Rage of a Demon King (25 page)

“Jakan?” said Nakor.

“You’ve head of him?” asked Miranda.

“In a roundabout way,” said the little man. “He’s a demon captain, not a big one, like Tugor, First Servant to Maarg, Ruler of the Fifth Circle, but one with some reputation.”

Tathar said, “We have had contact with such once or twice in the history of our race. How do you know of them, human?”

Nakor shrugged. “You hear things, here and there.”

Miranda said, “You’re an infuriating little man.”

Nakor grinned. “Your mother said the same to me when we were married.” He sighed. “I wish I had had a daughter like you.”

Macros said, “No you don’t.”

Suddenly laughter filled the council and everyone knew the relief was at Pug’s apparent recovery as
much as from the banter. Then Nakor’s expression turned serious. “About a century or so ago I found my way into the Hall of Worlds and spent some time at Honest John’s. It’s a good place to gamble.” He made a sour face. “Hard place to cheat. Anyway, in the course of my time there I heard about some troubles with the demons.”

“Such as?” prompted Macros.

“That someone was stirring them up and they were attempting to breach the barriers out of the Fifth Circle into the higher realms.”

“Someone provided them a way,” suggested Macros.

“That’s what worries me,” said Tomas. “In the memories of the Valheru, we struggled with the demons, and among our foes, only the Dread were more powerful. But the Dread and the demons were confined to realms far from our own, and for them to be here, both at the time of the Riftwar and now, means an agency of great power is behind all of this.”

Macros and Miranda exchanged looks. “I sense we know something . . .” said Miranda.

“Knew something,” said Macros. To the Queen and Tomas he said, “There are larger forces at play here, but I also have some sense that we have limits to what we may do. I suggest we consider what may be our next best course of action.”

Tomas said, “It’s obvious the fleet is well protected and that another attack of the sort Pug mounted would prove unwise.”

“Agreed,” said Macros. “They may not know my and Miranda’s abilities, but they must know Pug has allies of significant power and have defenses in place. This demon who has taken the Emerald
Queen’s place may not be a great demon lord, but he has firm control of those around us, from what little I glimpsed as I saved Pug.

“We must consider the risk that the demons are in a position to slip more of their captains and lords through into Midkemia. We must attend to that danger, while I think we’d best leave the more mundane concerns of invasion to those who are best equipped to meet it: Prince Patrick, Duke James, and Knight-Marshal William.”

Tomas said, “We will, though we will aid them when the time comes.”

“I understand,” said Macros. He stood and moved to the middle of the circle. “With Pug injured, I must again put myself in the center of this struggle.”

Aglaranna said, “Years ago you came to us and were instrumental in saving our home, Macros. Your wisdom is always welcome here.”

Macros rubbed his bead. “My wisdom is somewhat lacking at the moment, lady. Before, I had Sarig’s gift of future sight, and the ability to travel at will back and forth through time. Since the severing of our ties, I fear I have but a bare sense of where to start looking next for our course of action.”

Miranda said, “Well, we need to find the Rift and close it forever.”

“Perhaps you need to look at the place Calis and Miranda found those tainted artifacts.” It was Tathar who spoke. “I’ve studied the artifacts our Calis sent to us as much as anyone, and while I can put no name to the alien presence that has touched it, I can say it is powerful, and what is there is well hidden. It must be the demons, and that must be where they are entering our world.”

Acaila held up his hand and nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. Tathar and all the Spellweavers have indicated this is magic of great power and subtlety, well hidden, masked to disguise its origin, and clever in its construction.”

Macros said, “That sounds likely.”

Tomas said, “I will go with you two.”

Miranda said, “I thought you never left Elvandar.”

Tomas said, “I vowed never to leave save at great need.” He turned to his wife. “It is time.”

The Elf Queen’s face was an expressionless mask, yet her eyes betrayed a flicker of emotion. Then she calmly said, “I know.”

Tomas asked Macros, “Should I call a dragon?”

Macros said, “No. Miranda knows where the entrance to the caves is. If you guide me,” he said to her, “I can take the three of us there.”

Miranda said, “No need. I can do so.”

