Rage of a Demon King (34 page)

By the time Erik got to the point where the old jetty reached the northmost dock, he found a company of Palace Guards waiting for him. Erik mounted a horse being held for him, and led the patrol through the mass of soldiers on the docks. Every possible barricade had been erected, and the first three blocks into the city were a killing zone. Every upper window of every building housed an archer, and Erik marveled at the defenses planned by William and James. The lower windows were barricaded and the doors locked, and a clever set of easily moved ramps had been constructed so the defenders in the upper stories could withdraw by crawling from building to building, while others covered their retreat. What had surprised Erik wasn’t the number of citizens who had fled the city once the construction of the defenses began but, rather, those who had to be evicted, despite the evidence before their eyes of the coming battle. Many had been carried by main force out of their homes, or marched out at spearpoint.

At the third corner from the docks, Erik and his men reached the first barricade. They were waved through and headed toward the palace.

As they moved away from the dock area, Erik saw the fearful faces of the populace, some peeking out of doorways, and others hurrying off on one errand or another before war came to Krondor. Many carried large bags of their belongings on their backs and were heading toward the east, where they would attempt to leave the city before fighting began.

Erik knew that James would allow refugees to trickle out of the city, in a controlled fashion, until the enemies were ashore and the eastern gates needed to be closed. From reports he had read the night
before, Erik knew the foulburg—the portion of the city built beyond the ancient walls—was all but deserted. Local patrols of constables had arrested and hanged a dozen looters over the last week.

A trader with a pushcart hurried past, shouting he had food to sell, and Erik was certain the man would dispose of the last of his wares before noon. As Erik neared the palace, the level of traffic heading to the gate increased, and he ordered his escort to head around back toward the docks and then to the palace, to avoid the press of citizens.

They moved back down toward the docks, and as they rode along, one of the men in a second-story window above shouted, “Gods! Look at them!”

Erik lacked the man’s advantage of height, but he knew that the man could see the hostile fleet. “What do you see?”

The soldier looked down to see who asked, and, seeing the officer’s mark on Erik’s tunic, said, “Ships, sir! Must be a thousand of them.”

Erik didn’t wait. He kicked his horse into a canter and moved as fast as safety permitted toward the palace. He knew there weren’t a thousand enemy ships outside Krondor’s harbor, but he knew there were at least four hundred, by cautious estimation of how much of the fleet had survived.

Nicholas had hit them on one side of the Straits of Darkness while a flotilla from Elarial hit them from the south. At the same time squadrons of warships from Durbin and Queg raided the forward elements. James had reviewed the reports from lookouts who attempted to judge the size of the remaining fleet as it sailed past, then sent word by a series of relay riders, who would change horses every few
miles. The raids had reduced the invader’s fleet by a fourth. Others had celebrated the damage done to the enemy until James had pointed out that left a mere four hundred and fifty warships heading toward Krondor.

So instead of three hundred thousand soldiers coming ashore within the next few days, only two hundred and twenty-five thousand would invade the Kingdom. Erik fought off the desire to surrender to despair.

He entered the palace via the sea gate, and gave his horse’s reins to a lackey. “I need a fresh horse,” he said, and ran off to his last meeting with Lord James and Knight-Marshal William.

He reached the conference room where William and James were overseeing the final briefing for the area commanders before they were dispatched to their respective garrisons. The palace gate out of the city was being held clear so that dispatch riders and those officers leaving could get out of the city before the riots of panic-stricken citizens began.

James stood by while William issued orders. “We should have ships beaching to the north of the city within the hour.” He pointed to two of the commanders who would see to coastal defenses just outside the city. “It’s time for you to be there, gentlemen. Good luck.”

Erik saw the Earl of Tilden and a squire whose name was not known to him salute and depart. Erik had studied the deployment of troops for days since William had given him a copy of the battle plan, and he knew that nobles and their detachments would be the first to feel the brunt of the attack. From Sarth down to Krondor, from Krondor to the small villages
north of Shandon Bay, every armed soldier that Patrick could squeeze out of the Armies of the West stood ready to repulse the invaders. But sixty thousand troops, most of them untested levies, were going to be overrun by more than three times their number in battle-hardened warriors. The only advantage the Kingdom possessed would be in discipline and training, and that wouldn’t come into play until after Krondor fell.

