Rage of a Demon King (7 page)

The men marched and Erik considered the coming war. He was not privy to all the plans of Lord James, Knight-Marshal William, and Prince Patrick, but he was beginning to suspect what they would be. And he didn’t like what he was beginning to suspect.

He knew more than most men what was coming, but he had reservations about what would be the price of victory, and as he rode down the small path, he heard one of the men pass the word, “Scouts coming!”

A man sent ahead with three others jogged at a good pace past the column of men marching ahead of Erik and stopped before the Sergeant Major. His name was Matthew, and he struggled for breath as he said, “Smoke, Sergeant!” He turned and pointed. “Far ridge. About a dozen fires I think.”

As Erik searched the distant ridge, he started to notice the low-hanging smoke, easily mistaken for ground fog at this distance. “Where are the other scouts?”

The soldier, catching his breath, said, “Mark has moved out, while Wil and Jenks are staying where we first saw the smoke.” He blew out his cheeks a moment, then said, “And Jenks will follow about now, I guess.”

Erik nodded. It was the standard procedure for any encounter with potentially hostile soldiers. The scouts always left camp an hour before the main column, moving along the road in pairs, two on each side, scouting for potential ambush. If any potential enemy was spied, orders were for one man to return, the other to scout ahead. If the advance scout didn’t quickly return, a second would follow, to determine if the first was dead, captured, or observing the enemy. If the latter, the advance scout would return as soon as he was relieved, carrying the most up-to-the-moment intelligence while leaving another pair of eyes to watch.

Erik nodded and wished they were training these men as mounted cavalry. That would start next month, but right now he wished for the speed.

Erik signaled and said, “Hand signals only!”

The men at the rear turned to look, then started tapping the men in front on their shoulders, relaying the silent order. Alfred motioned and Erik nodded. He signed that he would ride with the advance scout to the van, while Alfred was to bring up the column. He indicated he wanted two squads on the wings, one to the right and one to the left, and ready for anything.

Erik motioned for the scout to take the lead and rode after. The man jogged at a good pace, and Erik trotted along after him.

After moving up the road for nearly a half hour, they found the first of Erik’s scouts, watching ahead. He held up his hand and Erik dismounted. Keeping his voice low, he said, “No sign of Jenks or Mark, Sergeant.”

Erik nodded, handing his reins to Matthew. He motioned for Wil to come with him and moved along the trail. Glancing across a small valley, he could clearly see smoke from fires along a distant ridge.

He moved another quarter mile along the trail, then paused. Something ahead wasn’t right. He listened, then realized that while sound was echoing from all around this narrow pass, it was silent ahead. He motioned for Wil to move to the other side of the trail, then he continued down into the thick brush on his side.

The going was slow as Erik carefully picked his way through the dense undergrowth. The trees in this rocky hillside stood in clumps, with relatively bare spots between. At the edge of one such clearing, Erik saw Wil on the other side of the road. With hand gestures, he indicated Wil should loop around and
zapproach the next group of trees from a position farther off the trail.

Erik watched and waited. When Wil didn’t appear again, Erik was certain he knew where whoever was taking his scouts was secreted. Erik surveyed his own surroundings and decided to move farther down slope.

He backed away from the edge of the trees he had hid within, and after a few scrambling half-slides, he was down at the base of a dry creek. During the next rain this defile would be flooded, he knew, but at present there was only a bit of damp soil underfoot to remind him of the last rain in these mountains.

The scent of smoke was now evident, and Erik knew there had been other campfires closer than the ones that now burned; he suspected that another company of men had broken camp here the night before. A familiar odor greeted Erik and he glanced up the slope. A good job of hiding horse dung had been accomplished, but to someone who had grown up with the animals the scent was unmistakable. The animals had been staked out a short distance from the clearing where his scouts had vanished. The lingering pungency of horse urine would be gone in another day.

Erik moved to the point on the opposite side of the road where his scout had disappeared, and paused, listening. Again there was a dead spot of sound nearby, as if the animals had left and would not return until the present occupants departed.

Erik skirted the edge of the brush, reached the next grove of trees from the downslope side, and started working his way back to the trail. Suddenly he knew: someone was watching him.

