The Paladin of the Night Read online

  The Paladin of the Night

  The Rose of the Prophet Book 2

  By Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman

  The Book of the Immortals 1

  Chapter 1

  The theories about the creation of the world of Sularin numbered the same as the Gods who kept it in motion. The followers of Benario, God of Thieves, were firm in their belief that their God stole the world from Sul, who had been going to set it as another jewel in the firmament. Uevin’s worshipers portrayed Sul as a craftsman, holding calipers and a T square in his hand and spending his spare time considering the nature of the dodecahedron. Quar taught that Sul molded the world from a lump of clay, used the sun to bake it, then bathed it with his tears when he was finished. Akhran told his followers nothing at all. The Wandering God hadn’t the least interest in the creation of the world. That it was here and now was enough for him. Consequently each Sheykh had his own view, handed down from greatgreatgrandfather to greatgrandfather to grandfather to father to son. Each Sheykh’s view was the right one, all others were wrong, and it was a matter over which blood had been spilled on countless occasions.

  In the Emperor’s court in Khandar, renowned for advanced thought, learned men and women spent long hours debating the differing theories and even longer hours proving, eventually, that Quar’s teachings were undoubtedly the most scientific. Certainly it was the only theory to explain adequately the phenomenon of the Kurdin Sea—an ocean of salt water populated with seagoing fish and completely surrounded on all sides by desert.

  The landlocked Kurdin Sea was populated by other things, too; dark and shadowy things that the learned men and women, living in the safety and comfort of the court of Khandar, saw only in their sleep or in fevered delirium. One of these dark things (and not the darkest by any means) was Quar’s minion, Kaug.

  Three figures, standing on the shore of the sea, were discussing this very subject intently. The figures were not human; no human had ever crossed the Sun’s Anvil whose empty dunes surrounded the sea. The three were immortals—not gods, but those who served both gods and humans.

  “You’re telling me that his dwelling is down there, in that?” said a djinn, staring at both the water and his fellow djinn with deep disgust.

  The water of the Kurdin Sea was a deep cobalt blue, its color made more vivid and intense by the stark, glaring whiteness of the desert. In the distance, what appeared to be a cloud of smoke was a white smudge against a pale blue sky.

  “Yes,” replied the younger djinn. “And don’t look so amazed, Sond. I told you before we left—”

  “You said on the Kurdin Sea, Pukah! You never said anything about in the Kurdin Sea!”

  “Unless Kaug’s taken up boating, how could he live on the Kurdin Sea?”

  “There’s an island in the center, you know.”

  “Galos!” Pukah’s eyes opened wide. “From what I’ve heard of Galos, not even Kaug would dare live on that accursed rock.”

  “Bah!” Sond sneered. “You’ve been listening to the meddah’s stories with ears soaked in qumiz.”

  “I haven’t either! I’m extensively traveled. My former Master—”

  “—was a thief and a liar!”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him, Asrial, my beautiful enchanter,” said Pukah, turning his back upon Sond and facing a silverhaired woman clad in white robes, who was looking from one to the other with increasing wonder. “My former master was a follower of Benario, but only because that was the religion in which he was raised. What could he do? He didn’t want to offend his parents—”

  “—by earning an honest living,” interposed Sond.

  “He was an entertainer at heart, with such a wonderful way with animals—”

  “Snake charmer. That was his ploy to get into other people’s houses.”

  “He was not a devout believer! Certainly Benario never blessed him!”

  “That’s true. He got caught with his hand in the money jar—”

  “He was misunderstood!” Pukah shouted.

  “When they were through with him, he was missing more than understanding,” Sond said dryly, folding his goldbraceleted arms across his bare chest.

  Drawing his saber from the green sash at his waist, Pukah rounded on the older djinn. “You and I have been friends for centuries, Sond, but I will not allow you to insult me before the angel I love!”

