Into a Dark Realm. Raymond E. Feist

asked Pug.

      ‘It is not what you think it to be.’

      ‘The Dasati?’

      ‘They are involved, and are the primary cause at this point, but there is a much larger danger behind them.’

      ‘The Nameless?’

      ‘More.’

      Pug was stunned. From his perspective, there could be nothing ‘more’ in the universe than the Greater Gods. He gathered his wits. ‘How can there be a greater threat than the Nameless?’

      ‘I can only tell you this, Pug of Crydee: across the expanse of time and space the battle between good and evil transcends all else.

      ‘What you perceive is but the smallest part of this struggle. It is ageless, begun before the first of the Aal rose from the mud of our homeworld, and it will endure until the last star is extinguished. It is part of the very fabric of reality, and all creatures struggle within that conflict, even if they are unaware of it.

      ‘Some beings live their entire lives in peace and security, while others struggle without let. Some worlds are virtual paradises while others are ceaseless wretchedness. Each in its own fashion is part of a much larger balance, and as such, each a vital battle ground in this struggle. Many worlds are in balance.’ The Oracle paused for a moment, then said, ‘Some worlds are teetering on the brink.’

      ‘Midkemia?’

      The great dragon head nodded. ‘Your lifetime is long compared to other mortals, but in this struggle, what will come to this world occurs within the blink of a god’s eye.

      ‘Midkemia has been too long without the influence of the Goddess of Good. What you and your Conclave have begun has blunted the Nameless One’s efforts for a century and more.

      ‘But he lies sleeping, and his minions are but dreams and memories, powerful by your measure, but nothing compared to what would be faced should he awaken.’

      ‘Is he waking?’

      ‘No, but his dreams are more fevered, and his cause is embraced by another, a being even more powerful and deadly.’

      Pug was stunned. He could not imagine any being more powerful and deadly than the God of Evil. ‘What sort of being could possibly …’ He could not finish the question.

      ‘The Dark God of the Dasati,’ said the Oracle.

      Pug materialized in his study. He took one quick glance around the room to see if he was alone, for his wife often curled up in the corner to read in peace when he was absent. He was shaken by what the Oracle had told him. He had thought himself a man of experience, one who had faced calamitous events and survived, one who had seen countless horrors and endured, one who had confronted Death in her very hall and returned to the realm of life. But this was beyond any ability he had to comprehend, and he felt overwhelmed. More than anything at this moment he wished to go somewhere quiet and sleep for a week. Yet he knew such feelings were only the result of the shock he experienced, and would soon pass once he began grappling with the problems at hand. Ah, but there was the rub, as the old expression ran: where to begin? With a problem as immense as the one now confronting the Conclave, he felt like a baby asked to move a vast mountain with his tiny hands.

      He went to a cabinet in the corner and opened it. Inside were several bottles, one containing a strong drink Caleb had brought to him the year before. Kennoch whisky: Pug had developed a fondness for it. He also had a set of crystal cups given to him by the Emperor of Kesh recently, and he poured a small dram of the drink.

      Sipping the pungent, yet flavourful and satisfying drink, he felt its warmth spread through his mouth and down his throat. He closed the cabinet and moved across to a large wooden box sitting upon a bookcase. It was simple in design, yet beautifully carved, acacia wood, dove-tail and glue, without a single nail of brass or iron. He set aside his drink and lifted the top, putting it aside, and looked into the box, wherein rested a single piece of parchment.

      He sighed: he had expected to find it there.

      The box had appeared one morning, years before, on his desk in his study in Stardock. It had been warded, but what had surprised him wasn’t that it had been warded, but that it had been warded in a fashion he quickly recognized. It was as if he, himself, had warded the box. Expecting a trap, he had transported himself and the box a great distance away from the Island of Stardock and had erected protective spells around himself; then he had opened the box, easily. Three notes had been contained within.

      The first had said, ‘That was a lot of work for nothing, wasn’t it?’

      The second had said, ‘When James departs, instruct him to say this to a man he should meet: “there is no magic”.’

      The last had said, ‘Above all else, never lose this box.’

      The handwriting had been his own.

      For years Pug had kept the secret of this box, a device that allowed him to send notes to himself from the future. Occasionally he pondered the device, studying it at leisure, for he knew eventually he must unravel its secret. There could be no other explanation than that he was sending himself messages.

      Eight times in the intervening years he had opened the box to discover a new message inside. He didn’t know how he knew, but when a message arrived he sensed it was time to open the box once more.

      One message had said, ‘Trust Miranda.’ It had arrived before he had met his wife, and when he first encountered her, he realized why he had sent the message. She was dangerous, powerful and wilful, and at the time, an unknown.

      Yet even now he still didn’t completely trust her. He trusted her love for him and their sons; and her commitment to their cause, as well. But she often had her own agenda, ignoring his leadership and taking matters into her own hands. For years she had agents working for her in addition to those working for the Conclave. She and Pug had endured several heated arguments over the years, and several times she had agreed to keep her efforts confined within the agreed upon goals and stratagems of the Conclave, yet she always managed to do as she pleased.

      He hesitated. Whatever was in that parchment was something he needed to know, yet something he dreaded knowing. Nakor had been the first person he had told of the messages – just in the last year – though the box was still known only to Pug. Miranda thought it merely a decorative item.

      As he began to unroll the parchment Pug wondered, and not for the first time, if these messages were to ensure that a certain thing happened, or to keep something terrible from happening. Perhaps there was no distinction between the two.

      He looked at the parchment. Two lines of script in his own handwriting greeted him. The first said, ‘Take Nakor, Magnus, and Bek, no others’. The second said, ‘Go to Kosridi, then Omadrabar’.

      Pug closed the box and sat down behind his desk. He read the note several times, as if somehow he might discern a deeper meaning behind those two simple lines. Then he leaned back, sipping at his drink. Kosridi he recognized as the name of the world shown in a vision to Kaspar of Olasko by the god, Ban-ath; it was one of the worlds upon which resided the Dasati. Where lay Omadrabar, he had not even an inkling. But he knew one thing: somehow he had to find a way into the second realm of existence – to the plane of reality to which no one from this reality, to the best of his knowledge, had ever ventured. From there, somehow, he and his companions must make their way to the Dasati world of Kosridi, and from there to this Omadrabar. And if he was certain of nothing else, he was certain that this Omadrabar would be the most dangerous place he had ever visited.

       • CHAPTER THREE •

       Aftermath

      KASPAR REINED IN HIS HORSE.

      He fought back worry. This was a hard land and