While short on years, he was long on experience in warfare, and he knew that he was about to be attacked. He rolled over as a body landed upon the spot he had just vacated.

The man landed lightly on his feet, despite his intended victim’s not being where he had expected, and as he turned, Erik did the unexpected. He rolled back into the man, yanking him down on top of him.

Few men Erik had met were as strong as he, so he felt more confident with both of them in close than having his opponent upright while he tried to rise. Erik rolled the man over and got on top of him.

His opponent was strong, and quick, but Erik soon had his wrists confined. Seeing no weapon in the man’s hand, Erik released his wrist, drawing back his own fist to strike, but hesitated, as he recognized the man.

“Jackson?”

The soldier said, “Yes, Sergeant Major.”

Erik pushed himself off the man and rose to his feet. The soldier was one of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards. But rather than the ceremonial uniforms of the palace, or even the daily drilling regalia, he was dressed in a dark green tunic and trousers, with a leather breastplate, short dagger, and metal bowl helm.

Erik extended his hand and helped the guardsman to his feet. “Want to tell me what this is all about?”

Another voice said, “No, he doesn’t.”

Erik looked to the source of that voice and saw a face familiar to him: Captain Subai of the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders.

“Captain?”

“Sergeant Major,” said the officer. “You’re a bit off your course, aren’t you?”

Erik studied the man. He was tall, but rangy, close to gaunt, in appearance. His face was sunburned and looked like dark leather. His eyebrows and hair were grey, though Erik suspected he was not that old a man. He was rumored to be originally from Kesh, and was counted a fierce swordsman and an exceptional bowman. But like most of the Pathfinders he tended to stay among his own, not mixing with the garrison or Calis’s Eagles.

“I was told by Prince Patrick to drill my new company and thought I’d wander them a bit through some rougher terrain than just outside Krondor.” With his chin he indicated the distant smoke. “Your fires, Captain?”

The man nodded, then said, “Well, take your men north if you want, but don’t come this way, Sergeant Major.”

“Why not, Captain?”

The man paused and said, “That wasn’t a request, Sergeant Major. That was an order.”

Erik wasn’t inclined to argue the chain of command. This wasn’t some noble’s hired mercenary but a Knight-Captain of the Prince’s army, a man with rank equal to Calis’s. Erik thought Bobby de Loungville might have a clever rejoinder in this situation, but all Erik could think to say was “Yes, sir.”

Subai said, “Your scouts are over there. They need some work.”

Erik crossed the road and found another pair of soldiers standing guard over Wil, Mark, and Jenks. His men were tied up, but not uncomfortable. Erik glanced at the two guards and saw that one was a Pathfinder and the second another of Prince Patrick’s Household Guards.

“Cut them loose,” said Erik, and the two guards complied. The three rose slowly, obviously stiff from their confinement, and flexed a bit as the two guards handed them back their weapons.

Wil began to speak, and Erik held up his hand. A faint noise came to him and he recognized it, then another, and a third. “Come along,” he ordered his men.

After they were well away from the Pathfinders, Erik asked, “They jumped you from the trees?”

Mark said, “Yes, Sergeant Major.”

Erik sighed. He had almost been taken that way as well. “Well, look up more often.”

The men waited for an outburst, or some other form of recrimination for allowing themselves to be captured, but Erik’s mind was elsewhere.

He mused on the presence of Prince Patrick’s select guard along that distant ridge, working hand in glove with the Pathfinders and their odd Captain. More odd yet was the presence of many soldiers on a distant ridge where every map said there were no trails, and oddest of all was the faint sounds that had carried to Erik. The second had taken him longer to recognize, but he knew it had been the sound of axes felling trees. That and the sound of picks on rock had not come to him as quickly as the first sound, one he knew well from his childhood: the sound of hammers striking iron on an anvil.

As they cleared the ridge to where the remaining scout waited, Jenks made bold to ask, “What are those blokes doing over there, Sergeant Major?”

Without thought, Erik said, “They’re building a road.”

“Over there?” asked Wil. “Why?”

Erik said, “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

The problem was, Erik had a good idea why they were building a road along that distant ridge, and he didn’t like the answer.

Roo scowled.

