Rage of a Demon King (35 page)

Erik reined in. “I thought you out of the city yesterday.”

“Too many last-minute things to see to,” answered Roo. “I’ve got wagons coming this way, then we’re for the East.”

Erik nodded. “Wise choice. You can ride with us to the gate, but the wagons are on their own, I’m afraid.”

Roo pulled in next to his boyhood friend and asked, “When are they closing the gates?”

“Sundown, or when the first enemy is seen to the east, whichever comes first.”

“They’re that close?” said Roo in surprise.

“They hit the outer seawall an hour ago,” answered Erik as he slowed his horse because of the press of people. The way was now lined with Kingdom soldiers, keeping the crowd moving in an orderly fashion. Those who heard horses coming from behind tried to move aside, but there was scant room and Erik and his squad were forced to slow to a walk.

Roo asked, “Where are you bound for?”

“Just outside,” said Erik. “When the gates close, I’m going to ride rear guard behind those who are through.”

“Nasty job,” said Roo.

“Not as nasty as staying behind,” said Erik.

Roo said, “I hadn’t thought of it that way.” He paused, then said, “What of Jadow and the others?”

Erik knew he meant the handful of men whom Erik and Roo had served with, across the sea with Captain Calis. “They’re already gone, up in the mountains.”

Roo said, “What’s going on?”

“I can’t tell you,” said Erik.

Roo thought on it a moment; he had dispatched building materials for the Prince to odd destinations throughout the mountains, as well as provisions for men. He considered the fact that the best soldiers the Prince had were up in the hills, then asked, “Nightmare Ridge?”

Erik nodded. “Don’t say anything, but in about a month you want your family east of Darkmoor.”

“Understood,” said Roo as they came in sight of the gate. A wagon had lost a wheel just outside the gate and the driver was arguing with the guards there, who wanted to cut loose the horse and drag the wagon out of the way, while the driver was insisting on waiting to fix the broken wheel.

Erik rode up and said, “Sergeant!”

The man turned and, seeing an officer in the black of the Prince’s Special Command, said, “Sir!”

“Quit arguing and get that wagon out of the way.” People on foot could get out of the gate around it, but a string of wagons and cats was building up quickly behind the broken-down wagon.

The driver was frantic. “Sir! Everything I own is in there!”

“Sorry,” said Erik, and waved for a squad of men to move the man away, then drag the wagon off to the side of the road. “If you can fix it over there, good luck to you. But you’re keeping people here who don’t wish to linger.”

Erik rode past and said to Roo, “Get away, Roo, now.”

Roo said, “Why?”

Erik pointed to the north and Roo could see dust. The hair on his neck rose up. “Only one thing can raise that much dust in a hurry.”

Erik said, “Either the biggest cavalry detachment this side of Kesh, or it’s the Saaur!”

Roo turned his horse down the eastern road and with a shout had the horse cantering away from the city.

Erik turned to one of the soldiers at his side and said, “Pass word back into the city we’ve got visitors coming from the north.” He glanced at the dust rising in the hills. “They’ll be here in an hour.”

Erik turned to the command at the gate and said, “Be ready to close up with no more than one minute’s notice.”

“Yes, sir!” came the response.

Erik rode a quarter mile to the north, where a company of heavy lancers waited, with two squads of bowmen to provide support. “Lieutenant!”

“Sir,” said the leader of the Royal Krondorian Lancers.

“In the next hour some damned big lizards on giant horses are going to be coming down that north road. Can your men handle them?”

The lieutenant smiled. “Big makes ’em easier to hit, don’t it, sir?”

Erik smiled. The young officer was probably a few years older than he, but Erik felt like an old man looking at his enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit,” he said.

He then turned his small patrol around and rode to the south, where another detachment of lancers
waited. He dispatched those to support the group on the north. Whatever was coming from the south would be far less a threat than a full-blown Saaur attack, and those inside the city could deal with any human threat.

Then the sky seemed to open and a howl went up that had Erik and every man nearby covering his ears in pain. It went on while riders attempted to calm frantic horses that screamed and bolted at the sound. Several of the lancers were thrown from their saddles.

After a minute the sound ceased, and Erik could hear a lingering ring in his ears. “What was that?” he heard a soldier nearby ask.

“I have no idea,” said Erik.

