He never once for a moment considered where these impulses that had ruled his life came from. He accepted them, and knew that when he gave into his most outrageous and destructive impulses, the more pain he caused, the more chaos he created, the happier he was. At times in the past he had found himself working very much alone, in mouldy old caves or damp huts in noxious swamps. At other times he had finessed his way into comfort, living in luxury, hosted by dupes like the Baron of Land’s End or the Duke of Olasko. He had endured his share of pain along the way; and discovered that dying was no fun at all, even if he woke up in a healthy new body moments later. He had also discovered that being run through with a sword from behind was his least favourite way to die. He took a deep breath. If he had only had access to the incredible energy of life he was finding here, or rather, that incredible moment of astonishing power when life turns to death… if only he had possessed that knowledge and power years ago, he would now be ruling Midkemia.
‘I must find out what this is!’ he said aloud. He moved towards the nexus of all this strange and wonderful death-magic.
Nakor stirred. He had been unconscious, lying behind the throne upon which the TeKarana would observe the slaughter of thousands. He had no idea how long it had been since he had said goodbye to Pug and Magnus. As dry as his mouth felt, it was at least a full day, if not several. He forced himself upright and reached inside his bag. It was empty. Sighing, he took it off and pushed it away. He hadn’t really been hungry, and was reaching for an orange out of habit. He sloshed a little water around in the water skin at his belt and thought it odd that he wasn’t thirsty either, despite his dry mouth. Then he realized what was happening. ‘Ah. That’s… brilliant!’
He turned his head to see what was occurring in the pit. The sight made him sad. Hundreds of bodies were falling each minute, and more and more of the essence of the Dreadlord was turning to vaporous smoke and spinning upward in a mad cyclone of wind that rushed up from the bottom of the pit.
He pulled himself around the throne. He could barely see the Dreadlord any more, so much of his being was being sacrificed into the maelstrom to reach out and bind this world to Kelewan.
A sudden giddiness struck Nakor and he knew. ‘It’s almost time!’ he whispered. He moved around, and finding it amusing, sat down in the TeKarana’s throne. He didn’t think Valko would mind.
He waited.
‘Why don’t they come?’ Martuch asked. For two days the warriors of the White and the Talnoy guards had waited for an attack from the temple Deathknights loyal to the Dark One. But no attack had materialized.
Those few Lessers left alive in the TeKarana’s private apartments had been give the chore of preparing food for those hunkered down, waiting.
Bek had stood motionless in the same position, waiting for the assault. He had not eaten, drunk water, or relieved himself for two days. It was beginning to unnerve even the most battle-hardened Deathknight.
Suddenly, Bek said, ‘They are not coming.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Valko.
The massive warrior turned and with a grin that was nearly demonic said, ‘I know. You are safe. The Dark One is busy and will not return. He is leaving this world very soon. I can go now.’ Suddenly a crimson light shone around the large warrior and he fell over.
A disembodied voice said, ‘I am Kantas-Barat! I have returned.’
The Deathknights looked from one to another, and Father Juwon said, ‘The old gods are returning!’
Hirea hurried over to Bek and examined him. Looking up, he said, ‘He’s dead!’
Martuch shook his head. ‘That one has been dead a long time, I think. Whatever was inside him has no more use for him. I hope for a good cause.’ To those assembled, he raised his voice. ‘Come, it’s time to end this insanity and begin rebuilding our nation.’
Most cheered, including Valko, but he looked out of the window at the city in turmoil, with fires and smoke everywhere, and he knew that despite this feigned optimism, the conflict was not yet over.
Pug dozed. He came awake with a start and looked around.
‘What?’
‘Father,’ said Magnus. ‘What is it?’
‘Something…’ He stood up and looked off into the night. ‘Something’s changing.’
He had been lying inside a tent hastily erected near the command pavilion occupied by the Emperor and his generals. He looked around and saw the massive rift a short distance away, torchlight casting the entire tableau into an eerie chiaroscuro, punctuated by flickering amber and red glows.
The stream of refugees was now a river, and as he silently watched, hundreds walked through the rift and into another world.
‘How many?’ he asked Magnus.
‘No one knows, Father. Maybe a million by now, through all the gates. Maybe more.’
‘Maybe less.’
Magnus shook his head in resignation. ‘We’re doing all we can.’
‘Where’s the sphere?’
‘It’s about fifty miles north of the City of the Plains.’
Pug almost wept. When he had last asked, it had been over a hundred miles away. He let out a long breath. ‘Unless something miraculous happens, we will lose the rifts by late afternoon tomorrow.’
Magnus knew what his father was saying. All rifts off this world had to be closed before the Dark One reached them. If he was to take Kelewan, so be it. They could regroup on Midkemia and decide how best to confine him to this world, if that was possible.
But if he managed to gain access to the new Tsurani world or to Midkemia, the horror they had been watching here for days would repeat itself eventually.
Suddenly a gust of wind blew everything back as a huge thunder peal sounded around them. Lightning danced across the surface of the Black Mount and Pug shouted, ‘Now! Get the Emperor through that gate!’
Imperial Guards raced to the command tent.