  “We’ve never been friends, that I knew of,” Sond growled, drawing his saber in turn. Steel flashing in the bright sunlight, the two began to circle each other. “And if hearing the truth insults you—”

  “What are you two doing?” the angel demanded. “Have you forgotten why we are here? What about your Nedjma?” She glared at Sond. “Last night you shed tears over her cruel fate—being held captive by this evil afright—”

  “—’efreet,” corrected Sond.

  “Whatever it is called in your crude language,” Asrial said loftily. “You said you would give your life for her—which, considering you are immortal, doesn’t seem to me to be much of a sacrifice. We have spent weary weeks searching the heavens for her and now you quibble about going into the sea!”

  “I am of the desert,” Sond protested sullenly. “I don’t like water. It’s cold and wet and slimy.”

  “You can’t really feel anything, you know! We are immortal.” Asrial glanced at Pukah coolly from the corner of her blue eyes. “We are above such things as love and physical sensations and other human frailties!”

  “Above love?” cried Pukah jealously. “Where did the tears I saw you shedding over your mad master come from, if you have no eyes? If you have no hand, why do you caress his forehead and, for all I know, other parts of his body as well!”

  “As for my tears,” retorted Asrial angrily, “all know the adage, The drops of rain are the tears the Gods shed over the follies of man—”

  “Hazrat Akhran goes about with dry eyes, then,” Pukah interrupted, laughing.

  Asrial pointedly ignored him. “And as for your insinuation that I have had carnal knowledge of my ‘protégé’—Mathew is not my master and he’s not mad—your statement is absurd and what I would expect of one who has been living around humans so long he has tricked himself into believing he can feel what they feel—”

  “Hush!” said Sond suddenly, cocking his turbaned head to one side.

  “What?”

  “Shhh!” the djinn hissed urgently. He stared far off into nothing, his gaze abstracted. “My master,” he murmured. “He’s calling for me.”

  “Is that all?” Pukah raised his eyes to heaven. “He’s called for you before. Let Majiid tie his headcloth himself this morning. “

  “No, it is more urgent than that! I think I should attend him!”

  “Come now, Sond. Majiid gave you permission to leave. I know you don’t want to go swimming, but this is ridiculous—”

  “It isn’t that! Something’s wrong! Something’s been wrong ever since we left.”

  “Bah! If something was wrong, Khardan would be calling for me. He can’t get along without me for even the smallest thing, you know.” The young djinn heaved the sigh of the vastly overworked. “I rarely have a moment’s peace. He begged me to stay, in fact, but I told him that the wishes of Hazrat Akhran held preference over those of a human, even my master—”

  “And is your master calling for you?” Sond interrupted impatiently.

  “No! So you see—”

  “I see nothing except a braggart and a buffoon—” Sond fell silent. “That’s odd,” he said after a moment’s pause. “Majiid’s calls just ceased.”

  “There, what did I tell you. The old man pulled his trousers on all by himself—”

  “I don’t
like this,” muttered Sond, putting his hand over his breast. “I feel strange—empty and hollow.”

  “What does he mean?” Asrial drew near Pukah. Slipping her hand into the hand of the djinn, she held onto him tightly. “He looks terrible, Pukah!”

  “I know, my dear. I never could understand what women see in him!” said Pukah. Looking down at the small white hand he was holding, the djinn squeezed it teasingly. “A pity you can’t feel this—”

  Angrily, Asrial snatched her hand away. Spreading her white wings, she smoothed her robes about her and waded into the water of the cobalt blue sea. Pukah followed instantly, plunging headlong into the sea water with a splash that drenched the angel and sent a school of small fish into a panicked frenzy. “Coming?” he yelled.

  “I’ll be along,” Sond answered softly.

  Facing the west, the djinn’s eyes scanned the horizon. He saw nothing but blowing sand, heard nothing but the eerie song the dunes sing as they shift and move in their eternal dance with the wind.

  Shaking his head, the djinn turned away and slowly entered the Kurdin Sea.

  Chapter 2

  Sinking deeper and deeper into the Kurdin Sea, Asrial tried to appear as nonplussed and casual as if, she were drifting through a clear blue sky in the heavens of Promenthas. Inwardly, however, she was a prey to growing terror. The guardian angel had never encountered a place as fearsome as this.