William and James stood on the palace balcony, overlooking the harbor, as the last echoes of the strange howling sound ended. A huge column of dust and steam rose at the mouth of the harbor. A blinding flash had accompanied the noise, and even though they had been inside, both men found themselves blinking away tears. Men below on the walls were wandering blind, crying out for someone to lead them away.

Soldiers raced through the palace shouting orders, for a tremendous sound had accompanied the explosion, and even the most veteran of them were stunned by it. “What was that?” asked William.

“Look!” said James, pointing to the harbor mouth.

The churning waters of the outer harbor seemed to be calming, and a great wave of foam and debris rolled in toward the docks. Upon its crest rode great ships, and they all carried invaders.

“They’re in the harbor!” shouted William. “Damn! I thought we could hold them outside for a week.”

James said, “Whatever they used, the two seawalls are gone.”

William swore. “I had a thousand men on those walls.”

“So much for those clever traps you rigged in the channel.”

William nodded. “They must have been swept away when the enemy destroyed the defenses. What was it?”

“I don’t know,” said James. “I saw Guy du Bas-Tyra fire Armengar during the Great Uprising, and when those twenty-five thousand barrels of naphtha went up, the explosion could be seen for miles. This was something different.”

“A magic of some sort?” asked William.

Dryly, James said, “Given your upbringing, you’d be in a better position to answer than I.”

Turning away, William said, “We didn’t encourage students to blow things up at Stardock. It disturbs the tranquillity.” He hurried to where runners waited to carry orders, and to the first he said, “General order five. They are in the city.”

William returned to where James stood, watching alien invaders sail into his city. “I will not let this happen,” said the Duke.

William put his hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder and said, “It’s happened.”

“Remind me, what’s general order five?”

William said, “We’re locking the eastern gate, and firing on anything coming from the west. House-to-house for the first three blocks away from the docks.”

“What about those nasty things you set up down at the docks?”

“Those are still in place. If the Pantathian magic users don’t blow up the palace the way they did the seawalls, they’ll find a surprise or two when they land on the docks.”

James looked at William. “Have you gotten everyone out?”

William knew who the “everyone” was that James spoke of: his sister, her son, and her grandchildren. James had counted on William to see them to safety. “They’re out of the city. They left in a special coach last night.”

James said, “Then this is good-bye.”

William looked at his brother-in-law and weighed the man in his memory. They had a long history together, back to the days when William was a young lieutenant in the Prince’s Household Guards and James had run roughshod over the wild twins, Borric and Erland, now King and Prince respectively.

James asked, “It’s been what, thirty years?”

“Closer to forty.” They embraced.

When they separated, James said, “I only regret you never found anyone, William.”

William said, “I did, once.”

James said nothing, for he remembered the Keshian magician William had loved as a young man, and her untimely death.

William said, “I do envy you Arutha and the boys.”

James said, “I must go.”

William said, “If we do somehow manage to get out of this, I promise I’ll give some thought to finding a good woman and settling down.”

James laughed. He again embraced his brother-in-law and said, “See you in Darkmoor or see you in hell.”

“One is as good as the other,” said William, giving James a gentle push toward the door.

The Duke turned and hurried as fast as his old legs would permit. Outside, a squad of special soldiers, dressed in black tunics, leggings, and black-painted iron coifs, waited. They wore no markings, and they said nothing as they followed James down to his office. There he stripped off the marks of his rank, the golden chain holding the Duke of Krondor’s seal, used to identify official decrees of the Principality. He removed his ducal ring, and set it next to the seal. After a moment he turned to one of the soldiers and said, “In the Prince’s audience hall there’s a sword hanging over the fireplace. Fetch it for me.”

The soldier ran off while James removed his clothing and donned garb like that worn by the soldiers. He was dressed when the soldier returned carrying the sword. An old rapier, it bore an odd device, a tiny war hammer, which had been fused into the sword’s forte.

He added this to the bundle and wrapped up the sword, ring, chain and seal, and a letter he had written the night before, and handed it to a soldier wearing the garb of the Prince’s Household Guards. “Take this to Lord Vencar, in Darkmoor.”

“Yes, my lord,” said the guard and hurried away.

To the soldiers who were remaining, the silent men in black, James said, “It’s time.”

