Rage of a Demon King (15 page)

Sho Pi nodded. “As it was last time, Master.”

Nakor resisted the impulse to tell the young man to cease calling him master. It was as pointless as telling a dog not to scratch fleas.

“Keshian patrols along the south coast of the Sea of Dreams,” observed Nakor. “Last time Calis informed the garrison commander, yet here again we see Keshian lancers riding with their colors unfurled.” After a moment, he laughed.

“What is funny, Master?”

Nakor struck the young man lightly with the back of his hand on Sho Pi’s shoulder. “It’s obvious, boy. Lord Arutha has made a deal.”

“A deal?” asked Sho Pi as the boat’s Captain turned his craft toward the shore.

“You’ll see,” said the little man.

He and his disciple had taken ship from Krondor and sailed through the inlet into the waterway
between the Bitter Sea and the Sea of Dreams. They were now on a river boat heading to Port Shamata, where they would buy horses and ride to Stardock. Nakor carried documents for Lord Arutha and orders from Prince Patrick and Duke James. Nakor had a nagging suspicion he knew what was in those documents, for several of them bore the King’s own crest, not that of the Prince.

The balance of the journey passed uneventfully, and eventually Nakor and Sho Pi found themselves on the raft that served to carry passengers and goods across the Great Star Lake to the island of Stardock, and the community of magicians that resided there.

Arutha, Lord Vencar, Earl of the King’s court and son of Duke James, met them at the landing. “Nakor, Sho Pi! It’s good to see you two again.” He laughed. “Our last meeting was far too brief.”

Nakor also laughed. He had spent less than two minutes in the newly arrived Earl’s company before departing with Sho Pi and Pug to travel to Elvandar.

As they jumped the narrowing gap between barge and dock, Nakor said, “I have messages from your father.”

Arutha said, “Come with me, then.”

“How did you know we were on the barge?” asked Nakor.

As they walked to the huge building that was Stardock, the man the King had sent to administer the island of magicians said, “Something mundane. Our lookout saw you from up there.” He pointed to one of the windows in a high tower. “He sent word to me.”

“Must be one of my students,” said Nakor, nodding.

Inside the building, they traversed a long hall and moved toward what Nakor knew would be Arutha’s office. It was the same one he had taken when he had been placed in charge of the island by Calis. “Are Chalmes, Kalied, and the others giving you any trouble?” asked Nakor.

At mention of the Keshian-born traditionalist who resisted the idea of this island’s being subject to the King’s law, Arutha shook his head and said, “None worth mentioning. They grouse a bit now and again, but as long as they’re free to teach and do their research, they don’t complain too much about my administration.”

Nakor said, “I suspect they’re plotting.”

“No doubt,” agreed Arutha as they reached his office, “but I think it won’t amount to much without outside help. They’re too spineless to attempt to secede from the Kingdom without a strong ally.”

Once inside the office, Arutha closed the door. “And we’re prepared for that,” said the Earl as he took the packet of documents his father had sent. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, and broke the seal on the first of those, a personal message from the Duke.

As he read, Nakor studied the Earl. He was as tall as his father, but looked more like his mother, with fine features and an almost delicate mouth. His eyes, though, thought Nakor, were his father’s; they were dangerous. His hair was like his father’s, too, as it had been when James was a young man: tight dark brown curls.

After a moment, Arutha said, “Do you know what’s in here?”

“No,” said Nakor, “but I can guess. Erland has just returned from Kesh. Did he pass this way?”

Arutha laughed. “Not much gets by you, does it?”

“When you’ve lived by your wits as long as I have,” said Nakor, “you learn to pay attention to everything.”

“Yes, Erland stopped for one night on his way home.”

“Then you’ve made a deal with Kesh.”

Arutha said, “Let’s say we’ve come to an understanding.”

If Sho Pi was lost in the conversation, he gave no sign, seemingly content to let his master and the Earl speak uninterrupted.

Nakor laughed. “Your father is the most evil, dangerous man I’ve ever met. It’s a good thing he’s on our side.”

Arutha looked rueful. “You’ll get no argument from me in that regard. My life has never been my own.”