  It wasn’t the cold or the wetness that sent shudders through her ethereal body—Asrial had not been around humans nearly as long as either Pukah or Sond and so did not feel these sensations. It was the darkness.

  Night steals over the surface of the world like the shadow of an angel’s wing and it is just that—a shadow. Night hides objects from our vision and this is what frightens mortals—not the darkness itself, but the unknown lurking beneath it. Night on the world’s surface merely affects the sight, however, and mortals have learned to fight back. Light a candle and drive the darkness away. Night above does not affect hearing—the growls of animals, the rustling of trees, the sleepy murmur of the birds are easily detected, perhaps more easily than in daylight, for night seems to sharpen the other senses in return for dimming one.

  But the night of the water is different. The darkness of the sea isn’t a shadow cast over mortal vision. The sea’s night is an entity. It has weight and form and substance. It smothers the breath from the lungs. The sea’s night is eternal. The sun’s rays cannot pierce it. No candle will light it. The sea’s night is alive. Creatures populate the darkness and mortals are the trespassers in their domain.

  The sea’s night is silent.

  The silence, the weight, the aliveness of the darkness pressed in on Asrial. Though she had no need to breathe, she felt herself gasping for breath. Though her immortal vision could see, she wished desperately for light. More than once she caught herself in what appeared to be the act of swimming, as were Sond and Pukah. Asrial did not cleave the water with clean, strong strokes like Sond or flounder through it fishlike, as did Pukah. It was, with her, more as if she sought to push the water aside with her hands, as if she were trying to clear a path for herself.

  “You’re growing more human all the time,” commented Pukah teasingly, bobbing up near her.

  “If you mean that I am frightened of this terrible place and want very much to leave, then you are right,” Asrial said miserably. Brushing aside the silver hair that floated into her face, she glanced around in dismay. “Surely this must be the dwelling place of Astafas!”

  “Astawho?”

  “Astafas, the God who sits opposite Promenthas in the Great Jewel. He is cruel and evil, delighting in suffering and misery. He rules over a world that is dark and terrible. Demons serve him, bringing him human souls on which he feeds.”

  “That sounds a lot like Kaug, only he eats things more substantial than souls. Why, you’re trembling all over! Pukah, you are a swine, a goat,” he muttered beneath his breath. “You should never have brought her in the first place.” He started to slip his arm comfortingly around the angel, only to discover that her wings were in the way. If he put his arm above where the wings sprouted from her back, it looked as if he were attempting to choke her. Sliding his arm under the wings, he became entangled in the feathers. Finally, in exasperation, he gave up and contented himself with patting her hand soothingly. “I’ll take you back up to the surface,” he offered. “Sond can deal with Kaug.”

  “No!” cried Asrial, looking alarmed. “I’m all right. Truly.

  “It was wrong of me to complain.” She smoothed her silver hair and her white robes and was endeavoring to appear composed and calm when a tentacle snaked out of the darkness and wrapped around her wrist. Asrial jerked her hand away with a smothered shriek. Pukah surged forward.

  “A squid. Go on, get out of here! Do we look edible? Stupid fish. There, there, my dearest! It’s all right. The creature’s gone. . .”

  Completely unnerved, Asrial was sobbing, her wings folded tightly about her in a protective, feathered cocoon.

  “Sond!” shouted Pukah into the thick darkness. “I’m taking Asrial to the surface— Sond! Sond? Drat! Where in Sul has he got to? Asrial, my angel, come with me—”

  “No!” Asrial’s wings parted suddenly. Resolutely, she began floating through the water. “I must stay! I must do this for Mathew! Fish, you said. The fish told me Mathew would die a horrible death. . . unless I came—”

  “Fish? What fish?”

  “Oh, Pukah!” Asrial halted, staring at the djinn in horror. “I wasn’t supposed to tell!”