Tomas said to his wife, “Abide, and keep hope in your heart. I will come back.”

No one spoke until a few minutes later Tomas reappeared, and even though he had seen him dressed so before, Macros felt awe.

Tomas stood dressed in armor fashioned of gold, a helm and coif, chain shirt and leggings. His white tabard, bearing a golden dragon design, was cinched by his black belt, and his boots were black leather as well. His scabbard was white, looking as if carved from ivory, but it was empty.

Calin came and withdrew his own sword, handing it to his mother’s husband. “A loan,” he said.

Tomas took it, nodded once, and slipped it into the scabbard. “I will return it soon,” he said. To Macros and Miranda he said, “Come. It is time.”

He motioned and Miranda rose, took his hand and Macros’s, closed her eyes, and they were gone.

Redtree watched the empty space and said, “Until I saw him in that armor, I had doubts. But he is Valheru.”

Acaila said, “Not truly. A fact for which we should all be eternally grateful.”

No more was said.

Bitter winds swept the mountains as they appeared. Miranda blinked at the bright sunlight after the cool evening light of Elvandar. The rising sun was shining directly in her eyes. “Over there.” She pointed to a cave mouth.

They moved quickly toward the dark opening and entered. Once they were inside, the noise of the wind was cut and Tomas said, “I see in the dark, but what of you?”

Macros raised a hand and a nimbus of light surrounded him, illuminating the cave mouth. He looked around.

Miranda said, “This tunnel was one I found by accident. Boldar Blood was killing some serpent warriors who were trying to block our path and I noticed a faint light from above.”

At the mention of the mercenary from the Hall of Worlds, Macros said, “I wouldn’t mind his sword with us, now.”

Miranda said, “Not to mention all those other exotic weapons he bears.”

Macros spoke under his breath, “But not at the prices he charges, I wager.”

Tomas laughed. “You keep your sense of humor, old friend.”

“Well,” said Miranda, “you’ll find little to laugh about ahead. This way.”

She led them into the tunnel, one low enough that Tomas had to duck to enter. They half scrambled, half walked down a narrow, steep incline, entering another tunnel by having to slide almost sideways into a stone alcove, about six feet above a larger tunnel.

As they jumped to the floor of the second tunnel, Macros said, “It’s a miracle you even noticed that entrance.”

Miranda said, “I was motivated. Boldar is a fearsome fighter, but he survived to reach Elvandar with me only because we were fighting a rear-guard action up that narrow crawlway. Else we would have been overwhelmed.”

Macros looked around. A few bones littered the passage, and what looked to be a broken sword hilt. “Something has disposed of most of the mess.”

Tomas said, “Scavengers?”

“Perhaps,” said Macros. He asked Miranda, “Which way?”

She pointed and started walking without saying anything.

*   *   *

Twice they had paused to rest, though it was not so much that anyone was fatigued as to stop a moment and get their bearings. Once they opened a small bag that Macros carried, which held some small slivers of a food for travel prepared by the elves. Another time they drank from a waterskin Miranda carried.

Then they reached the first major gallery of the Pantathians. “There’s something close by,” Tomas said in a low voice.

“I feel it, too,” said Macros.

“Then we have a consensus,” offered Miranda. “It’s that way.”

She pointed across the hall, now blanketed by dust, but full of dead and dying Pantathians when she had last passed that way. “Up there,” she said, “we came into this hall. We saw the demon fighting the Pantathians down on the floor.” She indicated the ridge that ran around the gallery, above their heads. “We crossed along there, and lowered ourselves down a rope to there.” The location she indicated was marked by a low door, now hanging open.

“Some Saaur and Pantathians objected, and we fought our way down that corridor.” Glancing around, she commented, “I didn’t realize how close we came to doubling back when we fled down that hallway.”

Tomas said, “Sometime I’ll tell you of the time a wraith chased me through the ancient Mac Mordain Cadal. I survived only because I could double back and lose it in those confusing tunnels.”

Macros said, “I’m astonished you can find your way through here at all. It’s been over a year, and you’ve only been through here once.”

Dryly Miranda said, “When your life is in the balance, you’d be amazed what you remember.”

