The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

vassal, but it rarely ended well. Adolescent demons were always fractious and rarely around for long; those that survived to adulthood tended to the cunning or powerful, and picked their conflicts wisely.

      The rise of the kings had changed things, in the First Kingdoms and now the Second Kingdoms, and Dahun had been foremost in reforming and remaking his people; the spawning pits still existed – how could they not? But families, a new and alien concept, were mandated and pairs were appointed to breed, Child’s mother and father among them.

      No one could claim to understand why Lord Dahun had done this, but none would openly question him. It was supposed by the Archivists that at some point he would instruct them on what was to come next in the forced evolution of the People, but the arrival of the Darkness had thrown all into chaos.

      When Dahun vanished, society had not just reverted to its former state: it had disintegrated. Those left surviving the anarchy that once was Dahun’s Kingdom would be little better than the Mad Ones, let alone the Savages in whose lands they now trespassed. Belog was forced to admit that if it wasn’t for the strength of Child’s will and personality, this little band would not exist, and he would most certainly already be dead.

      He watched as Child finished devouring the brain of the magic-user and applied herself to his torso while keeping her gaze upon the young male. Finally she said, ‘I like his look.’

      ‘Beauty,’ said Belog. ‘You have come to appreciate the enjoyment that is derived from perceiving things that are pleasing to look at, irrespective of their usefulness or danger. You feel better just looking at the energy plains or the setting sun, or that young male.’

      ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Tell me more about beauty,’ she instructed, and he did.

      They left the volcanic plateau and found themselves entering a realm of thick bramble, black with huge thorns, shot through with meandering pathways that might lead somewhere. ‘Where are we?’ Child asked Belog.

      ‘I am uncertain,’ he replied. ‘I believe we are in the region known as the Blasted Plain, a harsh land before we reach the heart of Maarg’s kingdom.’

      ‘Tell me about Maarg,’ she instructed. She motioned for her followers to gather around and Belog realized they now numbered almost two dozen. They tended to be quiet, out of fear, or gratitude, or respect, Belog didn’t care to speculate on which. He counted himself lucky that he was critical to Child and he wished to keep it that way. At worst, that would ensure he was the last one to be eaten by her. At best, he had a benefactor and protector who was growing in intelligence, physical power, and magical knowledge by the day.

      He looked around trying to determine which course through the brambles might suit them best. He knelt for a minute and felt his jacket bind across his back. It had been an odd affectation on Dahun’s part to dress his Archivists in black coats and grey trousers. Given the diversity of shapes among demons, it had made for some particularly odd-looking Archivists at times. Still, it had made them instantly recognizable as were his guardians and enabled Belog to move freely throughout Dahun’s realm. However, Child’s generosity in feeding him was causing him to grow, a condition which used to be prevented by the careful oversight of the King’s Chief Archivist. In Dahun’s Kingdom you could be intelligent or powerful, but never both.

      Finally Belog pointed and said, ‘I believe that way may be a wise choice.’

      She looked at him with a odd expression and then he heard a sound he had never heard from a young demon: laughter. It was a different sort of laughter from that of the older demons, who laughed with a maniacal, joyless howl at the pain and destruction they caused, or at the crushing defeat of their enemies, or the lamentations and pleas for mercy from those about to be devoured. But this was something new: this was a laugh of amusement, not at another’s pain.

      As he followed Child into the brambles, he thought, What are you becoming?

      They hit several dead ends, and on the fourth, Child’s temper erupted, causing her to cast a ball of fire at the brambles that started a conflagration that had them running back the way they had come. Child collapsed a safe distance away and began to roar with laughter. The other demons looked from one to another and tried to mimic her mirth, but failed.

      ‘Can’t let my temper get the better of me,’ she mused as she stood up.

      ‘You always had that problem—’ Belog stopped. Where did that thought come from? Again, he was befuddled by this creature he was following and by his own changes, which he understood no better than he understood hers.

      They left the forest of brambles and found themselves on a hillside looking down at an abandoned city, with desolate land surrounding it. ‘Maarg’s city,’ said Belog.

      ‘Again,’ she demanded, and he knew what she asked.

      ‘Maarg was the greatest of the Savage kings. He was a glutton and consumed all his enemies, growing massively obese as a sign of his majesty; he savoured raw power and his court was formed by trial by combat and by cunning. If a warrior killed his superior he gained his place and Maarg’s favour, for the King felt he was replacing a vassal with a stronger one.

      ‘His court was always a place of terrible balance between loyalty in exchange for protection and the potential for betrayal. It made Maarg especially vengeful and unforgiving.’

      As Belog spoke he marvelled that there was no need for him to explain those concepts, for to understand vengeance you had to understand forgiveness. And forgiveness to any member of the People was an abstract concept. Even Archivists struggled to grasp it.

      ‘Tell me again of the part about him leaving and why?’

      ‘There are only rumours. It is said that somewhere in his city is a hall and in that hall is a gate to the higher realms. Someone from those higher realms opened that gate years past, and Maarg’s army poured through, devouring everything in their path.

      ‘It is said Maarg went there and perished, or found another realm to rule; but no one really knows.’ As they started down a long road to the city, Belog added, ‘Many kings of the Savage Lands, and even some companies of Mad Ones came here, seeking to take this for themselves. Yet they did not stay.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Child.

      ‘It is lifeless.’

      She stopped and the rest of her entourage did so as well. She said, ‘Yes, I sense it.’

      ‘Sense it?’

      She resumed walking. ‘It’s a feeling. What caused this?’

      ‘It is something like the Final Death, I think,’ he said.

      At that the usually-silent demons who followed Child halted, some muttering, a few looking at her in abject fear. For a demon there were two deaths: the one that occurred many times in the course of existence, where death returned their essence to the spawning pit. But then there was the Final Death, when all existence ceased, consumed in some fashion by a nameless horror; and that above all else was feared by a demon. From the Time Before Time there was only one way for a demon to die the Final Death, and that was for something to prevent the energies from returning to the spawning pits.

      Then came the Darkness and now it was believed that to be touched by it was to die the Final Death. Certainly no being alive from the spawning pits remembered confronting the Darkness and returning. And the Darkness had been growing at the heart of the realm for millennia. Only the oldest, most powerful, demons even remembered any of the People who had once lived in the First Kingdoms. And now the Second Kingdoms were being consumed as the Darkness expanded.

      Kings and their vassal lords had fled. Some had conquered territory in the Savage Lands, or even in the land of the Mad Ones. Others had found portals to other realms and warred there, conquering all before them, feasting on life that was not enough, never enough. Stories were told and no one knew what to believe. It was even said that hosts of demons raged across the skies of other realms, warring with mortal races.

      Child said to her group, ‘Follow if you will or return the way