Karli stood aside, obvious awe on her features, as the Duke of Krondor entered their home. She had met Lord James once before, at a gala Roo had thrown to mark the advent of his success with the founding of the Bitter Sea Company. Outside the door a carriage waited. Four mounted guards, one carrying a spear from which hung the ducal banner, stood holding their horses’ bridles.

“Good evening, Mrs. Avery,” said the Duke. “I’m sorry for the unexpected intrusion, but I need to borrow your husband for a bit.”

Karli was nearly speechless, but she managed to say, “Borrow?”

Duke James smiled and took her hand, squeezing it slightly. “I’ll return him to you undamaged. I promise.”

Roo said, “Shall we talk?” He indicated his study.

The Duke said, “I think so.”

He removed his cape and handed it to the astonished serving girl who had come to see who was at the door, and swept past her and Karli.

In his study, Roo closed the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked.

James sat in a chair opposite Roo’s desk. “From the expression on your face when I appeared at the door, pleasure isn’t what I think you feel.”

Roo said, “Well, it’s not often we have the Duke of Krondor show up unannounced a few minutes before bedtime.”

“I can do without the fuss of letting you know I’m coming and throwing your household into an uproar. I don’t need another large meal with all the neighbors invited,” said James. “Truth to tell, I know most of those with estates near here, and you’re among the few with whom I can have an interesting discussion.”

Roo looked dubious. “Would you care to stay the night, m’lord?”

“My thanks for the offer, but I must continue my journey. I’m heading to your homeland, to have word with the Dowager Baroness and her son. She sent assassins to kill Erik.”

“I was warned,” said Roo. “I was also told you took the assassin into custody.”

“Yes,” said the Duke. His features were drawn and he looked as if he had done without sleep for too many days recently, but his eyes were still alert and they studied Roo’s face for a moment. “He’s been . . . seen to. The other man, though, he’s still out and about, and if he’s merely Baroness Mathilda’s errand boy, he’ll be back to Darkmoor by now and she may be hatching another plot. I have plans for you and
Erik, so I’m personally going to see she stops trying to kill you,” he said lightly. Then, with complete seriousness, he added, “Neither of you is to die until I say so.”

Roo sat back. There was really nothing more for him to say until the Duke told him what was on his mind. Roo knew he owed James several serious favors for his intervention in Roo’s almost unheard-of rise to power and wealth, and he was certain James was here to collect one of those favors. He wouldn’t stop by just to let Roo know he was personally seeing to Erik’s and his safety.

After a moment of silence, James said, “I could do with a drink.”

Roo had the good grace to blush. “Sorry,” he said, rising from his chair. He retrieved two crystal goblets and some expensive brandy in a matching decanter from a cabinet built into the wall next to a window overlooking one of Karli’s many gardens. He poured two generous measures, then handed one to the Duke.

James sipped and nodded his approval.

When Roo had returned to his chair, the Duke spoke. “I have a favor to ask.”

Roo was surprised. “You sound as if you really mean that.”

“I do. We both know you owe me in a very large measure, but I can’t demand you go.”

“Go where?”

“Queg.”

“Queg?” Roo’s astonishment was genuine. “Why Queg?”

James paused a moment, as if weighing how much to tell Roo. He lowered his voice.
“Confidentially, we’re going to have our hands full with the Emerald Queen’s fleet when it clears the Straits of Darkness. Nicky’s got some notion of hitting it halfway through, but to do that he’s got to have the bulk of our fleet on the Far Coast. That means we have no way of protecting our shipments from the Free Cities and Ylith when the enemy is in the Bitter Sea.”

“You want to make a deal with Queg not to raid our shipping?”

“No,” said James. “I want you to negotiate a deal to hire Quegan warships as escorts for our ships.”

Roo looked like an owl greeted by a bright light. Then he laughed. “You want to bribe them.”

“In a word, yes.” James sipped at his brandy, then lowered his voice. “And we want fire oil. Lots of it.”

“Will they sell it?”

James sipped his drink. “Once, no. But they know we have the knowledge of making it, and have had it since the fall of Armengar. What we don’t have is the production facilities. Our agents tell us they have an abundant supply. I need at least five thousand barrels. Ten thousand would be better.”

