Rage of a Demon King. Raymond E. Feist

Чтение книги онлайн.

       • Prologue • Breakthrough

      The wall shimmered.

      In what had once been the throne room of Jarwa, last Sha-shahan of the Seven Nations of the Saaur, the thirty-foot-high wall of stones opposite the empty seat of power seemed to waver, then vanish as a black void appeared. Nightmare creatures gathered, things of terrible fangs and poisonous claws. Some wore the faces of dead animals, while others were humanlike in aspect. Some bore proud wings, antlers, or bull’s horns. All were beings of massive muscle and evil intent, dark magic and murderous nature. Yet all in the hall remained motionless, terrified of that which was appearing on the other side of the newly created gateway. Demons who stood as tall as trees crouched low trying not to be seen.

      Immense energy was required to open a gate, and for years the demons had been thwarted by the accursed priests of the distant city of Ahsart. Only when the mad High Priest unsealed the portal, admitting the first demon to deny his city to the conquering host of the Saaur, was the barrier breached.

      Now the world of Shila lay in tatters, the remaining life reduced to lowly creatures at the sea bottom, lichen clinging to rocks in crevices upon distant mountain peaks, and tiny creatures that scuttled under rocks to avoid detection. Anything larger than the smallest insect had been devoured. Hunger now gripped the demon host, and again they returned to their ancient habit of feeding upon one another. But internecine conflict was put aside among the elite of the host as a new gate from the Fifth Circle to Shila was completed, opening the way for the supreme ruler of the demon realm to communicate.

      The demon without a name stood at the edge of those summoned to this once-grand hall. He peeked out from behind a stone column, lest he call attention to himself. He had captured a unique soul and had been harboring it, using it, becoming cunning and dangerous. For unlike most of his brethren, he had discovered guile worked better than confrontation in gaining valuable life force and intelligence. He still showed the proper mix of fear and danger to those directly above him, enough fear so they judged him under their sway, yet dangerous enough for them to avoid attempting to consume him. It was a perilous pose, and had he made one misstep, calling attention to his uniqueness, those captains nearby would have destroyed him utterly, for his mind was turning alien and was now self-aware enough to be a threat to all of them.

      This demon knew he could easily defeat at least four of the demons who presumed superiority and stood before him, but to rise too quickly among the host was to call unwanted attention to oneself. He had, during his short life, seen no fewer than a half-dozen others rise too quickly, only to be destroyed by one of the great captains, either against that day they might themselves be challenged, or to protect a favored servant.

      Mightiest of these captains was Tugor, First Servant of Great Maarg, who was now making his will known. Tugor fell to his knees, placing his forehead to the floor, and others followed his lead.

      The demon without a name heard a faint voice and knew it came from the soul he had captured, and he tried to ignore it, but it always said something he knew to be important. ‘Observe,’ he heard in his mind, as if it were a faint whisper in his ear, or a thought of his own.

      A great rush of energies bathed the room as the shimmering wall seemed to ripple outward, then vanish as a gate to the home realm opened. A wind filled the chamber, from air sucked through the gap between worlds, as if everything in this hall were being urged to return to its home realm. By their nature, demons instinctively felt an awareness of those far mightier than themselves, and being close to Tugor caused the nameless demon to nearly faint in terror. But the presence that emanated through the rent in the fabric of space nearly reduced him to babbling incoherence.

      All those present stayed on their knees, keeping foreheads to the stones, save the nameless demon still hidden behind the column. He watched as Tugor stood to face the void. From within the gap in the wall came a voice that was filled with the echoes of rage and dread. ‘Have you found the way?’

      Tugor said, ‘We have, most mighty! We have sent two of our captains through the rift to Midkemia.’

      ‘What do they report?’ demanded the voice from beyond, and in it the nameless demon detected a note of something besides anger and power, a hint of desperation, perhaps.

      ‘Dogku and Jakan do not report,’ responded Tugor. ‘We know nothing. We believe they are unable to hold the portal.’

      ‘Then send another!’ ordered Maarg, Ruler of the Fifth Circle. ‘I will not cross until that way is clear; you’ve left nothing upon this world that I may consume. Next time I open the way, I will cross, and if there is naught for me to devour, I will eat your heart, Tugor!’ The sound of air being sucked from the room ceased as the rift between the worlds closed. Maarg’s voice hung in the air as the shimmering vanished and the wall was as it had been before.

      Tugor rose up and shouted in rage, venting his frustration. The others stood slowly, for now would not be a good time to draw the attention of the second most powerful among their race. Tugor had been known to snap the heads from the shoulders of those who appeared to be growing too powerful, so that no rival would appear who might contest his position. It was even rumored that Tugor harbored his strength against the day when he might challenge Maarg for supremacy among the race.