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

Something drew the creature to the other side of the portal. It may be that it emitted a sound, or some energy that the creature sensed, but that it saw us, knew who we were, or where we were, I think not.’

      Again the Lord Regent was silent; then he said, ‘We will stop all work on the portals now.’

      The Warleader nodded in agreement.

      To Tanderae the Lord Regent said, ‘Do what you must, but your task now is to seek out lore and knowledge about these creatures from whatever source you seek.’

      The Loremaster was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, ‘Then I must begin with Lord Tomas.’

      An expression of pure displeasure greeted that remark. The Lord Regent was still unhappy with his people’s reaction to Lord Tomas’s visit to E’bar when first the Taredhel had returned to Home, as they called Midkemia. It was a foundation of his beliefs that the Taredhel reject anything remotely related to their subservience to the Valheru, all that was recorded in the Forbidden. Yet ancient ties of blood were still strong. It had taken steel-willed self-control not to drop to his knees in Tomas’s presence. It was clear to anyone who had any insight into that first meeting or perspective on the two leaders that a conflict would be inevitable.

      Tanderae didn’t fear that; he had no love for this Lord Regent and despised his Meet for their jealousy and obliteration of the Circle of Light. As a historian, he revered knowledge and learning. No, he feared what that confrontation would do to the Taredhel.

      Finally, the Lord Regent said, ‘If you must, then go speak to him. But only you. I have concerns about this so-called Queen and her consort and their designs on us.’

      Saying nothing, the Loremaster of the Clans of the Seven Stars bowed slightly and withdrew, then turned and hurried away. He needed to catch up with Gulamendis and the human, for he knew now that certain things needed to be accomplished and that these things needed to be put in motion now.

      Then he realized that even now it might be too late.

      He fled through the night with the image of a black shape with burning red eyes haunting him.

• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN •

       Surrender

      SHANDREENA GROANED IN PAIN.

      She had been beaten, questioned, beaten again, drugged, and transported, to where she had no idea. She knew she was aboard a ship somewhere, deep in a dark, dirty, wet hold, chained to a wall. Something in the drugs she had been given had not only dulled her senses but seemed to deaden her ability to use some of the spiritual gifts her Order had given her.

      Unlike the priesthood of Dala, who used magic on a daily basis, the Sisters and Brothers of the Martial Order of the Shield of the Weak had rare access to the prayer-power given by the Goddess. Most of that magic was dependent on rites practised in the temples, or on artefacts given by the Order, as well as some magic that was inherent in the training for combat. In fact, most of her training was in combat-magic, useful when avoiding a crazed magician’s energy blast or in banishing a demon back to the demon realm, but fairly useless when it came to escaping from the hold of a ship.

      During her questioning, the topics had ranged from the obvious to the bizarre, and throughout she had endured the punishment and stuck to her original story: she was an itinerant Knight-Adamant of her Order, which was true, who happened into a situation in which she had perceived something of interest, again true, and had chosen to investigate, again true; but she neglected certain details and volunteered no additional information.

      Her captors seemed to know a fair bit about her, though, which corresponded with what the hired archer Ned had said when he mentioned they knew her name. She hadn’t been interrogated by the man in the robe who had ordered Ned’s killing, but by others who seemed content to ask her a series of questions that appeared unrelated, and beat her from time to time, seemingly irrespective of the answers she gave.

      One in particular, a reed-thin man with a hooked nose and a heavily pockmarked face which he tried to hide with a thick beard, seemed to take pleasure from causing her pain. She had known his type when she had been a whore in a brothel in Krondor, and fortunately her beauty had prevented her from their predations, because the owner of the brothel had wanted her undamaged. But she remembered the other girls who had returned from time with those men bleeding, bruised, and sometimes cut and scarred. Many of them escaped into drugs and a few took their own lives.

      She thanked Dala every day for Brother Mathias, the Knight-Adamant who had saved her and brought her to the path of the Goddess. Though on days such as today where she awoke chained to the stinking hull of a ship, with dirty bilge-water splashing up on her every time the ship struck a comber bow-on, in a hold which contained enough rats to populate a sewer in Krondor, she wasn’t sure how much thanks was appropriate.

      She had no sense of time. Even the passing of night and day was impossible to judge, since she was so far below in the ship that night and day were not distinguishable. She did know her own body well enough to realize she had been there for at least a week. She was trained to go without food for a long time, and had had to endure hunger before, and the way she felt now told her she had been at least three days since her last meal, a bowl of half-boiled millet and some salt pork.

      She was thirsty as well, and knew she had been given a cup of water some time the day before, but now she had to fight the urge to splash bilge-water up to her face and drink. There were spells used by the more gifted in her Order that could purify water, even it was said a few for the creation of food, though she had never met a Knight-Adamant who could achieve that. She wryly thought it would save so much time and coin if you could just whistle up a side of beef, some steaming potatoes, and a flagon of ale.

      She sighed and felt her head clear. She had been left unattended for a long period of time as far as she could tell; but at least she was more lucid than she had been when taken captive. She had ridden to the shore with her captives and then someone had struck her hard across the back of the head, and she had awoken in this hold, stripped of her arms and armour and chained to this wall. But at least this time she had not been raped and thrown off a cliff.

      She stretched and realized that her body didn’t hurt as much as it had the day before. She still had aches and sore spots all over her body, as well as raw wrists and ankles from the chafing of the chains. She sat back, extending her legs as far as the chains would allow, not too far. At least she could sit with knees bent and her back against the hull. She closed her eyes and turned her mind to a healing focus she had learned early in her training.

      Soon her body tingled and she felt energy coursing through her. She hadn’t felt like this since her last encounter with a healing sister of the Temple of Dala. She kept her eyes closed despite an urge to open them from surprise, and returned to her prayer, sinking into the feeling of wellness as she had been taught. It was a healing bath of the Goddess’s powers, and she let it wash over her and consume her. She felt pain slip away, felt the fear slip away, and finally felt contentment seep into every fibre of her being.

      At last even this feeling slipped away and she regarded her wrists. The chafing had vanished, and her skin was intact. What bruises she had been able to see in the faint light allowed into this room by the single lantern hanging at the rear of the hold seemed to have vanished as well.

      That was surprising.

      She was, though, a worshipful devotee of the Goddess and even if Dala had taken pity on her faithful servant and healed her, there were far more impressive miracles recorded by the temple. Sandreena had just never expected to be on the receiving end of even a little miracle. In fact, she often thought the Goddess’s main means of instructing her daughter were by pain, obstacles, and frustration.

      She sighed, feeling better than since her captivity, though she was still hungry enough to eat a hanging side of beef, raw. She stretched a little and found she was still weak and sore despite her healing magic. She sat back and thought about it. She