Nakor took the message as Arutha handed it across the desk. “You don’t seem particularly bothered by this,” observed the gambler.

Arutha shrugged. “I had the usual rebellious nature most young men possess, but truth to tell, most of what my father had me do was interesting; challenging even. My sons, as you may have gathered, were a completely different case. My wife is quite a bit more forgiving of ‘adventuresome’ natures than my mother was.” He stood up as Nakor read the Duke’s message. “I have often thought what Father’s life must have been like, to be literally raised a thief in the sewers of Krondor.” He glanced out a small window that overlooked the shoreline. “I’ve heard enough ‘Jimmy the Hand’ stories to last a lifetime.”

“I didn’t think your father was much on bragging,” observed Sho Pi as Nakor continued to read.

“Not from Father, but from others,” said Arutha. “Father has changed the history of the Kingdom.” He fell into a thoughtful silence. “It can be a difficult thing to be the son of a great man.”

Nakor said, “People expect much of a great man’s son.” He put the document on the desk. “You want me to stay?”

“For a while,” said Arutha. “I need someone trustworthy here when this all breaks out. I need some reassurance that Chalmes and the others won’t react badly.”

“Oh, they’ll react badly enough when they see what your father and Prince Erland have cooked up,” said Nakor with a small laugh, “but I’ll make sure no one gets hurt.”

“Good. I’ll leave next week, after I’ve seen to a few more necessary details.”

“You need to return to Krondor?” asked Nakor.

Arutha nodded. “I know my father.”

Nakor sighed. “I understand.”

Arutha said, “You have the same rooms as before, so rest and I’ll see you at dinner.”

Sensing they were being dismissed, Sho Pi rose and opened the door for Nakor.

After they had left the Earl’s office, Sho Pi said, “Master, what did you mean by asking Lord Arutha if he needed to return?”

“His father ordered him to Rillanon, on a thin pretext of carrying messages to the King,” said Nakor as they turned a corner leading to the suite of rooms set aside for them. Climbing a flight of stairs, Nakor continued, “Arutha knows his father is unlikely
to leave Krondor when the fighting starts. He wants to see that his sons don’t stay with their grandfather.”

“I know war is risky,” said the former soldier, “but why should the Duke’s grandsons be at any greater risk than anyone else?”

“Because it is unlikely that anyone who is in Krondor when the Queen’s fleet arrives will survive,” Nakor answered flatly.

Sho Pi remained silent as they reached their quarters.

*   *   *

Erik signaled and the riders stopped. One of his scouts was riding back toward him. He had spent the better part of two months raiding the Border Barons for their best men, and now almost six hundred men rode in three columns spread out over twenty miles behind him. It had been an exhausting ride, and Erik was cursing Calis with almost every mile of it, but he had his men.

Each Border Baron he had visited had read the King’s Warrant with a mix of disbelief and outrage. Each Baron was unique in that he was a vassal of the Crown, answerable to no Earl or Duke. To have a mere sergeant major of the Prince’s garrison walk in with orders to let him handpick men to be taken away, while promises of replacements were vague at best, was more than they could withstand.

Baron Northwarden had even considered attempting to hold Erik for confirmation of the order, but by then Erik had an armed company of nearly two hundred men with him and the Baron thought better of it.

At Highcastle, the Baron merely looked as if another weight had been added to his already abundant
burden, and complied with a minimum of complaint. Erik suspected the company of four hundred men from Northwarden and Iron-pass also convinced him.

They had ridden through the vast grasslands of the High Wold, home to nomadic tribesmen, herding their sheep and trading with the Barons and those small villages that survived this close to the Northlands. Several times they had found camps recently abandoned, as if the approach of so many armed men had caused bandits to flee into the hills.

After the third such camp had been encountered, Erik had ordered two of the men from Ironpass to ride advance scout. Erik found it slightly discomforting to think of any problems this far within the border of the Kingdom, but of all the lands between the Far Coast and the Kingdom Sea, those lands between the Teeth of the World—the great northern mountain range—and the boundary of the Dimwood were among the most hostile. Raiding parties of goblins and dark elves were known to have traveled as far south as Sethanon in the years before the Riftwar, and no matter the frequency of Kingdom patrols through these areas, they still remained wild and inhospitable.

