The Complete Demonwar Saga 2-Book Collection. Raymond E. Feist

no one knows. But flee our home world we did.

      ‘Great tears opened in the heavens above and earth below, swallowing up those nearby. Some, it was said, went to other worlds, but most of us hunkered down and tried to withstand the forces of chaos on all sides.

      ‘There were races of men on our home world, along with the great goblins and our people. It was they, these masters of magic, who constructed bridges to flee from the destruction visited upon us during the Chaos Wars.

      ‘We lost almost everything, but this much knowledge remained: in ancient times others ranged across these lands, kin to those we warred with, but they were not those in Elvandar with whom we were at peace. He told a tale of a time when the wars on the ancient birth world forced dwarves, humans, even the magic users of the Dena Orcha—’

      ‘Orcs!’ spat Dolgan, as if the very word was an insult.

      The Ranger looked at the old man.

      ‘Dena Orcha in the old tongue,’ said Malachi. ‘The true enemy of our blood. The great goblins. None live on this world.’

      ‘But they live in our memory,’ said the Dwarf King.

      Malachi waved away the comment. ‘The magic users of many races banded together to save entire worlds in the time of the Mad Gods and raging Dragon Riders. They formed the Golden Bridge and many of our ancestors came to Midkemia.

      ‘But the elves and some others, the serpent men and the tiger men, already lived here and we were met with more war and magic.

      ‘The fighting on both sides of the Golden Bridge continued for a time without time, for the very nature of the universe was twisted and fluid.

      ‘Then, it was over,’ said the ancient dwarf, quietly.

      ‘In days after the Crossing, but before the line of Kings was named, in the dim mists of memory, the elves told our ancestors that many of their people left this world as we had fled our own, and to the elves they were known as the Lost Elves.’

      The old elf sat silently for a minute and then said, ‘I can only guess, but perhaps one has returned to this world, for never have I heard of such a being before. You’d best ask the elves, for this much I know at least; many things can be said of elven magic, but I have never in my long life heard tell of them using illusion as a guise.’ He said, ‘If I may leave, King?’

      His tone left no doubt the request was only a formality, as he turned before Dolgan waved permission.

      As the old man was about to leave the chamber, Dolgan said, ‘Malachi, one more question. Why did my father not speak of this to me?’

      Malachi shrugged. ‘You would have to be able to ask him. Your father was a quiet, thoughtful leader. He spoke very little.’ Dolgan nodded. ‘Unlike my father, who liked to tell stories.’

      ‘I remember something else,’ said Malachi. ‘Three great bridges were built on our birth world, or so my father said his grandfather told him. Two were built by humans and dwarves, and one by the orcs. One bridge led to the Tsurani world. If any of our people crossed, no memory of them remains with the Tsurani. The second came here, and it was on that bridge that humans and dwarves came to Midkemia. The orc bridge went to another world, and so from the time of the Chaos Wars we were no longer plagued by that ancient hate. It was said that some humans and dwarves crossed with them. Perhaps,’ posed the old dwarf, ‘the Lost Elves built their own bridge to escape their masters?’ And without waiting for an answer, Malachi left the hall.

      Dolgan and the others remained silent for a long while, then Dolgan said, ‘What if the Lost Elves built their own bridge to escape their masters, indeed.’

      ‘But now one returns,’ said Alystan.

      ‘Apparently,’ said Dolgan.

      ‘Know this, wielder of Tholin’s hammer,’ said a voice behind them. Dolgan and the others turned to see Malachi standing in the hallway. ‘One last thing,’ he added, pointing a frail finger at the Dwarf King. ‘It was your ancestor who led our people here, making these mountains our home. His brothers led other bands to Stone Mountain and Dorgin. Our people were once as numerous as the leaves on trees, but where one dwarf crossed the bridge from our home world, five remained to fight the madness that came to destroy our home. No one knows what that madness was, save that it shattered the world.’ The old dwarf seemed fatigued from telling his story. Then, catching his breath, he began again. ‘If the Lost Elves are coming to this world, you must call The Moot and prepare for the possibility of war! Since we’ve come to this world we’ve found enemies, Dolgan, and if these are the Lost Elves, and kin to our friends in Elvandar, they are also kin to the dark elves.’ Dolgan nodded to Toddy to take him back to his quarters.

      As the boy led Malachi away, several of the dwarves in the room nodded at his words. Hogni, Dolgan’s grandson, said, ‘When the Tsurani first came, when we first heard of them that night in the cave when you, Father and uncle Udell found Lord Borric hiding from the goblins, Father told me he felt an icy cold in the pit of his stomach.’

      Dolgan nodded. ‘I, as well; and I feel it again.’

      The Ranger said, ‘I can only tell you what I saw. I could put no name to that creature until this very hour. I had not heard of the Lost Elves until today.’

      Dolgan said, ‘It could be a coincidence. The creature might have been some other kind of being that merely looks like our own elves. After all, don’t the Tsurani look like other humans? Or perhaps it was a human you saw, and he was simply putting on a magical guise for a mission on the other side of the rift.’ He puffed on his pipe and was silent for a moment. ‘Still, if it is the return of an ancient race of elves …’

      ‘Caution urges you to prepare as if they are coming,’ said the Ranger. ‘I’m for Elvandar and the Queen and Lord Tomas.’

      Dolgan fixed the Ranger with a stare, then said, ‘And I’m with you. If anyone remembers those days, it will be Tomas. He often can’t recall his distant past until prodded by events, and if there was ever a time for prodding a Dragon Lord, it’s now.’ ‘You’ll ride?’ asked the Ranger.

      Dolgan grinned. ‘No. I’m old, but I’m not dead. Thick woodlands lie between here and the River Crydee, and I’ve yet to see a horse I couldn’t run down. I’ll keep up, have no fear.’

      Hogni fidgeted and cleared his throat.

      His grandfather fixed him with a barely hidden amused expression and said, ‘What is it, boy?’

      ‘You said that when next you went to Elvandar, I could come as well, Grandfather.’ Dolgan feigned a scowl and then said, ‘That I did. Get ready. And tell your father he gets to play king for a while, until I return. We leave in an hour.’

      Hogni grinned and hurried to gather his travelling gear. Dolgan sighed. To Alystan, he said, ‘He’s very young; not quite forty years old yet.’

      The Ranger, who was only a few years older, suppressed a chuckle. Then the moment of mirth passed, and the grim prospect of what they were facing returned. The room seemed colder, despite the brisk fire.

       • CHAPTER FIVE •

       Exodus

      LAROMENDIS BEGAN HIS SPELL.

      Across the vast courtyard sat a huge iron cage in which his brother rested as best he could in the blistering afternoon heat. The soldier who guarded the cage hadn’t yet noticed the Conjurer’s presence, so when Laromendis finished his spell and approached, the man saw not one, but two figures: the Conjurer accompanied by a guard captain.

      The sentry looked quizzically at the pair, unaware that one of them was a phantom of his own imagination, and when they stopped before him, he heard the officer instruct