She led them to the open door. “It was down this way we found the artifacts.”

Tomas said, “We can go that way later. I’m inclined to discover who or what we feel up that way.” He pointed to the tunnel opening Miranda had indicated she and Calis’s party had used to enter this area the previous year.

“That way lies a passage to a central corridor, a large vertical shaft that runs from the bowels of this mountain to the peak.”

“I know,” said Tomas. “That was a common feature of the Valheru mountain holdings. Otherwise a dragon had no means to enter the central hall.”

Miranda led and they followed, and soon they were walking through another dark passage.

Time passed without measure and they went on without pause. On two occasions Macros asked Miranda if she needed to rest, a question she dismissed with a sarcastic remark. After the second rebuff, Macros decided to stop asking.

Miranda wished they could use their magic to transport ahead, but it was decided there was too much chance they might miss something. Also, without exact knowledge of the location to which they were moving, there was always the risk of materializing inside solid rock.

They descended the large shaft Miranda had described. As if the center of the mountain had been hollowed out, a large ramp spiraled up and down, cut into the stone of the mountain. The central shaft was unguarded by rail or barrier, and the wind gusts were strong enough to give one the feeling of being sucked over the edge. Large areas had been carved out of the stone at various locations, for what purpose only Tomas might know. Macros thought he might ask him sometime, but at the moment the magician was disinclined to speak without need. This wasn’t the time or place for idle chatter.

They came to another large tunnel that intersected the shaft and a faint, unpleasant odor reached them.

“It’s near,” whispered Tomas, as they moved into the large hallway.

Macros sniffed and identified the stench as something rotting. “A lair?” he whispered in return.

Tomas only drew his sword and moved forward. Macros let Miranda follow and took up his position at the rear of the file. The white-and-gold-clad warrior was first to enter another large gallery, near the bottom of the circular shaft.

Macros saw Miranda abruptly step to the side, making way for him, as Tomas shouted a war cry and leaped over the edge. Macros took a quick step and met a sight that made him hesitate an instant.

A creature sat upon its scaled haunches gnawing on a bone. It was scaled in black glinting with a faint green shine. Large batlike wings were folded upon its back, and its head was something alien, looking roughly like that of a crocodile fashioned from grey stone, with a stag’s antlers rising from the skull. If skin protected that skull, it was taut enough not to be evident at first glance, and was pulled back so that an impressive array of teeth was always on display.

Powerful shoulders melded into long arms, ending with hands tipped with talons the size of daggers.

Miranda said, “A demon.”

Macros was beginning an incantation, one designed to stun the creature, as Tomas landed on the stone floor before it. The demon rose, standing a full head taller than the half-human warrior, and for an instant Macros was concerned for Tomas’s safety.

But, rather than attack, the creature pressed itself against the wall, and spoke.

A single word, in a language unknown to Miranda, but the effect on Macros and Tomas was
instantaneous. Macros ceased his incantation and Tomas halted an attack in midstrike, turning his blade so that, instead of cleaving flesh, Calin’s blade struck the stone next to the creature. Sparks erupted on the wall as he cut a furrow in the stone next to the demon.

Macros leaped to his companion’s side as the brute attempted to avoid Tomas’s strike. Again the alien word was repeated and Tomas stepped back.

“What is it?” shouted Miranda from above.

Macros stood at Tomas’s side, not taking his eyes from the demon. The fearsome-looking being remained motionless, as if waiting, and Tomas said, “He yields!”

Miranda asked, “How do you know?”

Tomas turned to his friend. “That’s what he shouted. He yields.”

Miranda also jumped down, landing heavily next to Macros. “I speak a dozen tongues. I’ve never heard that one before. What is it?”

Tomas regarded her with confusion clearly marking his half-alien features. “It is the language of the Valheru. It’s the ritual phrase of submission. Our servant races spoke it as a greeting.”

Miranda looked from Tomas to the cowering demon and let out a long, slow breath, while wishing her heat would cease pounding its way out of her chest. “Isn’t that something?”

Erik ran.

