Flight of the Nighthawks by Raymond E. Feist

Uprising, Tomas and I faced a Master of the Dread. We bested the creature, though it took all of our magic and no little guile. Then at the end, in Sethanon, I beheld a Dreadlord—a Greater Dragon, with all her magic and might, could barely contain it.”
    â€œBut the Dread come from one of the lower planes, while these Dasati are from the second. Surely they are only slightly more dangerous than men?”
    Pug held his wife’s hand. “You know more than I do on many subjects, Miranda, but scholarship has never been your first love.” She furrowed her brow but said nothing, acknowledging the truth in his words.
    He sighed and lowered his voice. “It’s the nature of beings from the lower levels of creation to absorb the life force from those from the higher. Think of it as water running downhill; just the touch of a Dasati would cause damage after only a few moments.
    â€œThe Dread are the most fearful beings able to reach this level of reality and survive; creatures from the depths below them draw so much energy to themselves so fast that they are destroyed when they reach our plane, unless they employ powerful magic to keep themselves alive. No, it’s the fact the Dasati are from but one level below us that makes them so fearful to contemplate, my love.” He sighed as if fatigued. “Nakor understands, for he has spent more time studying the Talnoy than anyone else.” He glanced at the mouth of the cave. “The others will discover what I’m telling you; no need to create any risk of panic.
    â€œThe Dasati are mortal like ourselves, but if they reach this level of reality, they will slowly draw life force from around them, from the very grass they tread upon, so that even should we establish a military stalemate, as we did with the Tsurani during the first Riftwar, they would eventually wither us to defeat. Also, the flow of life force toward them makes them harder to kill and ourselves weaker. The longer we are locked in struggle, the more difficult victory will be. And we must remember the numbers; if Kaspar is correct and he saw a true vision of that world, they would not send thousands of warriors, but tens of thousands. If they find us, we must react and react quickly. We can’t have the monarchs of Midkemia fully understanding what we must face, at least for a while, else fear might overwhelm their resolve.”
    Miranda studied her husband’s face for a while, then said, “We shall do everything we can.”
    â€œI know,” he said. “Now, we both have work to do.”
    â€œHow are you going to return?”
    He smiled. “I’ll walk. The fresh air clears my head and helps me think.”
    She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you at home.”
    Before she could vanish, he said, “Wait a minute! Did you see Nakor use an orb to leave?”
    â€œNot that I noticed.”
    He smiled. “Another of his ‘tricks,’ I expect.”
    She smiled in return and then was gone. No one could transport herself better than Miranda. She had been trying to teach Pug and some of the others how to do it without the aid of patterns or the Tsurani orbs, but few achieved it through mind alone, and then only to very familiar locations. To himself he concluded that Nakor must have studied with her. The wily little man was right. Pug, he and his wife did need to talk more.
    Pug left the cavern and stopped at its mouth. It was late afternoon on Sorcerer’s Isle and by the time he reached the villa it would be almost suppertime. He took one more look around the cave and then started his walk home.
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    The Royal Chirurgeon shook his head and spoke softly to the attending squire. “I fear he will not make it through the night.” The two figures were dwarfed by the enormous chamber in which the Duke of Krondor lay dying. A single candle burned on the table next to the bed.
    â€œShall I inform the senior squire,