They left his office and hurried down into the bowels of the palace, down winding stairs that led to the dungeon. Past the cells, they moved to a seemingly
blank wall. James said, “Put your hands here, and here”—he pointed—“and push up.” Two soldiers did as bidden, and the wall slid almost effortlessly upward into the ceiling, revealing a door hidden behind the false wall. James pointed. Two soldiers moved to open the door; it protested at being disturbed after years of peace. But move it did, to reveal an opening, and a flight of stairs leading down. Lanterns were lit, two soldiers entered, and James followed. As the last of the eight guards passed through the door, it was drawn shut behind them, causing the false wall to return to its position.

Down the stairs the men hurried, until at last they came to another closed wooden door. One of the men listened and said, “It’s silent, my lord.”

James nodded. “Open it.”

The man did so, and the door opened to the sound of lapping water. At a landing beneath the old citadel, the central part of the palace of Krondor, an underground waterway wended from the city into the bay. The stench of the place told every man what he already knew: this was a section of the great sewers of the city, which emptied into the bay a mile or more away.

A new longboat waited, tethered to an iron ring in the stone dock, and the eight soldiers entered, leaving a place in the middle for the Duke. James stepped into the boat. “Let’s go,” he said.

The boat was pushed off from the dock, and the men began to row, but rather than head for the bay, they swung the boat around and headed against the flow of the water, into the sewers of the city.

As they came to the entrance of a large culvert, one twice the height of a man, James whispered to himself, “Jimmy the Hand goes home.”

Erik signaled.

“Over there!” he shouted.

Men turned their horses and charged. The battle for the city had been raging outside the northernmost gate in the east wall since the day before. The invaders were disorganized and as they came ashore.

Erik’s detachments had been struck twice, once at sundown, and again in the morning by a large detachment of Saaur horsemen. Erik had been pleased to discover that, despite their size, the Saaur horses were just as subject to the travail of travel as were the smaller animals humans rode. Also, for the first time in their memory, the Saaur weren’t facing mercenaries but true soldiers, Kingdom heavy lancers, and the impact of a disciplined foe with twelve-foot-long, iron-shod lances and a willingness to conduct an orderly charge and routed the Saaur.
Erik had no idea what good this would do for the overall campaign, but the lift it gave his men to best the huge lizardmen in their first confrontation was incalculable.

Now they were engaged with a company of mercenary humans who, while not as individually threatening as the Saaur, were proving more difficult for their sheer numbers, and because they were relatively fresh, while Erik’s men had fought two engagements in the last twelve hours.

But as fresh Kingdom riders approached from the south, Erik found his units able to roll back the invaders, who fled at last into the woodlands to the north. Erik turned and looked for his second in command, a Lieutenant named Gifford. He signaled the man and said, “Ride after, but halt a bowshot from the tree line. I don’t want you riding into traps. Then bring the men back and re-form. I’m heading to the gate to see if there are any more orders.” The Lieutenant saluted and rode off to carry out his orders.

Erik hurried his tired horse down the road toward the gate, past boarded up houses as if the owners expected to return to find them intact, as if this were only a storm striking Krondor. Other homes were obviously abandoned, with doors left open. A steady stream of refugees hurried along the road, moving in the direction from which Erik came, and he had to shout several times to get people to let him pass.

Already the tone of the flight was edging toward panic, and Erik knew that this would be his last trip to get any new orders. It took him nearly a half hour to ride a distance he could normally travel in a third that time, and when he reached the gate he saw the activity was up to a frantic pace.

He saw two other wagons pushed off the road, one into the small river that ran along the road into the city, through the sewers, and into the bay. Erik absently wondered if it might be one of Roo’s. He suspected most of Roo’s wagons had gotten clear of the city before the fighting at sundown, and were now safely on their way to Darkmoor.

Getting within hailing distance of the gate, Erik shouted, “Sergeant Macky!”

The sergeant in command of the gate turned to see who called, and when he spied Erik, he shouted, “Sir?”

“Any orders?”

“No, sir. As before” was all he said before turning back to hurry along those trying to crowd through the gate, while maintaining order.

Erik shouted, “Good luck to you, then, Sergeant!”

The soldier, an old man who had shared a drink or two with Erik and the other members of the Crimson Eagles, turned and said, “And to you, sir. Good luck to us all.” Then he went back to his tasks.

Erik wished for a fresh mount, but he couldn’t risk heading into the city. He would ride back to his command position and see if there was time to secure a remount. He had ordered the fresh horses kept far enough from the most likely points of combat that they were safe—but not convenient.