Drums rolled as he dashed through the halls of the old castle at Tannerus. He reached the open doorway at the top of the stairs leading down into the courtyard.

In one quick glimpse he saw it all: the assembled soldiers bearing witness to the execution, the four men standing upon wooden supports, the ropes already around their necks. Erik shouted, “No!” as he leaped over the railing to the second landing below, but the sounds of the drums drowned him out. Erik half flew down the remaining stairs into the courtyard as the drums halted and the supports were kicked out from under the condemned. He ran the twenty yards to where his soldiers stood at attention, and saw that three of the men had died instantly of broken necks, and the fourth had ceased his brief twitching.

Erik stopped. “Damn!” he swore.

The order to dismiss the formation was given, and the troops of the Tannerus garrison broke ranks and hurried back to their duties. No man wanted to linger while another soldier twisted in the wind.

Erik stood nearly breathless as he watched his men swinging below the makeshift gallows. The Captain had wasted little time in putting the condemned to death. Had he ordered a half-decent gallows be erected, Erik would have gotten here in time. Erik searched the faces of the dead. He knew them by sight, but not yet by name. Still, they were his men.

Captain Simon de Beswick turned his horse and saw Erik standing there. “Is something amiss, Sergeant Major?”

Erik studied the foppish officer, just rotated in from the East. Erik and another company of the Prince’s soldiers had been ordered into the field, and he discovered that de Beswick would ride with them to Tannerus. De Beswick was seconded to the Prince’s court, and assigned garrison duty in the north. The two men had taken an instant dislike to each other. The only person to whom de Beswick was civil was Owen Greylock, because of his rank, senior to de Beswick’s. He refused any conversation with any enlisted man save in the line of duty, and was uniformly rude and abusive to the men. It had been with relief that Erik had taken half the men into the field for a week’s field training, while the other half had remained to be trained in garrison defense. Erik had just returned to be informed at the gate that four of his men were being hanged. Erik balled his right hand into a fist, and said, “Why were those men executed?”

“They pilfered stores,” said de Beswick, raising his eyebrows as if asking a question.

“Those were
my
men,” Erik said with menace in his voice, almost a growl.

“Then tend to them better, Sergeant Major, and address me as ‘sir’ in future.”

The Captain made to ride past, and Erik seized the reins of his horse. “You had no right to hang my men. We’re not even in your command!”

De Beswick said, “I had every right, as commander of the garrison here at Tannerus, and I certainly do not need to explain my actions to you,
Sergeant Major.”
Slowly drawing his sword, he said, “Now, please be good enough to release my horse, or I shall be forced to kill you for assaulting an officer.”

Owen Greylock caught up with Erik, and said, “Put up that sword, de Beswick!”

“Knight-Captain?” said the garrison commander.

“That’s an order,” said Greylock calmly.

Reluctantly de Beswick put the sword away. Owen put his hand on Erik’s shoulder and said, “Sergeant Major, see to your men. I’ll take care of this.”

Owen waited until Erik had left, then turned and grabbed de Beswick by the boot, lifting suddenly. As Owen expected, de Beswick came flying out of his saddle, and as his horse galloped away, the Captain from Bas-Tyra landed hard upon the dirt of the courtyard.

Owen grabbed the young man by the collar and hauled him to his feet. Looking into his eyes with an expression that could only be called murderous, he said, “We have a war coming and you’re killing
our
soldiers?”

“They were thieves!” said the now-fearful de Beswick.

“Half the men in this army are thieves, you idiot.”

Owen let him go with a slight shove, and de Beswick landed hard upon his backside again. Leaning over, Greylock pointed to where Erik had gone. “That man may be the best soldier I’ve ever known, and I’ve been training them for thirty years. When this war comes, you incompetent lily, he is your best hope for staying alive, if you have the brains the gods give a flea, you will try to learn everything he has to teach you about surviving in these mountains. If you cross him one more time, I will give him permission to call you out, and if you face him with sword in hand, he will kill you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said the younger Captain, and it was obvious he didn’t like what he was hearing.

“Now get yourself back to your command, de Beswick, while I decide what I’m going to say to Knight-Marshal William in my next missive.”

