A Darkness at Sethanon. Raymond E. Feist

time for thee to take command.’

      Drawing on powers not employed for millennia, Tomas willed a passage into that place beyond space and time where his brothers and sisters had once roamed at will, visiting destruction upon worlds unnumbered. For the first time in long ages, a Dragon Lord flew between worlds.

      Tomas mentally directed Ryath’s course. As need came, he discovered abilities not used in this life. Again he felt the persona of Ashen-Shugar within, but it was nothing like the all-consuming madness he had endured before he finally overcame the heritage of the Valheru to regain his humanity.

      Tomas maintained an illusion of space about himself, Pug, and the dragon, again almost instinctively. All about them the glory of a thousand million stars illuminated the darkness. Both men knew they were not in what Pug had come to call ‘true space’, but were rather in that grey nothingness he had experienced when he and Macros had closed the rift between Kelewan and Midkemia. But that greyness had no substance, existing as it did between the very strands of the fabric of space and time. They could age here while appearing back at the point of departure an instant after having left. Time did not exist in this nonspace. But the human mind, no matter how gifted, had limits, and Tomas knew Pug was human, regardless of his powers, and that now was not the time to test his limits. Ryath appeared indifferent to the illusion of true space around her. Tomas and Pug sensed the dragon change directions.

      The dragon’s ability to navigate in this nothingness was a source of interest to Pug. He suspected Macros might have gained some insight into how to move between worlds at will from his time of study with Rhuagh years ago. Pug made a mental note to search through Macros’s works back at Stardock for that information.

      They emerged in normal space, thundering into existence with a loud report. Ryath beat her wings strongly, flying through angry skies, dark with rain clouds, above a rugged landscape of ancient mountains. The air held a bitter metallic tang, a hint of something foul blown along by a stinging, frigid wind. Ryath sent a thought to Tomas. This place is of an alien nature. I like it not.

      Aloud so that Pug might hear, Tomas answered, ‘We shall not tarry here, Ryath. And here we need fear nothing.’

       I have nothing to do with fear, Valheru. I simply care not for such odd places.

      Pug pointed past Tomas, who turned to follow the magician’s gesture. With mental commands, Tomas directed the dragon to follow Pug’s instructions. They sped between jagged peaks, a nightmare landscape of twisted rock. In the distance mighty volcanoes spewed towers of black smoke that fanned upward, their undersides glowing orange from reflected light. The mountain slopes were aglow with flowing superheated rock. Then they came upon the city. Once-heroic walls lay rent, the gaps framed by shattered masonry. Proud towers occasionally still rose above the destruction, but mostly there was ruination. No signs of life could be seen. Over what had once been a plaza they banked, circling the heart of the city, where throngs once gathered. Now only the sound of Ryath’s wings could be heard over the icy wind.

      ‘What place is this?’ asked Tomas.

      ‘I do not know. I know this is the world of the Aal, or once was in the past. It is ancient. See the sun.’

      Tomas observed an angry white spot behind blowing clouds. ‘It is strange.’

      ‘It is old. Once it shone like ours, brilliant and warm. Now it fades.’

      Valheru lore, long dormant, returned to Tomas. ‘It is near the end of its cycle. I have knowledge of these. Sometimes they simply dwindle to nothing. Other times … they explode in titanic fury. I wonder which this will be.’

      ‘I don’t know. Perhaps the oracle knows.’ Pug directed Tomas toward a distant range of mountains.

      Toward the mountains they sped, Ryath’s powerful wings carrying them swiftly. The city had stood on the edge of tableland, once cultivated, they suspected. But nothing hinting of farms remained, save a single stretch of what seemed an aqueduct, standing isolated in the centre of the broad plain, a silent monument to a long dead people. Then Ryath began to climb as they approached the mountains. Once again they flew between mountain peaks, these old and worn by wind and rain.

      ‘There,’ said Pug. ‘We have arrived.’

      Following Tomas’s mental instructions, Ryath circled above a peak. Upon the south-facing rocks a clear flat place was revealed, before a large cave. There was no room for the giant dragon to land, so Tomas used his powers to levitate himself and Pug from her back. Ryath sent a message that she would fly to hunt, returning at Tomas’s call. Tomas wished her success, but expected the dragon to return hungry.

      They floated through a damp, windblown sky, so darkened by the storm there was little difference between day and night. They alighted upon the ledge before the cave.

      They watched Ryath speed away. Pug said, ‘There is no danger here, but we may yet travel to places of great peril. Do you think Ryath truly without fear?’

      Tomas turned to Pug with a smile. ‘I think her so. In my dreams of ancient days I touched the minds of her ancestors, and this dragon is to them as they were to your Fantus.’

      ‘Then it is good she joins us willingly. It would have been difficult to persuade her otherwise.’

      Tomas agreed. ‘I could have destroyed her, without a doubt. But bend her to my will? I think not. The days of the Valheru ruling without question are long since vanished.’

      Pug studied the alien landscape below the ledge. ‘This is a sad and hollow place. In the tomes harboured in Elvardein this world is described. It was once adorned with vast cities, homes to nations; now nothing is left.’

      Tomas asked quietly, ‘What became of those people?’

      ‘The sun waned; weather changed. Earthquakes, famine, war. Whatever it was, it brought utter destruction.’

      They turned to face the cave as a figure appeared in the entrance, shrouded from head to foot in an all-concealing robe; only one thin arm appeared from a sleeve. That arm ended in a gnarled old hand holding a staff. Slowly the man, or so he appeared to be, approached, and when he stood before them, a voice as thin as an ancient wind issued from within the dark hood. ‘Who seeks out the Oracle of Aal?’

      Pug spoke. ‘I, Pug, called Milamber, magician of two worlds.’

      ‘And I, Tomas, called Ashen-Shugar, who has lived twice.’

      The figure motioned for them to enter the cave. Tomas and Pug passed into a low, unlit tunnel. With a wave of his hand, Pug caused light to appear about them. The tunnel opened into a monstrous cavern.

      Tomas halted. ‘We were but scant yards below the peak. This cavern cannot be contained within …’

      Pug placed his hand upon Tomas’s arm. ‘We are somewhere else.’

      The cavern was lit by faint light issuing from the walls and ceiling, so Pug ended his own spell. Several more figures in robes could be seen in distant corners of the cavern, but none approached.

      The man who had greeted them upon the ledge walked past them, and they followed. Pug said, ‘What should we call you?’

      The man said, ‘Whatever pleases you. Here we have no names, no past, no future. We are simply those who serve the oracle.’ He led them to a large outcropping of rock, upon which rested a strange figure. It was a young woman, or, more appropriately, a girl, perhaps no more than thirteen or fourteen, perhaps a few years older; it was difficult to judge. She was nude, covered in dirt, scratches, and her own excrement. Her long brown hair was matted with filth. Her eyes widened as they approached, and she scampered backward across the rocks, shrieking in terror. It was obvious to both men she was entirely mad. The shrieking continued while she hugged herself, then it descended the scale, changing into a mad laugh. Suddenly the girl gave the men an appraising look and began to pull at her hair, in a pitiful imitation of combing, as if she was suddenly concerned about her appearance.

      Without words, the man with the staff indicated the girl. Tomas said, ‘This,