A Crown Imperilled. Raymond E. Feist

and Pug suspected that the Autarch was right; it would indeed be too difficult for human vocal cords to master their language. He used more than a century of observational skills to assess the scene as they made their way through the crowd. Rather than animalistic creatures, he now saw them as a crowd of people no more or less diverse and threatening than the population of any small human city on market day: females with wide-eyed children in tow, vendors displaying their wares, and refugees trying to find a space to settle as comfortably as possible.

      Once through the press, they mounted a series of steps to a terraced portion of the city upon which several larger buildings rested. There was nothing remotely like a palace within sight. Behind the buildings rose a wall, high enough to conceal any hint of its purpose. Whatever lay behind it felt oddly familiar to Pug, but there was nothing alarming about the sense of familiarity; instead he found it oddly comforting.

      They entered the largest of the three buildings on the plaza, and were led into a hall. Five empty chairs stood behind a table on a dais near the far wall, but the rest of the room was lined with benches able to seat perhaps as many as two hundred Pantathians.

      ‘This is our seat of government,’ said Tak’ka. He motioned for them to sit on the bench closest to the table, and rather than mount the step and take one of the chairs, he sat on the bench next to Amirantha. His two silent companions sat on the next bench directly behind them. ‘As Autarch, I preside over Pantathia and the surrounding communities.’ He motioned to the two other Pantathians and said, ‘This is Dak’it and Tov’ka, fellow Presidents of Pantathia.’ He pronounced the names with a sharp-pitched tone and a closing of the throat in the middle, and again Pug doubted he could duplicate it.

      Tak’ka sighed in a very human fashion. ‘There are usually five of us, but two of our members gave their lives during the last defence of the city.’ All three bowed their heads slightly, as if honouring the memories of the fallen; then Tak’ka looked at Pug. ‘As I said, we have very strong feelings regarding you, Pug of Stardock.’

      Pug said, ‘Tell me, please.’

      ‘You’ve killed many of our people,’ said the Autarch, flatly.

      ‘And you have killed many of mine,’ said Pug. ‘It was war.’

      Tak’ka lowered his head slightly. ‘True; and to our everlasting sorrow.’

      ‘You find me at a loss, Tak’ka.’ Pug knew he was not doing justice to the pronunciation of the Pantathian’s name, but the leader of the lizard men took no offence. ‘We first encountered your people during the Great Uprising, when the moredhel clans swept down from the north and threatened the Kingdom of the Isles.’ He chose not to mention their goal, which had been to seize the Lifestone hidden under the city of Sethanon. ‘An imposter, who claimed to be the incarnation of a great moredhel hero, was revealed to be a Pantathian priest, disguised by very powerful magic.’ He paused, and his shoulders sagged.

      ‘We are a deliberately created race; bred to serve a long-departed mistress.’

      ‘Alma-Lodaka,’ said Pug. Tomas had shared much of his memories of Ashen-Shugar, and had told Pug all he knew of the Pantathians, as had Macros and others over the years.

      ‘Ah,’ said Dak’it. ‘You know our history.’

      ‘A bit,’ admitted Pug. Glancing around the room he said, ‘Obviously not as much as I thought. From my previous encounters with your race, this city is completely unexpected.’

      ‘Then there is much history that you do not know,’ said Tak’ka. ‘Many of those known to us as the Ancient Ones—’

      ‘The Valheru,’ Pug interrupted.

      ‘Yes, though we were forbidden to use their names. She who was our mistress raised us up for her amusement and to serve her. Others of the Ancient Ones did as well, though to the best of our knowledge, only the Tiger Men in the Great South Forest also survived the centuries since the Ancient Ones rose to challenge the gods.

      ‘Centuries ago some of us began to change. There had always been a caste among us who were talented magicians. Those you may know as the Panath-Tiandn are our most talented forgers of magic, but also our least intelligent brothers and sisters. When one is hatched, the child must be constantly watched and cared for, as well as protected from harming himself or others. It is a difficult responsibility for the parents.’

      ‘Parents?’ said Pug. ‘I thought I saw families huddled together in the square, but in the mines under the Ratn’gary Mountains I only saw breeding crèches.’

      An expression suggesting sadness crossed the visage of Tak’ka. ‘So much to explain.’ He shook his head. ‘We began as a single race, a priesthood created to worship our creator. We have had centuries of debate as to our state of being, for we were not created out of the primal matter of the universe, in the fashion of humans, elves, and others, but rather we were less creatures – reptiles yes, though strictly not “serpents”, yet that name has remained. Our creator took a particular breed of lizard found only on this island – ironically that creature is now extinct – and created those beings with whom you are most familiar.

      ‘When the Ancient Ones departed, and we were told we were a free people, we had little choice but to continue in our duty. But then some of us began to change. We became more … Intelligent sounds boastful, doesn’t it? But we did. And as that happened, two other changes occurred. We lost our ability to construct magic devices and create spells. And we lost our drive to serve our creator, She Who is Not Named.’

      Pug sat back. ‘I’m amazed.’

      ‘Our evolution continued until there were three distinct, perhaps “tribes” is the best word, of my people.

      ‘Those you know as the Serpent Priests are in the middle, I suppose you could say. They have magic ability but they are single-minded in purpose and of all of us, they most resemble those creatures created by She Who is Not Named. They are not critical thinkers or creatively intelligent, but they are very clever.

      ‘The Panath-Tiandn are the savants of magic, but need others to care for them in the most basic way.’ Looking at Amirantha he said, ‘It was such as they who fashioned our magic wards against such an attack as we’ve endured recently. But the priesthood removes them as soon as they can, for they have their own uses for them. We are at the other end of this spectrum, those who can think for themselves, have put aside the mindless service to She Who is Not Named, and we do what we can to have full lives.’

      ‘Astonishing,’ said Pug.

      Sandreena said, ‘You mentioned a debate over your state of being?’

      ‘Ah, yes.’ Tak’ka nodded. Large black lidless eyes regarded her as he said, ‘We wonder if we have become true beings.’

      ‘I do not understand,’ said the Knight-Adamant.

      ‘We speculate on the question of souls and whether we possess them.’

      Pug turned to Sandreena. ‘I would think that is more in your area of expertise, serving your temple.’

      Sandreena could only shake her head. ‘I’m a warrior, Pug, not a philosopher. I know many in the temple who would enjoy the debate, but it is outside the scope of my knowledge or wisdom.’

      ‘Of little matter,’ said Tak’ka. ‘We may have time in the future to discuss this.’ He stood up and motioned for his silent compatriots to depart and as they did, he turned to the three companions. ‘We have had a fair amount of contact with humans over the years. We have, or rather had, a trading post on the north shore. It was the first place the demons attacked, and all trace of it was obliterated.’

      Pug glanced at his two companions. They had seen no sign of such a thing when they had landed.

      ‘But given that our brethren in the Priesthood are frequent callers here, we always dissuade visitors who attempt to travel farther south. Only one other human has ventured to this city and been allowed to leave.’

      Sandreena and Amirantha tensed at