“I suppose you’ve found a few ways over the mountains they haven’t found out yet.”
“A few. Mostly goat trails and footpaths. There are a couple of places we might infiltrate a squad or two, potentially put men at their back as we drive north, but no place we could stage on the other side for a major offensive.” The Captain glanced westward, as if seeing through the mountains to where the enemy was on the other side. “Over there, just a week’s ride if it were a straight path, lies Sarth. If we could somehow get inside there, seize the old abbey above the town, and stage there, we could launch a flank attack in support of any forces coming from the south and clear out the invaders in a few days, rather than the weeks it’s going to take.”
Nakor said, “Maybe there’s a way.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked the Captain.
“I’m trying to remember a story Duke James told me a long time ago.” He was silent a while, then said, “I need to send a message to Duke Arutha. Do you have something I can write with?”
“In my tent,” said Subai.
“Good,” said Nakor, heading inside.
Subai looked up to see where Pug was now, and saw that the magician had vanished.
Miranda looked up and saw Pug standing there. She jumped up, hurried to him, and threw her arms around him. “I missed you.”
Pug echoed the sentiment. They hadn’t been apart since the end of fighting almost six months earlier, and it had taken him almost a week to reach Subai’s camp in the mountains.
“How are things around here?” Pug asked after their embrace.
Miranda said, “Much as we left it. Gathis conducts the daily business of the island in an exemplary fashion and it seems Robert d’Lyes has become something of an organizer around here. He’s taken to reestablishing the class schedule that lapsed with your last departure.”
Pug smiled. “Good. I’ll have to speak to him before I leave in the morning.”
She kissed him. “But not until after dinner. I want you to myself for the next few hours.”
He smiled and said, “Not until then.”
They spent the next two hours alone, then sent word to have supper brought to their quarters. After dining, Gathis appeared outside the door as servants were removing the dinner trays.
“Master Pug,” he said in greeting. The tall goblinlike creature was always formal when addressing anyone, from Pug to the most menial of servants. Though, even the most menial of servants on this island was a student of magic, from one end of Midkemia to the other, and from distant worlds.
“Gathis,” Pug acknowledged. “How is everything?”
“That is why I wished to speak to you. I fear something is amiss.”
“What is that?”
“It would be better if you and Mistress Miranda were to accompany me.”
Pug and Miranda exchanged glances, but said nothing, nodding to Gathis, who turned and led them out the door and along the long hallway which separated Pug’s personal quarters from the rest of the large central house that dominated Villa Beata—the Beautiful House as it was known in the ancient language of Queg.
He led them outside and across a meadow, and instantly Pug knew where he was leading them. As before, when he reached a grassy hillside, Gathis waved his hand and a cave materialized. They entered and again Pug saw the small altar upon which rested the statue of Sarig, the lost God of Magic. Miranda gasped. The first time they had seen the statue, the features upon it resembled those of her father, Macros the Black. “The face is blank!”
“Yes, mistress,” said Gathis. “I came here a few days ago and saw what you see now.”
“What does it mean?” asked Miranda.
Pug said, “The gods are waiting.”
“For what?” she asked, touching the statue.
Pug’s voice was soft. “For Sarig’s new avatar, his new human agent on this world.”
Miranda said, “Does this mean you?”
“No,” said Pug. “When I lay near death in the healing glade of Elvandar, when Lims-Kragma spoke to me, I was given three choices. Death was the first.” He looked at Miranda. “I could not leave you.”
She smiled.
“The second choice was eternal life, but the price was becoming Sarig’s next avatar. I would have replaced your father.”
“I don’t think I would have cared much for that.” Then she looked at Pug. “What was the third choice?”
Pug said, “Nothing I care to talk about.”
Anger flared up in Miranda’s voice as she said, “Tell me!”
“I will die someday.”
She moved around to stand directly before him, between Pug and the statue. “You’re not telling me something. What?”
“Only that at the end of my life I will know . . . hardship.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “What have we known already?”
“That was how I looked at it. If we can get through what we’ve already survived, what more should I worry about.”
Coolly, she said, “Are you telling me everything?”