Free Wrath of a Mad God by Raymond E. Feist

the truth is I do not have the ability to travel in time, at least not in the fashion you’d imagine.” Looking at Pug, he said, “I remember when you and Tomas came to find me in the Garden, at the edge of the City Forever.”
    Pug remembered. It had been his first encounter with the Hall of Worlds.
    “Had I the ability to travel in time, I never would have permitted the trap sprung by the Pantathian Serpent Priests to fling us backward through time.”
    “Yet you instructed me how to accelerate its unfolding many times, until we reached a point at which time was meaningless,” observed Pug.
    “True, and while I lacked your talents in that regard, I also lacked the skills to manipulate time as the Pantathians had.”
    “In all our encounters with the Serpent Priests,” said Pug,
    “we found them clever, but hardly brilliant, dangerous in numbers, but never individually.” He mused for a moment, then added, “I never considered that the time trap was actually a spell of majestic complexity and required skills beyond their abilities. At least one of those priests was inspired.”
    “All things return to the Nameless One,” said Nakor. “As he has touched Leso Varen, he must have so done with a Pantathian high priest. There was your inspired genius.”
    Macros waved his hand. “Yes. Had they all had that level of talent, the war would have turned out very different, but other than that one savant, they were always a nuisance at most—”
    “Nuisance?” interrupted Pug. “Tens of thousands died over the course of two wars because of that nuisance .”
    “You mistake my meaning,” said Macros. “They createdchaos, but as Nakor observed, it was the Nameless One at the root of it all.”
    Macros stood and walked a pace, turned and said, “There is so much to tell, and it’s difficult to know where to begin.” He glanced from face to face. “Should a question occur to you, perhaps it were best if you leave off asking until I make this following point.” He waved his hand in the air, and a globe appeared, an illusion that Pug instantly recognized, for he had used such things to teach students at the Assembly on Kelewan, the Academy at Stardock, and upon Sorcerer’s Isle.
    “Consider this globe to be all that can exist,” said Macros.
    “Surrounded by the void, it represents all of what we comprehend.” He waved his hand and the globe was now banded with shades of grey, from a nearly black band at the bottom to an off-white one at the top. “Each layer represents a plane of reality, with the centermost one being our own… your own,” he corrected himself. “As you noticed on Kosridi, it’s a physical match for Midkemia, as this world is a match for Kelewan.”
    “Kelewan,” said Pug. “I had no inkling.”
    Macros nodded. “You sit within a garden that is roughly in the middle of the great hall in the Emperor’s palace in the Holy City of Kentosani, if I remember my Tsurani geography. There’s an affinity between physical creations that I do not pretend to understand—it can even be argued that there is but one physical expression and that the planes are overlays, spiritual realms that actually exist in the same space. It’s all very difficult and borders on the abstract debates ordinarily suitable only for students of natural philosophy. But I can appreciate your not recognizing Omadrabar being analogous to Kelewan, because this world has been occupied by the Dasati a great deal longer than Kelewan has been home to humanity.
    “Were you to rise up to a great height, you would find that while the seas would look familiar, far more of this world is covered by construction.” He paused. “Did you know that given the manner in which the Dasati farm, they’ve been forced to include gigantic farming enclaves within the cities, so they can feed the populace?”
    Macros shrugged. “Enough digression. These levels or planes of reality have been stable for…well, I guess since the dawn of time