Pug spoke, though his senses rebelled at the grey landscape on all sides and the disembodied voice that seemed a short distance away from him. “It was you who turned the rift aside, when the Stranger came and the Enemy sought to reclaim the nations of Tsuranuanni. Surely that took awesome power.”
He could hear the sorcerer chuckle. “You remember that detail? Well, I was younger then.” As if he knew it was an unsatisfactory answer, Macros added, “Then the rift was a wild thing, created by the wills of those who stood atop the towers of the Assembly. I only turned it to another place, balking the Enemy’s design, and that at great risk. Now this rift is a controlled thing, firmly anchored in Kelewan, managed by a machine. That which controls it, many intricate spells, keeping it in harmony with Midkemia, keeps me from manipulating it. All I may do is end it, but for that I need help.
“Before we end this particular drama, I would say this to you: you will understand most things after you reach my island. But one thing above all I ask of you to bear in mind as you hear my message. Please remember I did what I did because it was my fate. I would ask you to think of me kindly.”
While he could not see the sorcerer, Pug felt his presence close by. He started to speak, but was interrupted by Macros’s voice. “When I am done, use whatever shred of energy you have left to will yourself to Kulgan. The staff will aid you, but you must bend all your efforts to that task. If you fail, you will perish.”
It was Macros’s second warning, and Pug felt dread for the first time in years. “What of yourself?”
“Take care of yourself, Pug. I have other concerns.”
There came a sensation of change, as if the fabric of nothingness around them was subtly altering. Macros said, “At my command, you must unleash the full fury of your power. All that you did at the Imperial Games was but a shadow of what you must do now.”
“You know of that?”
Again there was a chuckle. “I was there, though my seat was poor compared to your own. I must admit it was quite impressive. Even I would have been hard-pressed to provide as spectacular a show. Now, there is no more time. Await my command, then let your power flow toward me.”
Pug said nothing. He could feel the sorcerer’s presence before him, as if it were being defined for him by Macros. Again he felt the sensation of twisting change around him. Suddenly there was a blinding light, then darkness. An instant later all around him erupted in mad displays of energy, much like those he witnessed in the rift of the Golden Bridge. On every side blinding colors exploded, primal forces he did not recognize.
“Now, Pug!” came Macros’s cry.
Pug bent his will to the task. He reached down into the deepest recesses of his being. From there he brought forth all he could of the magic power he had gained from two worlds. Forces sufficient to destroy mountains, move rivers from their courses, and level cities to rubble, all these he focused. Then, like casting away something painful to hold, he directed all this energy toward where he sensed the sorcerer to be. There came an unimaginable, insane explosion of those forces, and the primal matter of time and space screamed in protest at its presence Pug could feel it writhe and twist around him, as if the fundamental universe were trying to cast the invaders out. Then there came a sudden release, and they were expelled.
Pug found himself floating in total blackness. He drifted, numb and without coherent thought. His mind was unable to accept what he had sensed, and he was close to losing consciousness. He felt his fingers go lax, and the staff began to slip from his hand. He clutched spasmodically at it from blind instinct. He then felt a faint tugging. His mind resisted the cool blackness that was trying to overtake him, and he tried to remember something. It was growing cold around him, and he could feel his lungs burning for lack of air. He tried to remember something once-more, but it would not come to him. Then he felt the tug again, and a faint but familiar voice seemed to sound close by.
“Kulgan?” he said weakly, and let the darkness take him.
The Tsurani Force Commander was alive. He wondered at that miracle as he saw those around him who lay dead before the rift machine. The explosion a minute before had killed hundreds, and others lay dazed a little way beyond.
He rose and took stock of what was occurring. The terrible destruction of the rift had not served to aid the Kingdom forces, either. Riders frantically tried to control near-hysterical horses, and other mounts could be seen running madly away, their riders thrown from their backs. All about, confusion reigned. But those at the edge of the conflict were less dazed than the others, and the fighting was resuming.
There was little hope; now that Kelewan was cut off to them, either of aid or of a safe return. Still, they numbered only slightly less than the enemy, and there was a chance that the field could yet be theirs. There might be time to worry about the rift later.