Raymond Feist - Rage of a Demon King

Pug ‘looked’ deep into that void and soon found specks of color appearing against the blackness. Time passed unnoticed as he saw the spirits of stars dance across the heavens. A strange, distant keening sound intruded on his awareness, also familiar yet unrecognized.

Time continued to slip by, and Pug was lost in an awareness unlike anything he had ever experienced. The texture of the universe lay open to him, not the outer shapes, or even the illusions of matter and time, but the very fabric of reality. He wondered if this was the ‘stuff’ Nakor spoke of, the fundamental matter of all that was.

His mind started to soar, to voyage through the distances, and he discovered he could move at will from place to place. Yet he sensed he still lay in the grove. Something about his body had changed, and he felt alien powers and odd sensations course through him.

Not since his time on the Tower of Testing, high above the Assembly on the distant world of Kelewan, had he felt so connected to the world around him. Thinking of that time in his life, he turned and looked ‘down’ at Midkemia.

Suddenly he floated miles above the highest peaks of the Kingdom, with seas and coastlines looking like maps to his perception. But rather than flat lifeless things, the very land and seas were living things, pulsing with power and beauty.

He shifted his perceptions and saw every fish swimming in the sea. How very much like being a god! he thought.

‘Pug.’ A distant call and one that almost caused him to lose his perception.

‘Find Macros,’ came the instruction. ‘And ’ware the time!’

He glanced one way and another, and every being on the world had a signature of energy, a line of force that started at Sethanon, at the Lifestone, which bound all living things in Midkemia together. As time passed, lines vanished as beings died, and new lines sprouted from it as births occurred. It looked like nothing so much as an emerald fountain of pulsing energy, life incarnate, and it took Pug’s breath away.

Among the myriad strands he sought one, one with a familiar quality to it. He lost track of time, and did not know if hours or years passed, yet eventually he saw something familiar.

The Sorcerer! he thought as he saw a particular pulsing line of force. How strong and distinct it was, he thought as he focused. But it was odd. It existed in two places at the same time.

‘Arise!’ came the spoken command, and Pug stood up.

He saw Acaila and Tathar, but they looked alien to him, beings of coarse matter and finite energy, while he was a creature of enhanced perception and unlimited power. He glanced at Miranda and saw a being of stunning beauty.

She wore no clothing and revealed no hint of sex. Where he should have seen breast and hips, as familiar to him as his own body, he saw only smoothness, featureless and without distinguishing marks. Her face was an oval, with a pair of burning lights where eyes should be. She had no nose. A single slit where her mouth should have been moved, but rather than his hearing her voice, her mind touched his.

‘Pug?’ Miranda asked.

‘Yes,’ he answered.

‘Do I look as odd to you as you do to me?’ she said.

‘You look stunning,’ he replied.

Suddenly he was seeing himself through her eyes. He was as featureless as she. They were of like height and they both existed with a shimmer of energy illuminating them from within. Neither had hair or sexual organs, teeth or fingernails.

From a great distance they heard Acaila’s voice. ‘What you see are your true selves. Look down.’

They did, and saw their own bodies lying on the grass, as if asleep.

‘Hurry, now,’ said Acaila. ‘Follow the thread that leads you to Macros, for the longer you are out of your bodies, the harder it will be for you to return. We will keep you alive, and when it comes time to return, you only have to think of it. Your bodies will appear wherever you need them to be,’ he repeated. ‘May your gods protect you.’

Pug sent, ‘We understand.’ He said to Miranda, ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Where do we go?’

With a thought he made the thread appear to her, and he said, ‘We follow that!’

‘Where does it lead?’ she asked as he reached out with his mind and ‘took her hand’ leading her along the thread’s path.

‘Don’t you sense it?’ he asked. ‘It is going to the one place I should have expected it to lead us. It’s taking us to the Celestial City. We travel to the home of the gods!’

Calis pointed.

Erik nodded, then signaled for his squad to move out behind him. The men duck-walked in the gully, keeping their heads below the rim of the wash through which they were approaching their opposition.

Erik was both sick to death of this drilling and frantic that it might not be enough. In the six months since he had taken the first band of soldiers into the mountains, he had judged he had a solid twelve hundred soldiers under his command, reliable men who would survive on their own for as long as possible.

There were another six hundred men who were close, needing a bit more training.

The band he led now were those he feared would never become the soldiers needed to win this coming war.

Alfred tapped him on the shoulder and Erik turned. The corporal pointed to a man on the other side of the gully, who was not walking as instructed, letting the discomfort in his knees drive him to recklessness.

Erik nodded, and Alfred nearly dove to get to the man and pull him to the floor of the gully. Sharp rocks cut both men, but Alfred’s hand clamped hard over the soldier’s mouth, preventing his cry from being heard by the nearby sentries. Erik could hear his corporal’s whisper: ‘Now, Davy, your sore knees just got you and your comrades killed.’

A distant voice told Erik the exercise was a failure, and as if reading Erik’s mind, Calis stood and said, ‘This is done.’

Erik and the others rose and Alfred jerked the soldier named Davy to his feet with one powerful tug. Now his voice was unleashed in all its volume and fury. ‘You rock-headed layabout! You sorry excuse for a water boy! You’ll regret the day your father looked at your mother when I’m done with you.’

Calis heard a challenge, turned, and called out the password. He motioned to Erik, and the Sergeant Major and his Captain walked away from the men. Calis said, ‘Corporal, start them back to camp.’

Alfred shouted, ‘You heard the Captain! Back to camp! Quick march!’

The soldiers set out at a ragged run, and the Corporal harried them every step of the way.

Calis watched in silence until the men were out of sight; then he said, ‘We have a problem.’

Erik nodded. The sun was setting in the west and he said, ‘Each day about this time, I feel as if we’ve lost another step. We’re never going to get six thousand men trained in time.’

‘I know,’ said Calis.

Erik looked at his Captain and sought any hint of his mood. In the years he had spent with Calis he had come no closer to being able to read him than he had the first day they had met. He was an enigma to Erik, as unreadable as one of those foreign texts William kept in his library. Calis smiled. ‘That’s not the problem. Don’t worry. We’ll have our six thousand men in the field when the time comes. They won’t be as well trained as either of us would like, but the core will be solid, and that backbone of really fine soldiers will help keep the others alive.’ He studied his young Sergeant Major’s face for a while, then said, ‘You forget that the one thing you can’t teach is the seasoning you get in combat. Some of the men you judge fit will get themselves killed in the first few minutes, while some you would wager everything you have will perish will survive, even flourish in the midst of the carnage.’