Rides a Dread Legion Read online

  Rides a

  Dread Legion

  Demonwar Saga

  Book II

  Raymond E. Feist

  Synopsis

  The last remnants of an ancient advanced race, the Clan of the Seven Stars, are returning at long last to their lost homeworld, Midkemia—not as friends, but as would-be conquerors. Led by the conjurer Laromendis, they are fleeing the relentless demon hordes that are sweeping through their galaxy and destroying the elves' vast empire planet by planet. Only by escaping to Midkemia and brutally overtaking the war-weary world can the last remnants of a mighty civilization hope to survive . . . if the Dread Legion does not pursue them through the rift.

  The magician Pug, Midkemia's brave and constant defender, is all too familiar with the Demon King Maarg and his minions and their foul capacity for savagery and horror, and he recognizes the even graver threat that is following on the heels of the elven invasion. The onslaught to come will dwarf every dire catastrophe his imperiled world has previously withstood, and there is no magical champion in all of Midkemia powerful enough to prevent it. Only one path remains for Pug and Midkemia's clandestine protectors, the Conclave of Shadows: forging an alliance of formidable magical talents, from the demon-dealing warlock Amirantha, brother of Pug's hated foe, and the demon-taming cleric Sandreena, to the elven Queen Miranda, to the warrior Tomas. However, uniting enemies and bitter, vengeful former lovers will be no easy task, and even together they may ultimately be unable to turn the death tide. But a failure to do so will most certainly ensure Midkemia's doom.

  Also by Raymond E. Feist

  Magician

  Silverthorn

  A Darkness at Sethanon

  Faerie Tale

  Prince of the Blood

  The Kings Buccaneer

  Shadow of a Dark Queen

  Rise of a Merchant Prince

  Rage of a Demon King

  Shards of a Broken Crown

  Krondor: The Betrayal

  Krondor: The Assassins

  Krondor: Tear of the Gods

  Talon of the Silver Hawk

  King of Foxes

  Exile's Return

  Flight of the Nighthawks

  With Janny Wurts:

  Daughter of the Empire

  Servant of the Empire

  Mistress of the Empire

  With William R. Forstchen:

  Honoured Enemy

  With Joel Rosenberg:

  Murder in LaMut

  With Steve Stirling:

  Jimmy The Hand

  Harper Collins

  Publishers

  Published by Harper Voyager An Imprint of Harper Collins Publishers

  77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

  www.voyager-books.com

  Copyright © 2009 by Raymond E. Feist

  ISBN-13: 978 0 00 726468 1

  Raymond E. Feist asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Set in Janson Text by Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Grangemouth, Stirlingshire

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, In any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Find out more about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

  Another one for my mom,

  Who is still my biggist fan after all these years

  Acknowledgement

  As always, I am in debt to those who created Midkemia so many years ago, where paper, pencils, funny looking dice and cheap beer were excuses to hang out and develop lifelong friendships. We may not always be in touch as we used to be, but each time I tell a story in this world I’m reminded of some wonderful times.

  To my editors—Jane Johnson, Jennifer Brehl, Katherine Nintzel, and Emma Coode—who helped with a difficult project, many thanks. I rarely ask for help but when I do you’re there with great suggestions. You make me look good.

  Thanks to Jonathan Mason, as always for being much more than a business associate but a real friend who brings value to my life.

  And to the many readers, old friends and new, who take the time to let me know you’re enjoying the work; without you, I’d be doing something else.

  Raymond E. Feist

  San Diego, California 2008

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Warlock

  Chapter Two

  Knight-Adamant

  Chapter Three

  Taredhel

  Chapter Four

  Harbinger

  Chapter Five

  Exodus

  Chapter Six

  Premonition

  Chapter Seven

  Prophesy

  Chapter Eight

  Demon Master

  Chapter Nine

  Warning

  Chapter Ten

  Threat

  Chapter Eleven

  Upheaval

  Chapter Twelve

  Survival

  Chapter Thirteen

  Conclave

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bargains

  Chapter Fifteen

  Plotting

  Chapter Sixteen

  Allies

  Chapter Seventeen

  Determination

  Chapter Eighteen

  Exploration

  Chapter Nineteen

  Onslaught

  Epilogue

  Epitaph

  Chapter One

  Warlock

  The demon howled its outrage.

  Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria, reeled backwards from the unexpected explosion of mystic energy hurled at him. Had his protective wards not been firmly established, he would have died instantly. The demon responsible was powerful enough to force through the barrier and slam the magic user hard against the cave wall behind him. The blow Amirantha took on the back of the head was going to raise a nasty bump.

  Demons always carried a large amount of mystic energies, enough to destroy any unprepared mortal standing nearby as the monsters entered this plane of reality. It was one of the reasons for erecting wards, beyond merely confining the demon to a specific location. This one had arrived with a much more impressive explosion than the Warlock anticipated, and had surprised him.