They were presently riding through light woodlands, leading toward the far denser Dimwood, and now Erik had lost count of the ideal places for ambush he had ridden past.

The first scout reined in and said, “An armed camp, Sergeant Major. At least a hundred men.”

“What?” said Erik. “Did anyone see you?”

“No, they post no scouts and seem unconcerned about it; I believe they think themselves alone here.”

“Could you mark them?”

“No banner flew and they wore neither uniform nor tabard. They look like brigands.”

Erik dismissed the scout and turned to the man he had named acting corporal, a sergeant from Ironpass named Garret. “I want a skirmish line behind us by fifty yards—half the men. At the first sound of trouble, I want them to sweep in from either side. The rest should ready themselves to hit hard up the middle if needed, by column of two. Get four of your best and ride with me.”

At least a decade Erik’s senior, the man showed no hesitation in taking orders from the younger man. Erik liked his attitude and his discipline and planned on making him a sergeant as soon as possible, because in Garret he sensed someone who’d keep his men alive.

That was the one thing about Calis’s plan Erik grudgingly approved of: the men he had been sent to fetch had been hardened by years of fighting goblins, dark elves, and bandits. Most of them were mountain fighters by experience, and it would take little to meld them into the force Erik already had under his command.

Like the trained soldiers they were, the first twenty men spread out behind Erik. He told Garret, “Get ready for trouble.”

Orders were passed, and Erik, Garret, and the four men he had chosen rode forward.

They slowly picked their way through the trees and came within sight of campfires. Close to eighty men lay about or stood talking in a clearing in the woods. A few dozen tents of various size were erected in haphazard fashion, and some men tended cooking
fires and saw to provisions near the middle of the clearing. Erik saw baggage wagons and horses staked out near the far edge. To Garret he said, “This is no band of outlaws.”

The older soldier nodded silent agreement. “We better hit them hard.” There was no question in his mind; they were heading for a fight. Erik wondered. While it was not quite midday, many of the men were sleeping. Erik held up his hand and spoke softly. “They’re waiting for someone.”

“How do you know, Sergeant Major?” asked Garret.

“They’re bored and they’ve been here for at least a week.” He pointed to a slit trench over to their right.

Garret said, “I can smell it. You’re right. They’ve been here for a while.”

“And unless I’m mistaken, there’s nothing here worth waiting for, so they’re waiting for someone else to show up.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

He motioned the men forward and they walked their horses to within sight of the camp.

A bored soldier sat polishing his sword and he glanced up as Erik and the others hove into view. His eyes widened and he shouted.

As soon as Erik heard the man’s voice, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he shouted to the rear, “Attack!”

Swords were in hands without thought, and the sound of the riders coming hard filled the afternoon air. In the camp, men ran to bedrolls and pulled on armor as they could, or grabbed shields and swords, bows and arrows, and the fight began.

As Erik had planned, the column of twos rode into the center of the camp behind him just as the sweeping skirmish line encircled the camp. Men screamed as arrows filled the air and steel rang upon steel as the riders swept into the clearing. Many of the men who rode with Erik were mounted bowmen and quickly picked off targets as men struggled to don armor.

Erik rode down two men as he headed for the center of the camp. Whoever led these men was certain to be there, and he intended to find the leader before some overly eager Kingdom archer skewered him with a bowshaft.

Erik saw the leader.

The man was an oasis of calm as those around him ran in every direction. He shouted orders and attempted to bend his men by force of will into an effective fighting force. Erik put heels to his horse and charged him.

The leader sensed more than saw Erik approach, so intent was he on directing his men. He turned to see the horse and rider almost on top of him and dove to one side, avoiding Erik’s charge.

Erik turned his mount and found the man now armed with sword and shield, quickly retrieved from the ground. Erik knew he faced a tough opponent, for the man had dived in the direction of his weapons. He would not rattle.

Erik knew better than to charge him again, for to do so was to risk having the man duck under his attack and hamstring his horse. He was probably calm and confident enough to attempt that dangerous move.