  “Well, you did. ‘The sheep is dead’, as they say. Might as well eat it as cry over it. You spoke with a fish? How? Where?”

  “My protégé carries with him two fish—”

  “In the middle of the desert? And you say he isn’t mad!”

  “No! No! It isn’t like that at all! There’s something. . . strange”—Asrial shivered—”about these fish. Something magical. They were given to Mathew by a man—a terrible man. The slave trader who took my protege captive. The one who ordered the slaughter of the helpless priests and magi of Promenthas.

  “When we came to the city of Kich, the slave trader was stopped outside the city walls by guards, who told him he must give up all his magical objects and sacrifice them to Quar. The slave trader gave up every magic item he had—except for one.”

  “I’ve heard of fish that swallowed magic rings, but magic fish?” Pukah appeared highly skeptical. “What do they do? Charm the bait?”

  “This is serious, Pukah!” Asrial said softly. “One life has been lost over them already. And my poor Mathew. . .” She covered her face with her hands.

  “Pukah, you are a low form of life. A worm, a snake is higher than you.” The djinn gazed at the angel remorsefully. “I’m sorry. Go on, Asrial.”

  “He. . . the slave trader. . . called Mathew over to the white palanquin in which the trader always traveled. He handed my protege a crystal globe decorated on the top and bottom with costly gold work. The globe was filled with water and inside swam two fish—one gold and one black. The trader ordered Mathew to keep them hidden from the guards. There was a poor girl standing there, watching—a slave girl. The trader told Mathew to witness what would happen if he betrayed him and he . . . he murdered the girl, right before Mathew’s eyes!”

  “Why did he choose Mathew to carry these fish?”

  Asrial blushed faintly. “The trader mistook my protégé for a female“

  “Ah, yes,” muttered Pukah. “I forgot.”

  “The guards would not search the women in the caravan not their persons, at least—and so Mathew was able to conceal the fish. The slave trader said that he would take them back when they went into town. But then your master rescued Mathew and carried him away. And with him, the magical fish. . . .”

  “How do you know they’re magic? What do they do?” Pukah asked dubiously.

  “Of course they’re magic!” Asrial snapped irritably. “They live en
cased in a crystal globe that no force on this world can shatter. They do not eat. They are not bothered by heat or cold.” Her voice lowered. “And one spoke to me.”

  “That’s nothing,” Pukah scoffed. “I’ve talked to animals. I once shared my basket with a snake who worked for my former master. Quite an amusing fellow. Actually, it was the snake’s basket, but he didn’t mind a roommate after I convinced—”

  “Pukah! This is serious! One fish—the gold one—told me to come with you to find the Lost Immortals. The fish referred to Mathew as the Bearer. . . and she said he was in dreadful danger. In danger of losing not only his life but his soul as well!”

  “There, there, my dear. Don’t get so upset. When we get back, you must show me these wonderful fish. What else do they— Oh, Sond! Where have you been?”

  The elder djinn swam through the murky water, his strong arms cleaving it aside with swift, clean strokes. “I went ahead to Kaug’s dwelling, to look around. The ‘efreet’s gone, apparently. The place is deserted.”

  “Good!” Pukah rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “Are you certain you want to continue on, Asrial? Yes? Actually, it’s well that you are coming with us, beautiful angel, because neither Sond nor I may enter the ‘efreet’s dwelling without his permission. Now you, on the other hand—”

  “Pukah, I need to talk to you.” Sond drew the young djinn to the far side of a large outcropping of rock covered with hollow, tubular plants that opened and shut with the flow of the water, looking like hundreds of gasping mouths.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “Pukah, a strange feeling came over me when I drew near Kaug’s dwelling—”

  “It’s the stuff he cooks for his dinner. I know, I felt it, too. Like your stomach’s trying to escape by way of your throat?”

  “It’s not anything I smelled!” Sond said angrily. “Quit being a fool for once in your life. It’s a feeling like. . . like . . . like I could enter Kaug’s dwelling without his permission. In fact, it seemed as if I was being pulled inside!”