Rage of a Demon King (37 page)

Erik said, “That was the palace, Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant said nothing, waiting for orders. After a half hour, the flood of humanity out of the northernmost gate in the city fell off to a trickle, and Erik ordered his men to form up for a rear guard.

He watched as the civilians moved eastward, toward the coming night, and then he turned to the west, as fires burned in the distance, and he waited.

Honest John’s was doing its usual business, and Macros and Miranda moved through the crowd. They waved politely to their host, but declined his invitation to a drink. They moved purposely to the stairs and mounted them to the upper concourse, to the gallery of shops.

Reaching the shop of Mustafa, they entered. The old man looked up and said, “So it’s you again?”

“Yes,” said Miranda.

“Did you catch up to Pug?”

Miranda smiled. “You could say so.”

“What can I do for you? A divination?”

Miranda sat in the chair opposite the old fortune-teller, and said, “Do you recognize my father?”

Mustafa squinted. “No, should I?”

“I am Macros.”

“Oh,” said the old fortune-teller. “I heard you were dead. Or missing. Something like that.”

“I need information,” said Miranda.

“I deal in such.”

“I need a way into the world of Shila.”

“You wouldn’t like it,” said Mustafa. “It’s overrun by demons. Some idiot unsealed the barrier between
the Fifth Circle and that world, and now it is just gone to hell.”

Macros laughed a dry laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Why do you need to go there?”

“To close two rifts,” said Miranda. “One between Shila and Midkemia, then one between Shila and the demon realm.”

“That’s difficult.” The old man rubbed his chin. “I have information that would prove useful, I think. I can tell you a doorway to a location not far from the city of Ahsart, which is where I think you want to go.”

“How do you know that?” asked Macros.

“I wouldn’t be much of a dealer in information if I didn’t know that, would I?”

“How much?” asked Miranda.

Mustafa set a price, the souls of a dozen children who had never been born, and Miranda stood up. “Perhaps Querl Dagat will prove less outrageous in his price.”

At the mention of one of his chief rivals, Mustafa said, “Wait a minute! Make me a counteroffer.”

“I have a Word of Power, one that will gain you a greater wish.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You have to cast it on Midkemia.”

The old man sighed. “Midkemia, by all reports, is presently a less than hospitable place.”

“That’s one of the reasons we need to close those portals. If we do, then once the mess is cleaned up, you can travel to Midkemia, cast your wish, and be back before you know it.”

Sighing, the old man said, “I would like to lose a few years. I don’t age here, as you know, but I discovered
the Hall late in life, and most of the youth cures I’ve discovered involve less than appealing requirements, such as eating the still-beating heart of your lover, or murdering babies in their cradles. My ethics do not permit such.”

“If I were you,” suggested Miranda, “I’d wish for eternal good health. You can be young and still have problems.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I don’t suppose you have two of those wishes, do you?”

Miranda shook her head.

“Very well, I’ll take it.”

“Done.”

The old fortune-teller reached under the table and pulled out a map. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to a large black square surrounded on four sides by lines that curved away after touching. “When you leave, tell the door witch you want exit number six hundred fifty-nine.” His finger stabbed the map. “That will put you here. Go right, move down sixteen doors
on the right
—remember, the doors are staggered and if you count on the left, you’ll go through the wrong one. The sixteenth door will open into a cave on Shila, about one day’s ride by horse to Ahsart. I assume travel once you’re there won’t be a problem.”

“It won’t.”

“Just travel due south and you’ll see the city off to your right. Now, to give you a little insight into what you face,” he said, putting away the map, “let me tell you a bit about demons.

“There are seven circles of what men call hell. The upper level is just a very unpleasant place populated by creatures not too different from those you
meet on Midkemia. The Seventh Circle is populated by those you know as the Dread.

They are life-drainers and beings of alien energy; they can’t exist in your world without killing anything they touch. They are so at odds with life as we know it they aren’t welcome in Honest John’s.”

Miranda took that to mean something significant, but without a context she had no idea what it meant. But being impatient to get on with the task at hand, she ignored the comment.

“The demons of the Fifth Circle aren’t quite as alien as that. A particularly civilized one may wander in here from time to time, and as long as he doesn’t try to eat the other patrons, John will put up with his business.”

“What has this to do with us?” asked Macros.

“For a sorcerer of wisdom and power you tend to the impatient, don’t you?” asked Mustafa. He held up his hand as Macros began to protest. “Silence. All will be made clear.

“The demons live on life. Much as you do, by eating plants or animals, they eat flesh and life. What you call life, mind, or spirit is like drink to them. Flesh builds their bodies, much as it does yours or mine, but spirit builds their powers, and their cunning.

“An ancient demon has devoured many enemies and will keep captured souls against the need to consume them later.”

“I don’t understand,” said Miranda.

“Demons are like . . . sharks. Do you have sharks on Midkemia?”