“That’s a lot of destruction,” whispered Roo.

“You know what’s coming, Roo,” the Duke answered, his voice equally low.

Roo nodded. There was only one merchant in Krondor who had traveled to that distant land and seen firsthand the destruction visited upon innocents by the Emerald Queen. But there were other merchants with far better connections to be made with Queg. “Why me?”

“You are a well-regarded curiosity, Roo Avery. Word of your rise has spread from Roldem to the
Sunset Islands, and I’m counting on that curiosity to tip the balance.”

“What balance?” asked Roo.

James set his goblet on Roo’s desk. “Queg has many quaint and original laws, and not the least of these is the simple fact that a non-citizen of that mad little Empire has no legal rights. If you set foot on Quegan soil without a Quegan sponsor, you’re property for the first Quegan with a strong enough arm to toss a rope around you and make it stick. If you resist, even to save your life, that’s assault on a citizen.” He made a rowing motion. “How do you feel about long ocean voyages?”

“How long?”

“Twenty years is the shortest sentence we’ve heard of.”

Roo sighed. “How do I get a sponsor?”

“That’s the tricky part,” said James. “We’ve had strained relations with Queg lately. Too much smuggling and raiding from our point of view, too little paying of duties for sailing on
their
ocean from their point of view. Our delegation was expelled from their court four years ago, and it’s going to take a while to get another installed.”

“Sounds difficult,” said Roo.

“It is. But the thing you need to know about the Quegans is that their government serves two purposes: to keep order—by keeping the peasants beaten down—and to defend the island. The real power rests with their rich merchants. The oldest families have hereditary rights to a place on their ruling body, the Imperial Senate. Those with enough money can buy a seat.”

Roo grinned. “Sounds like my kind of place.”

“I doubt you’d like it. Remember, aliens have no rights. If you irritate your sponsor, he can withdraw his protection at whim. That means you have to be
very
polite. Take lots of gifts.”

“I can see what you mean.” Roo reflected on what he had been told for a moment, then asked, “How am I supposed to get ashore to make this sort of sponsorship contact if you can’t provide an introduction?”

“You’re an enterprising lad,” said James, finishing his brandy. He stood. “You’ll find a way. Start sounding out your business associates. Once you get some names to contact, I can arrange to have one message smuggled into Queg without too much difficulty, but that’s about the limit of what I can do.”

Roo rose. “I suppose I’ll find a way.” Already his mind was turning to the problem.

“My carriage is waiting and I have some distance to travel,” said the Duke as he reached the doorway.

James followed him and motioned for the serving girl, who was rooted to the same spot he had left her in, still holding the Duke’s cloak. She quickly helped the Duke on with it, and James stood aside while Roo opened the door.

James’s carriage was waiting just beyond the portal, and Roo’s gateman made ready to escort the carriage back to the entrance to Roo’s estate.

As the carriage door was closed by a guard, James leaned out the window and said, “Don’t be too long. I’d like you to leave next month at the latest.”

Roo nodded, and closed the door. Karli hurried from the upstairs to ask, “What did the Duke want?”

“I’m going to Queg,” answered Roo.

“Queg?” responded his wife. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Roo shrugged. “Yes. But for the moment, getting there is the problem.” He yawned. Slipping his arm around her waist, he gave her a playful squeeze. “Right now I need some sleep. Let’s go to bed.”

She returned his merry tone with a rare smile. “I would like that.”

Roo led his wife upstairs.

Roo lay in darkness listening to Karli’s even breathing. Their lovemaking had been uninspired. Karli did nothing to arouse his desire the way Sylvia Esterbrook did. He thought of Sylvia during his love play with his wife and felt vaguely guilty for it.

He had visited Sylvia almost weekly, often twice in a week, since the award ceremony at the palace, and he was still as excited by her as he had been the first time he had come to her bed. He quietly stood up and moved to the window.

Through the flawless glass, imported at great expense from Kesh, he could see the rolling hills of his estate. He had a brook that provided, he had been told, excellent fishing, and he had a small stand of woodlands to the north teeming with game. He had said he would fish and hunt like a noble, but he never seemed to find time. The only thing that he could remotely consider recreation was his time spent with Erik at the Sign of the Broken Shield, making love to Sylvia, or practicing his swordplay with his cousin Duncan.

