Pug, now Milamber, returned to the Shinzawai estate to claim Katala, and discovered he was a father. His son, William, had been born during his absence. He also learned that the Shinzawai were involved in a plot with the Emperor to force peace upon the Tsurani High Council, which was dominated by the Warlord. Laurie was to guide Kasumi, who had by then mastered the language and customs of the Kingdom, to the King, bearing the Emperor’s offer of peace. Pug wished them well and took his wife and child to his home.
Tomas underwent a great change, bringing the forces of the Valheru and the human into balance, but only after almost killing Martin Longbow. In a titanic inner battle, the human was nearly overcome, but at the end he mastered the raging thing that once was a Dragon Lord and at last discovered peace within his soul.
Kasumi and Laurie came through the rift and made their way to Rillanon, where they discovered that the King had become thoroughly mad. He accused them of being spies, and they fled with the aid of Duke Caldric. The Duke advised them to seek out Lord Borric, for it seemed civil war would surely come. Reaching Borric’s camp, Laurie and Kasumi met Lyam, who informed them Borric was close to death from a wound.
Milamber, as Pug was known, attended the Imperial Games, given by the Warlord to commemorate his smashing victory over Lord Borric. Milamber became enraged at the wanton cruelty, especially the treatment of Midkemian prisoners. In a fit of rage he destroyed the arena, shaming the Warlord, thereby throwing the politics of the Empire into shambles. Milamber then fled with Katala and William back to Midkemia, a Tsurani Great One no longer, but once again Pug of Crydee.
Pug returned in time to be at Lord Borric’s side when he died. The Duke’s last act was to legitimize Martin. The King then arrived, angered by his commanders’ inability to end the long war. He led a mad charge against the Tsurani and, against all odds, broke their front, driving them back into the valley where they held their rift machine, their means of travel between the worlds. The King was mortally wounded and, in a rare lucid moment, named Lyam, the eldest conDoin male, his heir.
Lyam sent word to the Tsurani he would accept the peace offer Rodric had spurned, and the date for the truce talks was set. Macros then went to Elvandar, warning Tomas to expect deception at the peace meeting. Tomas agreed to bring his warriors, as would the dwarves.
At the peace meeting, Macros created an illusion, bringing chaos and battle where peace was the intent. Macros arrived, and he and Pug destroyed the rift, stranding four thousand Tsurani under Kasumi’s command on Midkemia. He surrendered them to Lyam, who granted them freedom if they swore fealty.
All returned to Rillanon for Lyam’s coronation, save Arutha, Pug, and Kulgan, who visited Macros’s isle. There they discovered Gathis, a goblin-like servant of the sorcerer, who gave them a message. Macros, it appeared, had died in the destruction of the rift. He left his vast library to Pug and Kulgan, who planned to start an academy for magicians. He explained his treachery by saying that a being known only as the Enemy, a vast and terrible power known to the Tsurani in ancient times, could find Midkemia by means of the rift. That was why he had forced a situation where the rift had to be destroyed.
Arutha, Pug and Kulgan went on to Rillanon, where Arutha discovered the truth about Martin. Since he was the eldest of Borric’s sons, Martin’s birth clouded Lyam’s inheritance, but the former Huntmaster renounced any claim to the throne, and Lyam became King. Arutha was made Prince of Krondor, as Anita’s father had died. Guy du Bas-Tyra was in hiding and in his absence was banished as a traitor. Laurie made the acquaintance of Princess Carline, who seemed to return his interest.
Lyam, Martin, who became Duke of Crydee, and Arutha left for a tour of the Eastern Realm, while Pug and his family, along with Kulgan, travelled to the island of Stardock, to begin the construction of the academy. For nearly a year, peace reigned in the Kingdom …
• PROLOGUE •
Twilight
THE SUN DROPPED BEHIND THE PEAKS.
The last rays of warmth touched the earth and only the rosy afterglow of the day remained. From the east, indigo darkness approached rapidly. The wind cut through the hills like a sharp-edged blade, as if spring were only a faintly remembered dream. Winter’s ice still clung to shadow-protected pockets, ice that cracked loudly under the heels of heavy boots. Out of the evening’s darkness three figures entered the firelight.
The old witch looked up, her dark eyes widening slightly at the sight of the three. She knew the figure on the left, the broad, mute warrior with the shaved head and single long scalp lock. He had come once before, seeking magic signs for strange rites. Though he was a powerful chieftain, she had sent him away, for his nature was evil, and while issues of good and evil seldom held any significance for the witch, there were limits even for her. Besides, she had little love for any moredhel, especially one who had cut out his own tongue as a sign of devotion to dark powers.
The mute warrior regarded her with blue eyes, unusual for one of his race. He was broader of shoulder than most, even for one of the mountain clans, who tended to be more powerful of arm and shoulder than their forest-dwelling cousins. The mute wore golden circle rings in his large, upswept ears, painful to affix, as the moredhel had no lobes. Upon each cheek were three scars, mystic symbols whose meaning was not lost upon the witch.
The mute made a sign to his companions, and the one to the far right seemed to nod. It was difficult to judge, for he was clothed in an all-concealing robe, with a deep hood revealing no features. Both hands were hidden in voluminous sleeves that were kept together. As if speaking from a great distance, the cloaked figure said, ‘We seek a reading of signs.’ His voice was sibilant, almost a hiss, and there was a note of something alien in it. One hand appeared and the witch pulled away, for it was misshapen and scaled, as if the owner possessed talons covered with snakeskin. She then knew the creature for what it was: a priest of the Pantathian serpent people. Compared to the serpent people, the moredhel were held in high regard by the witch.
She turned her attention from the end figures and studied the one in the centre. He stood a full head taller than the mute and was even more impressive in bulk. He slowly removed a bearskin robe, the bear’s skull providing a helm for his own head, and cast it aside. The old witch gasped, for he was the most striking moredhel she had seen in her long life. He wore the heavy trousers, jerkin, and knee-high boots of the hill clans, and his chest was bare. His powerfully muscled body gleamed in the firelight, and he leaned forward to study the witch. His face was almost frightening in its near-perfect beauty. But what had caused her to gasp, more than his awesome appearance, was the sign upon his chest.
‘Do you know me?’ he asked the witch.
She nodded. ‘I know who you appear to be.’
He leaned even farther forward, until his face was lit from below by the fire, revealing something in his nature. ‘I am who I appear to be,’ he whispered with a smile. She felt fear, for behind his handsome features, behind the benign smile, she saw the visage of evil, evil so pure it defied endurance. ‘We seek a reading of signs,’ he repeated, his voice the sound of ice-clear madness.
She chuckled. ‘Even one so mighty has limits?’
The handsome moredhel’s smile slowly vanished. ‘One may not foretell one’s own future.’
Resigned to her own likely lot, she said, ‘I require silver.’
The moredhel nodded. The mute dug a coin from out of his belt pouch and tossed it upon the floor before the witch. Without touching it, she prepared some ingredients in a stone cup. When the concoction was ready, she poured it upon the silver. A hissing came, both