his memory. Then he glanced aroundand noted the slack jawed, empty eyed expression on the worshippersaround him. It was clear they had been drugged in preparation forthis ritual, so he attempted to mimic their shambling walk.

Feelingalmost sick to his stomach, Jim steeled himself and slowly joined thepeople who were approaching the monster. Like them he wore a heavyblack robe, but he had pulled the cowl forward to conceal hisfeatures. The original owner of the robe now lay at the bottom of adeep ravine less than a quarter mile away.

Heshuffled his feet, moving slower than those around him to keep to therear of the crowd; he wanted the opportunity to slip away easilyshould the need arise. He kept his hands inside the sleeves of hisrobeone hand held a dagger treated with a fast-acting poisonthat would cause paralysis within a minute and the other a devicewhich had been constructed for him by a master artificer in Krondor:a ball that when shattered would emit a blinding light for tenseconds, providing him more than enough time to get away. It woulddisable those around him for a few minutes, or at least the humanonlookers, he couldnt be certain that everyone in attendancetonight was like him.

Jimswallowed hard again and paused, forcing himself to confront thevision of the monster above him.

Belascoraised his hands again. Jim could easily see that the magic user wasmadder than a bug trapped in a bass drum. His demon projection wasthe most horrifying sight that Jim had ever witnessed, yet themagician was laughing like a delighted child. He was calling out tothe faithful, but Jim wasnt quite close enough to hear hiswords, only the tone of his voice.

Jiminched to the right as the followers in front of him continued theirslow progression forward; the group was coming together at the centreof what had once been a fortress. Perhaps five hundred of thefaithful had gathered. Jim glanced around; a sudden tightness in hisneck had caused him to worry about who might now be behind him. Itwas a sense he had inherited from his great-grandfather, somethingthe family called his bump of trouble. Right now it wasstarting to itch badly.

Ashe suspected, figures moved along the rocks that surrounded the flatcentral area of the ancient marshalling yard. The roaring fires atits edge made everything beyond their light difficult to see, but Jimhad mastered the trick of not looking directly at the flames, andkept alert for flickering movement betraying those outside the light.

Thename of this ancient Keshian fortress had been lost in time. Itswalls and towers were mostly gone, crumbled like the masonry uponwhich Belasco stood, and only one underground entrance a few hundredfeet away still led into its tunnels and caverns. Jim had nointention of entering that labyrinth. In his great-grandfathersday it had been known locally as The Tomb of the Hopeless. Legendtold that an entire garrison had been left to die in there. It oncecommanded the entrance to what was called the Valley of Lost Men.