He forced his way back through the mob fleeing the city. He knew what the plan was, yet this frantic sea of humanity made him wonder if he could be as cruel as the Prince and Duke, for many of those he passed would be hunted down and killed by the Emerald Queen’s raiders as they fanned out along the highway. Erik couldn’t protect them all.

Erik reached the edge of the foulburg and found a few of his men resting in the shade of a tree. “Report!” he ordered one of them, and the soldier stood up. “We just got hit by another patrol, Captain. They came out of the trees and looked surprised when we filled them with arrows.” He pointed toward the distant trees. “Lieutenant Jeffrey is over there somewhere.”

It took Erik a moment to put a face to the name Jeffrey, and he realized suddenly how big his command had become. He had met every man in his unit for the first half year, but in the last two months the army of the Prince had doubled in size as units of troops sent from the Far Coast and down from Yabon arrived, along with detachments from the East. Many of the men who were now looking to him to survive were strangers, while most of the men he had trained were already up in the mountains to the east.

He rode on and found the lieutenant a short time later. The soldier, who wore the tabard of LaMut, a wolf’s head on a field of blue, turned and saluted. “Captain, we had a patrol blunder right into us. They didn’t know we were here.”

Erik looked at the bodies littering the open ground south of the trees. “They’re sending companies out without any coordination,” he said. “The Saaur and the other companies we fought today haven’t spread the word we’re waiting.”

“Can we expect this to last long?”

Erik remembered his own experience with the Queen’s army in Novindus and said, “To a point. They’ll never have the internal communication and discipline we do, but they have numbers, and when they come at us, they’ll all come at once.”

Looking at the afternoon light, he said, “Send a messenger down to where our reserves are and bring back two companies to relieve the men here, and”—he pointed to where the standard of the heavy lancers could be seen flapping in the breeze—“tell the lancers to stand down for a few hours.”

“You think we’ve beat them back?”

Erik smiled. The older Lieutenant from LaMut knew better than that. He just wanted to see what kind of young captain he was taking orders from. “Hardly,” said Erik. “We’re just catching a little calm before the storm. I mean to take advantage of it.”

Before the Lieutenant left, he said, “What about those serpent priests?”

Erik said, “I don’t know, Lieutenant. We will certainly know when they arrive.”

Jeffrey saluted, and as he departed, Erik called after, “And bring me a fresh horse!”

Miranda said, “Something’s ahead.” She spoke at a bare whisper.

Her father stood behind her, sweat beading his brow as he labored to keep a spell of invisibility around them. They had found the rift entrance that led into the world of Shila, and Miranda was attempting to probe it, to see what they could expect on the other side. From what Hanam had told them, they were likely to walk into the arms of some very angry demons if they just walked through.

They moved within sight of the rift gate, which to the normal eye appeared a blank wall. To Macros and his daughter the area was alive with mystic energy, and Macros said, “Something has tried to seal it from this side.”

Miranda probed the rift. There were presences on the other side, and Miranda backed into the dark. “You can let the spell down. There’s no one around.”

Macros did.

“What do we do now?” asked Miranda.

Sitting down heavily, her father said, “We try to get through that rift with stealth, we try to fight our way through, or we search for a third way to get to Shila.”

“The first two don’t sound likely, and I especially don’t find the second choice attractive,” said Miranda. “What do you think of the third?”

Macros said, “If there’s a way to Shila via the Hall of Worlds, Mustafa the fortune-teller would know.”

“Tabert’s?” asked Miranda.

“That’s as good a place as any,” said Macros. “I’m tired. Can you get us there?”

Miranda’s brow furrowed in concern. “You, tired?”

“I would never tell Pug,” said Macros, “but I suspect when he pulled me asunder from Sarig, I became fully mortal again. Most of my power came from the dead God of Magic, and with that link sundered . . .” He shrugged.

“Now is a hell of a time to tell us!” said Miranda. “We’re about to face a demon king and you’re suddenly not at your best because of old age?”

Macros grimaced as he stood. “I’m not quite ready for gruel and a shawl, daughter. I could still tear down this mountain if I had to!”

Miranda smiled as she took his hand and willed them to an inn in LaMut. The inhabitants of Tabert’s were a mixed lot, but to the last, they rose and stepped back when the sorcerer and his daughter winked into existence a few feet before the bar.