For it was clear to Erik that his first suspicion had been correct: Krondor would fall. He glanced around the room and saw that Greylock was already gone, as was Calis. Greylock was riding for the first detachment directly under his command, a mixed company of Calis’s Crimson Eagles, Hadati warriors, and the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders. Throughout the mountains to the north and east every experienced mountain fighter they could recruit from as far east as the hills above Ran and Pointer’s Head was waiting.

The general plan was to bleed the enemy, killing as many of the invaders as possible going through Krondor, then to shred them as they made their way through the hills and mountains, where each of Greylock’s mountain fighters would be the worth of five of the invaders. Erik had fought with the Emerald Queen’s army; most of them were satisfactory horse infantry, and a few decent cavalry, but none were mountain men. The only thing Erik worried about was the Saaur riders, for while they might not be mountain fighters, they were warriors unmatched by any force the human defenders of the Kingdom could put in the field. Erik knew they would have lost a number of their horses on the sea journey. The fodder would spoil from the constant
moisture, and horses would colic, and some would be useless after six months in the hold of a ship, but enough would be quickly fit to make the Saaur a dangerous foe. And who knew what sort of magic the enemy might employ to keep the horses fresh?

William turned to Erik. “Ready?”

“Ready or not, our forces are in place. As I left the docks, the enemy was sighted.”

William dropped what he was doing and hurried to the large window that overlooked the harbor. “Gods!” he said softly.

Erik and the others followed, and each in his own way was just as stunned. No matter what reports had said, none of them was prepared for the sight that greeted them. From the outer seawall to the distant horizon, clearing by the minute as the morning haze burned off the Bitter Sea, white sails could be seen. Erik craned his neck and looked as far north as he could manage, and could make out sails in the distance.

“They must have fanned out since yesterday,” said William, turning away and hurrying back to the table. “They’re going to wash over us like a tide.” To the nobles in the room he said, “Gentlemen, you know what to do. May the gods protect us all.”

Erik glanced around the room. “The Prince?”

“He left the palace last night,” said William. “With my sister and her son and grandsons.” William glanced at Erik and smiled. “Can’t lose the Prince, now, can we?”

Erik shook his head. “Lord James?”

“In his office. Seems he felt obliged to stay.”

After the nobles had left in an orderly fashion, Erik said, “There’s nothing left for me to do here, sir.”

“One thing,” said William, reaching into his tunic. He pulled out a small parchment, rolled and tied with a ribbon, and sealed, the crest of his office pressed into the red wax. “When this is over, give this to my father if you can.”

Erik frowned. “Sir?”

William smiled. “I would never order a man to the wall if I wasn’t willing to go there myself, Erik.”

For a moment, Erik was unable to move. He realized with dread certainty that the Knight-Marshal of the Kingdom did not intend to leave the city. He swallowed hard. While he and William were not close, he had come to admire the man for his honesty, bravery, and clear, cool logic in planning a battle. And for one night, when he had shared supper with the man and his family, he had glimpsed a personal history. He could not help but feel loss.

“Sir,” he said at last, “good-bye.”

William held out his hand. “Good-bye, Captain. Much of what will come rests in your hands. Know one thing: you are capable of far more than you know.”

Erik put the scroll in his tunic and saluted as smartly as he could manage. The he hurried from the room. He returned quickly to the courtyard, where a fresh horse waited, and mounted. Unlike the others, who left through the one gate kept free of citizens, he turned back to the gate that led to the docks. He signaled for a patrol of lancers to accompany him, and the gates were opened as he reached them. Outside the gate a squad of foot soldiers held a small crowd at bay. Panic was beginning to manifest itself in the city as word spread of the approaching fleet. Some of the poor souls living along the waterfront, near the
palace, were seeking to gain entrance into the city. Erik paused to shout, “There is no refuge for you here! The eastern gate is still open. Either leave the city that way or return to your homes! Now, clear the way.”