He reviewed his life in a rare moment of reflection and had to consider himself both lucky and cursed. He was lucky that he had survived the murder of Stefan von Darkmoor, the journey to Novindus with Captain Calis, and his confrontation
with the Jacoby brothers. More, he was now one of the wealthiest merchants in Krondor. He felt blessed to be a family man, though his wife was not someone he cared to consider; he had long since admitted to himself he had married Karli out of pity and guilt: he felt responsible for the death of her father.

His children confused him. They were alien little creatures; demanding things he could only vaguely recognize as needs. And they tended to smell at the most inconvenient times. Abigail was a shy child who often burst into tears and ran from him if he raised his voice even in the slightest, and Helmut was teething, which led to his constantly spitting up the contents of his stomach, usually on a fresh tunic that Roo had just put on. He knew that had he not married Karli, he would now be wed to Sylvia. He didn’t understand love, as others talked about it, but Sylvia consumed his thoughts. She took him to heights of passion he had only dreamt of before he met her. He even imagined that had Sylvia been his wife, his children would be perfect, blond little creatures who smiled all the time and never spoke unless it was required by their father. He sighed. Even if Sylvia had been their mother, Abigail and Helmut would be odd, alien creatures, he was sure.

He saw a cloud moving across the sky, blocking the big moon, the only one showing this time of night. As the vista beyond the window darkened, so did his mood. Sylvia, he wondered silently to himself. He was beginning to doubt she was in love with him; maybe it was some doubt about himself, he thought, but he just couldn’t truly believe someone such as himself could capture her interest, let alone her heart. Still, she seemed relieved when he could
arrange to visit her and her father, especially if he could spend the night. Her lovemaking was always inventive and enthusiastic, but as the months wore by, he suspected everything wasn’t as it seemed to be. He also suspected she might be giving information to her father that cost Roo in his business. He decided he would have to be more careful what he said to Sylvia. He didn’t think she was getting information out of him to give to her father, but a chance remark repeated over dinner might give the crafty old Jacob enough of an edge to better his
younger rival.

Stretching, he watched as the cloud glided past. Sylvia was a strange and unexpected presence in his life, a miracle. Yet doubts continued to stir. He wondered what Helen Jacoby would make of this. Thinking of Helen made him smile. While she was the widow of a man he had gotten killed, they had become friends and, truth to tell, he enjoyed talking to her more than either Karli or Sylvia.

Roo sighed. Three women, and he didn’t know what to make of any of them. He softly left the bedchamber and crossed to the room he used as his office. Opening a chest, he extracted a wooden box and lifted the lid. In the moonlight rested a brilliant set of matched rubies, five large stones as large as his thumb and a dozen smaller ones, all cut in identical fashion.

He had tried to sell the set in the East, but too many gem merchants recognized it for what it was, stolen goods. The case was inscribed with the name of the owner, a Lord Vasarius.

Roo laughed softly. He had cursed his luck at being unable to sell the gems, but now he counted
himself fortunate. He knew that in the morning he would tell his apprentice Dash to inform his grandfather, Duke James, that when he was ready to send his message to Queg, he knew what it would say:

“My Lord Vasarius. My name is Rupert Avery, merchant of Krondor. I have recently come into possession of an item of great value I am certain belongs to you. May I have the pleasure of returning it to you in person?”

The ship rocked gently inside the huge harbor that was the entrance to the city of Queg, capital of the island nation of the same name. Roo watched with fascination as they edged close to the quay.

Huge war galleys crowded the harbor, along with dozens of smaller ships and boats, from large trading vessels down to tiny fishing smacks. For an island the size of Queg, it seemed an improbably busy port.

Roo had studied as much as he could on the hostile island nation, asking his trading partners, old soldiers and sailors, and anyone else who could give him an “edge,” as the gamblers liked to say. When the Empire of Great Kesh had withdrawn from the Far Coast and what were now the Free Cities, pulling out her legions to send south to fight rebellious nations in the Keshian Confederacy, the Governor of Queg had revolted.