Tabert was standing behind the bar, and he merely raised an eyebrow as Miranda said, “We need to use your storage room.”

The barman sighed, as if to say, “What sort of story am I going to have to concoct to explain away this mystery?” but he nodded. “Good luck,” he said.

They hurried behind the bar and through the door into the back room. Miranda led Macros down a flight of stairs and along a narrow hall. At the end of the hall was an alcove, separated from the rest of the hall by a plain curtain hanging from a metal rod. It was the portal Miranda had used when she had first entered the Hall of Worlds. They pushed aside the curtain that set apart the alcove, and as they stepped across the threshold, they were in the Hall of Worlds.

“I know the long way to Honest John’s,” said Miranda, pointing to the left. “Do you know a faster way?”

Macros nodded. “Over there,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction.

They hurried on.

William watched as the battle raged below his vantage point. The defenders at the docks had started firing upon the ships that were moving toward the docks. Cleverly concealed ballistas and catapults had sunk three ships that had approached too close, but the fleet still came on.

One of William’s most prized possessions was a spyglass, given him as a gift years before by Duke James. It had the usual properties of any good telescope, magnifying things to about a dozen times their normal size, but it also possessed an unusual attribute: it could pierce illusions. James, seemingly
reticent to discuss its origins, had never revealed how he had come by the item.

He studied the approaching command ship and saw the hideous demon crouching amidships. Despite his revulsion, he studied the creature. All those nearby were being controlled by mystical chains and collars.

The expression on the demon’s face was difficult to read, for it possessed nothing remotely like human features. Pug had warned Prince Patrick, James, and William of what had occurred regarding the death of the Emerald Queen and her replacement by a demon, but that information was being kept from all but a handful of officers. William and James had decided that there was enough for the men to worry about without having them fear the might of a demon lord.

William turned the glass ninety degrees, and the demon vanished from view. The illusionary woman who sat there was regal and beautiful and in an odd way even more frightening in aspect than the demon, who wore his rage and hate naked on his face for the world to see.

William returned the glass to the position that let him see through illusion and the demon popped back into view. William put down the glass.

“Orders,” he said calmly, and one of the palace pages stepped forward. The squires were serving with the defenders along the wall, as aides to the various officers, and the pages were serving as runners. For a brief second William looked at the eager face of the boy who was ready to carry his orders wherever he was bidden. The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years of age.

For a brief instant, William was tempted to tell the boy to run, to leave the city as fast as his young
legs could carry him; then he said, “Tell the dock command to wait until they’ve gotten close, then I want everything fired at that large ship with the green hull; that’s their command ship, and I want it sunk.”

The boy ran off and William turned to look. It was probably a futile gesture; the demon’s ship was almost certainly afforded the most protection of any in the fleet.

Reports came in quickly that the enemy fleet had landed all up and down the coast, and units of cavalry had harried the northmost eastern gate. William considered his options and called for another messenger. When the boy voiced he was ready, William said, “Run down to the courtyard and tell one of the riders there to carry orders to the eastern gate. Seal the city.”

As the boy turned, William said, “Page.”

“Sir?”

“Take a horse and go with the rider; leave the city and tell Captain von Darkmoor it’s time to head east. You stay with him.”

The boy looked confused at being told to leave, but he simply said, “Sir,” and ran off.

A captain of the royal guards glanced at the Knight-Marshal, who shook his head. “I might spare one of them at least,” said William.

The Captain nodded grimly. The enemy fleet was attempting to dock. Lines snaked out from the ships as those on the railings attempted to throw loops around the cleats on the dockside. Arrows rained down on any who did not shield themselves, and men of the invading army fell into the water, their bodies pierced by multiple shafts.

But the first ship, then the second one, got a rope ashore, and they were slowly hauled in close to the docks. The only place they were unable to close was where the earlier three ships had sunk. Ships beyond were tossed lines, and William saw their plan. Originally they had thought they’d see a slow siege, with an orderly docking once this portion of the city was secured. But now he saw there would be no attempt to move empty ships away from the docks.

Only a few ships would actually tie to the docks, but they would act as shields for those farther out. They would be tossed grapples, and soon the ships would be tied off. A raft of ships would extend out into the bay, a platform that would let thousands of invaders race from deck to deck, to land on the docks of Krondor, across the breadth of the waterfront. It was a dangerous ploy, for if the defenders were successful in starting fires on any of the ships, all were at risk.