  Amirantha incanted a single word, a collection of otherwise meaningless syllables that together formed a key, a word of power that activated a much more complicated enchantment; a trick taught to him years before that had often meant the difference between controlling a summoned demon effectively and dismemberment at its hands. The word strengthened the ward spell that now confined the creature.

  Amirantha regained his feet as the demon continued to howl at discovering itself summoned and confined. Experience had taught the Warlock that demons rarely objected to being summoned as they found this world easy to plunder, but they hated being trapped and controlled. Their hate was the one thing that made Amirantha’s area of study problematic; his subjects kept trying to kill him.

  He took a deep breath to calm himself and studied the enraged conjuration. The demon was not a type he recognized, though obviously a battle demon of some sort. Amirantha knew more about demons and their nature than any mortal on Midkemia, but still possessed only a tenth of the understanding he wished for. This specimen was new to him. He did not have exhaustive knowledge of e very demon in the Fifth Circle, but he recognized its basic type: massive upper torso, roughly human in design, with a bull’s head, or at least something that resembled a bovine; long, forward-arching horns, giving weight to its minotaur-like appearance. As he began to conjure a spell designed to immobilize any demon, Amirantha wondered if such a monster had been the basis for the ancient myth of the Minotaur.

  Its legs were almost goat-like, but there anything remotely familiar about the creature ended. Its body was covered in some black substance up to its waist, though it was no wool, hair, or fur that Amirantha recognized. Its upper body looked like it was made from black leather, but slick and shiny, as if its skin had been tanned, dyed, and highly polished. Its horns were blood red, and its eyes burned like hot coals.

  From the howls shaking the cave, Amirantha could tell that the demon’s disposition was getting nastier by the second. The creature even looked on the verge of rending its way through wards that should be impenetrable, though Amirantha knew better than to place too much stock in the world ‘should’ when a demon was involved.

  He finished strengthening his spell of confinement and saw the demon step back a moment, shudder, then return to battering the wards, accompanying its renewed efforts with even louder bellowing.

  Amirantha’s eyes widened slightly, his only outward concession to surprise. The demon had just shrugged off a spell designed to immobilize any conjured entity. Looking at the raging demon, the Warlock of Satumbria stroked his chin whiskers and considered what he observed. He was a vain man by any measure, and had his servant trim his beard and hair weekly, knowing exactly how it should look each time. His receding hairline had caused him to let his dark hair fall to his shoulders, and his dark brows and pointed chin beard gave him an appropriate cast for his calling in life: a summoner of demons. Or at least made him look the part for those willing to pay gold for his services.

  Adjusting his purple robe, covered with fine silver needlework at the collar and upon the sleeves, he muttered a reliable invocation and watched. The demon should have instantly knelt in abject obedience, but instead he could sense the summoned creature’s rage intensifying at the command. Amirantha sighed in a mixture of frustration and confusion, and wondered what he had conjured this time.

  Ignoring the ringing in his ears, the Warlock reached into a large belt pouch. He had sewn this pouch years ago, patiently weaving magic into the threads under the supervision of a master artificer named Leychona, in the great City of the Serpent River, his one and only attempt at fabricating magic cloth. He had been pleased with the results, the confining bag let him carry many stones of power without provoking disastrous consequences. He was proud of the needlework, but had found the entire process so tedious and exasperating, he now paid artificers and tailors to fashion what he needed in exchange for his skills or gold.

  Amirantha’s finger rubbed lightly against a series of embroidered knots, each indicating a pocket he had fashioned. Swiftly, he found the one he sought and withdrew the stone he had prepared for a time such as this. Holding it aloft, he incanted a spell that drew forth the power stored in the stone and directed it to the hastily reinforced barrier. As he did, he felt the shock reverberating through the ward as the demon hurled itself against the mystic defence.

  Then the creature paused, and looked at the space in the air where the barrier stood as if it could see it. Pulling back its massive right fist it unleashed a blow that could shatter a bull-hide shield. Amirantha imagined that he felt the shock from it travel through the air to strike him. Then the demon struck the wards even harder, and Amirantha raised his hand to reinforce the barrier with even more power. To his astonishment, this time he could feel the demon’s energy translated into a blow that ran up his arm. He stepped back, until he stood hard against the wall. ‘What do I do now?’ he muttered absently.

  Again the demon hurled itself at the barrier and Amirantha, Warlock of the Satumbria, decided it was going to get through. Pushing aside a sudden urge to laugh—the unexpected and dangerous often affected him this way—he drew another object from his belt pouch and smashed it on the floor.

  A noxious gas erupted from its ruin and as it spread, Amirantha fled from the deep cave in which he had conjured the monster. It was a summoning area he had especially prepared for this ritual, protected by multiple wards and other safeguards he had erected against such a mishap. He hurried along a narrow tunnel, muttering, ‘What next?’