As the Captain started to leave, Greylock said, “One more thing, de Beswick.”

“Sir?” asked the Captain.

“If Captain Calis had been here, he would have killed you, and that’s a certainty.”

After the young commander of the garrison had departed, Owen went looking for Erik. He found him in the soldiers’ commons, asking the men of his command what had happened.

“It was nothing,” said a man named Gunther. “It was a lark, pure and simple, Sergeant Major. We were tired after a long day of parading—”

“Parading?” asked Erik.

“Yes, standing formations, marching up and down, turnin’ right, then left, that sort of business.”

Another man, an old soldier named Johnson, said, “It’s that Eastern Army sort of business, Sergeant Major. Not fighting, but marchin’ in lines and the like.”

“Anyway, those four lads just wanted to nick a little ale from the ale shed, nothing criminal.”

Erik could see the men were in a foul mood, and he didn’t blame them. If caught, the men should have stood extra punishment watches, or at worst a flogging, but to hang them was beyond excuse. He was about to say something when Greylock spoke. “Erik, a word with you.”

Erik came over to the former Swordmaster from Darkmoor and said, “I know, I shouldn’t have interfered.”

Seeing they were out of hearing range of the soldiers, Owen said, “Probably you should have killed him, but that’s not the issue. Give him a wide berth; he may be looking to goad you.”

“Why?”

“He’s from a well-connected family in Bas-Tyra. His father is a cousin to the Duke of Ran.”

Comprehension dawned on Erik. “Which means his family is probably close to the von Darkmoors.”

“Maybe. I know they know each other, but close? I don’t really know. He could be one of Mathilda’s agents,” said Owen. The slender man rubbed his chin in thought. “Or some idiot who thinks to curry favor from the Baron’s mother by ridding her of a bothersome threat to her son’s title.”

Erik sighed. “How many times do I have to tell the world I have no interest in my father’s title?”

Owen said, “No matter how many times you do say it, Mathilda won’t be satisfied until you’re dead.”

“What should I do?”

“I’ll send a note to Duke James and let him intercede with William to transfer this idiot to someplace where he may die gloriously for the King. I’m going to recommend he command the catapults on the seawall they’re building in Krondor.”

Erik winced. “I thought it was going to be manned by volunteers.”

“It is. We’ll just see that young de Beswick volunteers.” Owen smiled. “Take your other company out at first light. Don’t linger here. I have to move on to Eggly and see to the defenses there. We’re going to have to put up a convincing fight throughout these hills to force the Emerald Queen’s army where we want it.”

Erik sighed. So much to do and so little time to prepare. He knew the fleet had departed from Novindus; all those who had served with Calis across the sea knew that. “What of Krondor?”

Owen shrugged. “Rumors. Some timid folks are starting to leave the city. Nothing that’s stirring up real alarm. There’s a lot of movement along the Keshian frontier, so many folks are thinking we may have war in the south again.”

“It’s going to be difficult to keep the city under control once the fleet clears the Straits,” said Erik.

“I know. I expect James and William have come up with a solution.”

Erik said nothing more. The Queen’s fleet would clear the Straits in less than a month’s time, at the Midsummer Festival. He had fears that the city would be the ultimate sacrifice for the good of the
Kingdom, but the problem for him was that the girl he loved was in the city. As Erik left Owen, and gave orders that the company in the garrison would be rotated out in the morning, he wondered if he could prevail upon Roo to help get Kitty out of Krondor.

Roo looked at the books and said, “I don’t understand.”

Jason took that to mean he was vague on the methods of accounting, and began explaining it again.

“No,” interrupted Roo. “I know the sums and the calculations. What I mean is I don’t understand why we’re losing money.”

Jason, the former waiter at Barret’s who had become the chief accountant for Roo’s financial empire, said, “It’s a problem with too many debts not being paid to us and too many bills we’re paying in timely fashion. We’re borrowing money for things we should have paid for out of our cash reserves.”

“Which are nonexistent,” said Roo. He had lent every available golden sovereign to Duke James. “Well, I have about as much chance of a loan repayment from the Crown anytime soon as I do of learning how to fly.” He sighed, stood up from the table in his office and said, “What do you recommend?”