He moved his horse forward, and citizens dove out of the way as the squad of riders followed behind him.

Erik moved through the city as quickly as possible. He knew his assignment in theory, but the difference between theory and practice was quickly becoming apparent. His job was to oversee the orderly withdrawal of the city’s defenders to Greylock’s first defensive position to the east, about a half day’s march beyond the first farms outside the city. But everywhere he looked, Erik saw chaos, and he doubted anything remotely like order could be pulled from the mess. Still, he was sworn to succeed or to die trying. He put heels to horse and moved into the crowd.

Jason grabbed up every book he could and put them into canvas sacks, which he handed to boys who were waiting to take them to nearby wagons. Roo had overestimated the time left before the invaders reached Krondor, and now he watched as his employees evacuated his businesses. Everything he could manage to hoard—gold, letters of credit, and other items of wealth—was safely hidden at his estates. He already had a pair of wagons there waiting to take his wife and children, as well as the Jacobys, to the East. He hoped that Sylvia had listened seriously to his warnings and would join them as they moved to escape the coming onslaught.

Jason said, “That’s the last of it, sir!”

Roo, sitting atop a fresh horse, said, “Get the wagons out of here!”

Fifteen wagons, carrying everything he could move, started out of the large yard into the street. Shouting people hurried past, some carrying their belongings on their backs, while others just ran. Rumors were flying—that the Prince was dead, that the palace had been taken, that all the gates were closed and they were trapped—and Roo knew that eventually he would have to leave behind his wagons and remaining goods if he didn’t get out of the city by sundown.

He had hired the best private guards he could find, and there weren’t many left in Krondor. Just about any man capable of carrying a sword or puffing a bow was now in the King’s service. The squad of ten men he had hired were old men and boys, but the old men were veterans and the boys were strong and enthusiastic.

Whips cracked as the horses moved the heavily burdened wagons, which groaned under the weight. Roo was attempting to salvage everything of worth, inventory, tools, and furnishings. He had faith that eventually the Emerald Queen’s army would be defeated, and he was attempting to ensure that he had as much of a start as possible in rebuilding his wealth after the war was over.

Roo said to Jason, who was now sitting on the first wagon, “Where is Luis?”

Jason said, “He went looking for Duncan when he didn’t show up. I think he may have gone out of the city.”

“Why?”

“Because Duncan said something about going to your estates on an errand for you.”

Roo frowned. He had not seen Duncan for two days, which had put his cousin in the worst possible grace with Roo so far. He had excused a lot of Duncan’s lapses, but with the invaders so close Roo had needed every pair of hands possible, and Duncan’s preoccupation with his own pleasure was inexcusable this time. “I’m going on ahead to my estates. Meet me there.”

Roo was going to let his wagoners rest the night at his estates, then send them on to Ravensburg. There Roo had planned to gather his employees and servants together and, if the enemy appeared, move on to Salador. He knew what few others knew: that if the invaders made it past Darkmoor, they’d turn toward Sethanon, for the fabled prize Calis had long ago told his men about, whatever it might be. Roo had no doubt that the Kingdom would be equal to the task; he had served with the invaders for a while when Calis had infiltrated their army, and while they had numbers, they lacked the Kingdom’s training.

Then he remembered the Saaur.

Roo said, “I’m going to change orders. Continue past my estates and keep going until sundown.”

“Why?” asked Jason.

“Something I just thought of. Head to our inn in Chesterton and wait. If you don’t hear anything from me within a day that says otherwise, start the men toward Darkmoor. Refit there, change horses, whatever you need to do, then continue on to Malac’s Cross. Wait for me to send you word there.”

Jason seemed disturbed by the change of plans, but said nothing. He nodded and told the driver to keep moving.

Roo rode ahead and quickly became enmeshed in the crowd streaming for the eastern gates. He was on the verge of turning back, fearing a riot, when he saw Kingdom troops riding toward him from a street to his left. He saw a familiar figure at their head and shouted, “Erik!”