  Reaching a large open cavern, closer to the entrance of the stone warren, he cursed himself for a fool. All of his most powerful items had been stored in the smaller cave. He had been so surprised by the conjuration, that he had left them on the floor. He had thought himself ready for any eventuality surrounding demon summoning; it never occurred to him that one he hadn’t summoned might appear unexpectedly.

  Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he stopped. He had at least stored a lantern here; although such forethought had simply been intended to indicate the way out, rather than in anticipation that he might be forced to flee for his life, having abandoned his other lantern. Muttering to himself, he said, ‘Sometimes I wish I was as clever as I claim to be.’

  Amirantha turned back towards the tunnel, realizing that if he didn’t stop the demon here, the creature would be free to choose from exits. Not only would that be bad for anyone living within the demon’s reach, almost ten thousand people by the last census, it would also prove disastrous for Amirantha’s reputation.

  The Governor of Landa waited for him near a particular cave mouth, accompanied by a sizeable retinue of soldiers, but nothing’ that could stop this monster should it come their way. Not only would the Maharajah’s Court look down upon an itinerant Warlock responsible for the disembowelment of a regional governor, he was almost certainly not going to be paid for performing this banishment.

  Pulling a long wand of ash from his belt, the Warlock readied himself. The device had been commissioned from the finest wand maker in the Kingdom of Muboya, and was capable of seven effective theatrical stunts, each designed to illicit ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ of wonder from onlookers. But it also possessed four very powerful enchantments that could inflict significant damage should the need arise. Amirantha was fairly certain the need had arisen.

  He was greeted by the stench of the gas moving through the corridor from the summoning cave. It was designed to weaken and eventually incapacitate demons, and was not at all pleasant for humans to inhale. He knew that probably meant the demon was through the wards and coming towards him. Then Amirantha winced.

  It wasn’t the odour that made him shudder, but a sudden cave-rattling sound; a combination of tones and vibrations that made his heart jump and cringe at the same time. The angry shriek made his skin crawl, as if he were listening to a smith sharpen a sword on a turning wheel. If nothing else, the Governor of Lanada was receiving a better performance than the one Amirantha had originally planned for him.

  Then the demon came straight at him.

  A voice from behind Amirantha said, ‘Need any help?’

  ‘It would be appreciated,’ the Warlock said to Brandos. His companion had been waiting outside the cave mouth, reinforcement for eventualities such as this, and to make sure that the Governor became curious enough to send in his guards to ‘help’ the Warlock banish the demon.

  Amirantha gripped his ornately carved wand and spoke a single word in a language known to very few men. A searing burst of heat washed over the two men as a massive fireball exploded away from them through the tunnel, sweeping over the demon and forcing it back.

  ‘I’m going to need a few moments to banish it.’

  The old fighter was still powerful, though nearing fifty years of age, and he had more experience in confronting demonic opponents than he wished for. This creature looked as if it might be the most dangerous he had faced so far. ‘Where are the rest of your toys?’

  ‘Back in the summoning cave.’

  ‘In the cave?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amirantha quietly. ‘I realized that myself, just a moment ago.’

  ‘Well then, we’ll have to do this the difficult way, won’t we?’ He wore a buckler, a small round shield, on his left arm, and he pulled a broadsword from its scabbard that hung from his hip. ‘It’s times like this I wish I had taken up baking.’

  Brandos knew he did not need to defeat the demon, only delay it long enough for Amirantha to banish it back to the demon realm. It was only a matter of gaining a minute or two, but the old fighter knew that even a few seconds could be a very long time. ‘Let’s go in before it comes back here. I don’t welcome trying to keep it from those side tunnels. Best to keep it confined.’

  Amirantha stayed behind his friend as Brandos moved up the tunnel, stopping only a few yards from where the demon had retreated. The stench of the gas filling the cave was nearly overwhelming, but it had the desired effect. The demon approached them cautiously, halted and then stood motionless for a moment, regarding the two humans.

  Then it opened its mouth and issued sounds; not the inarticulate sounds of rage and anger, for they seemed meaningful, with rhythm and distinct pronunciation.

  Brandos said, ‘Is it casting a spell?’

  Amirantha hesitated, his curiosity overwhelming his need to rid this realm of the demonic visitor. He listened for only an instant before he realized that Brandos was correct: the demon was a spell caster!

  ‘We should interrupt that, I think,’ said Amirantha. He uttered a single word, another cantrip release he had prepared for such dangerous encounters. The word acted as a mystic placeholder for a long, complicated spell, and its utterance instantly released the full force of the enchantment. As a result, the raging demon was suddenly unable to speak. The efficacy of the spell was dependent on several factors, but most importantly upon how powerful the targeted magic user was compared to Amirantha. The average village enchanter could be rendered silent until Amirantha chose to lift the spell. A powerful magician would be silenced only for a minute or two. A more powerful magician could shrug off the spell with little effort. This demon was an unknown quantity.