Jason, still looking much like the youth who had first befriended Roo three years earlier, said, “You could sell off some of our less profitable concerns.”

“True, but I hate to get rid of capital assets.” He yawned. “I’m tired.” Glancing out the window, he saw that night had fallen. “What of the clock?”

Jason turned and looked down the hall to where the fancy Keshian timepiece had been erected. “It’s almost seven of the clock.”

“Karli will be furious,” he said. “I promised to be home at six.”

“The family’s in the city?”

“Yes,” said Roo, grabbing his cloak and hurrying down the hall.

Fortunately, by the time Roo reached his house, he found Karli lost in conversation with Helen Jacoby. The two women had struck up a guarded friendship after the death of Randolph Jacoby, awkward because Randolph’s brother had been responsible for the death of Karli’s father. But in the main they seemed to enjoy each other’s company, and the four children played well together. And Roo found that he always enjoyed those evenings when both families gathered.

“There you are,” said Karli. “Supper will be served in a few moments.”

Cries of “Daddy!” and “Uncle Rupert!” filled the hall as the children swarmed over him. Laughing, Roo fought his way through the tangle of legs and grasping hands, and made his way to the stairs.

As Abigail started to follow him up the stairs, he said, “I’ll be down shortly, darling.”

“No!” she announced imperiously. “Go away!”

With a regal turn, she walked to the end of the hall and stood with her arms crossed. From his position on the stairs, Roo glanced at the two women in the parlor, and Helen was laughing, while Karli looked astonished.

Helen said, “They all go through that.”

Roo nodded and hurried up to his and Karli’s room, where he washed up and changed his shirt. He returned to the dining room, where the children carried on at one end of the long table while Roo and Karli sat with Helen Jacoby at the other end.

Roo noticed Helen had taken to wearing her hair up in the new style, curls set around the forehead, and ringlets falling from an odd-looking comb. Roo wondered if it would be rude to ask what the comb was made of, then realized he had almost no idea what the latest fashions in the Prince’s City were.

He thought Sylvia would know, and then realized he rarely saw Sylvia dressed anymore, and besides somehow it seemed improper to be thinking of her while his wife and Helen were sitting next to him.

“Why, Roo,” said Helen, “you’re blushing!”

Roo feigned a cough, then said, “Something in my throat.” He made a display of furiously coughing, then dabbing at nonexistent tears in his eyes with his napkin.

Helen laughed again, and Roo was astonished to discover how lovely she was. He had always thought of her as a fine-looking woman—nothing like the beauty Sylvia was, but in her evening finery with her hair done up, she was quite attractive.

Karli said, “Helen tells me you are doing well by her in running her company.”

Roo shrugged. “It pretty much runs itself. Tim Jacoby”—he was about to say the man was a swine who knew his business, but given his sister-in-law was sitting there, he changed it to—“was very organized.”

“Yes, he was,” agreed Helen.

Conversation turned to discussing small items of importance to the children and the landmarks of their growth. The boys were starting to act like boys and the girls were becoming girls, and the mysteries of children still seemed to Roo uncharted territory.

He looked at his own children and realized he knew next to nothing about them. He barely paid
them any attention, and suddenly he felt very odd about that. Perhaps when they were older, they’d have something interesting to say to him.

His gaze wandered again to Helen Jacoby, and after a moment she looked his way. Realizing he was staring, he said, “Would you care for brandy?”

Karli looked surprised. In their house, he had never offered brandy to anyone but his business associates.

“No, thank you,” she said. “By the time we get home it will be the children’s bedtime.”

The Jacoby family departed, riding in one of Roo’s carriages, and Karli put the children to bed. Roo sat alone in his study for a while, drinking a brandy that he could hardly taste. His mind was lost in worry; he knew that the war was coming and that it was time to get his family to the East, or at least out to his estate, ready to flee from there.

Conversations with Erik and Jadow Shati and others who trusted him had revealed the presence of invaders already within the borders of the Kingdom. Most of those had been neutralized, but when the fighting erupted, who knew how dangerous travel to the East would become.