“Yes,” said Miranda.

“They swim in bunches, but for reasons unknown they will turn on one of their own, tearing him apart.
If they enter a feeding frenzy, one shark may be eaten by another while it is in turn eating a third. Demons can be like that.

“They eat one another when there is no other source of spirit and flesh. When they find their way into a world on a higher plane, they pillage it, glutting themselves on flesh and spirit. As they steal spirit, or mind, they grow more cunning, but if they lack that new source, they become stupid. So the more powerful demons need more minds to keep from getting stupid.”

“I think I understand,” said Macros.

“Yes,” said Miranda. “The demon who hurt Pug was betraying his master so he could feed unopposed in our world!”

Mustafa said, “That is likely. They do not possess what we would call a strong sense of loyalty.”

“Thank you,” said Miranda, starting to leave.

“Wait, there’s more.”

“What?” asked Macros.

“If you trap the demons between their own realm, where they can endure without needing to feed, and Midkemia, they will eventually destroy all life on Shila. Then they will begin feeding on one another.”

“Do we care?” asked Macros.

“Not for the demons. Eventually there will be one demon left alive, probably their King Maarg if he’s come through, or Tugor, his Captain. And without a source of food, he’ll weaken, and eventually die. But before he becomes a starving, stupid demon, he’s going to be a very angry, very powerful demon.”

“Which means . . . ?” asked Miranda.

“Which means, just make sure you lock the door behind you when you leave.”

Miranda blinked, then stated to laugh. Rising, she said, “We’ll do that.”

“Not only the one into Midkemia; bar the door into the Hall when you return. An enraged demon king loose in the Hall would be most unpleasant.”

“I’ll remember that.”

‘What about my payment?” Mustafa asked as he stood.

Miranda smiled and there was an evil cast to her lips as she said, “I’ll tell you on the way back.”

Mustafa sat down as they left his little office and said, “Why am I always such a fool for a good-looking woman?” He pounded the table. “Get the money first!”

Erik swore.

“Yes, sir,” said Sergeant Harper. “That’s how I would have put it.”

The message was from Greylock, and Erik now understood why the attacks throughout the previous two days had been so intermittent. The attackers had filtered through the woods and were now attacking Greylock’s defenses, a half day’s ride to the east. Greylock’s message was calm, and he indicated he was having little trouble with the attackers, but stated his concern for the refugees, who were probably being preyed upon along the route of their retreat.

Erik’s men were roughly organized in a camp at the moment the message arrived. The flow of people fleeing the city was down to a trickle. Erik had paused to talk to a few, but none of them could offer anything remotely like intelligence; they were too frightened, had no idea what they had seen, and were
too concerned with escaping a city on the verge of being sacked.

One man was still slightly wet from having swum out through an underground street that he had known since he was a boy, his pitiful belongings in a pack on his back. He only knew that a major portion of the city was afire.

Erik didn’t need him to tell him that. He could see the column of smoke rising to the west. He had seen the smoke as the city of Khaipur had burned, from a distance of over a hundred miles, a column of black smoke that had risen thousands of feet into the air until it had flattened out like a grey umbrella. The wind had blown the scent of smoke to them for days, and a fine soot fell for hundreds of miles Erik had no doubt that when Krondor fell she would meet the same fate.

Erik gave orders, and the men hurried to obey. He detailed half his company, the heavy lancers, to follow behind the civilians, supported by a squad of bowmen who had wandered into Erik’s area after being cut off from their own command. The light cavalry and horse-bowmen Erik took to ride to Greylock’s position.

As he had feared, Erik had gone no more than a mile when he encountered the first sign of raider activity. Two wagons burned, and the ground around them was littered with the dead. Several women were stripped and obviously had been raped before being killed, and not one pair of decent boots or trinket of any possible worth was left behind.

Erik inspected the wagons and noticed a grain trail leading away from one. “They’re hungry,” he said to Sergeant Harper.

“Shall we hunt them down, Captain?”

Erik said, “No. I’d love to, but we need to support Greylock, if they reach the foothills to the north they’ll turn eastward, and we’ll encounter the swine soon enough.”

Harper said; “Yes, sir.”

They rode as fast as they could, permitting the horses rest when absolutely necessary, as Erik was determined to reach Greylock by sundown if at all possible. He knew some of the horses would be lame by the end of the ride, but he also knew that if the plans for the defense of the Kingdom were to be realized, they couldn’t allow the enemy to quickly overrun the first positions of resistance.

Krondor was going to fall, and it had only taken three days. Erik surmised that the Emerald Queen and her magicians were desperate to get ashore. That meant stores were scarce. The use of magic to blow up the defenses of the outer harbor stunned Erik. The only time the Emerald Queen’s Pantathians had resorted to magic was the light bridge across the river Vedra, and Pug had destroyed that, causing thousands of injuries and death. Erik had heard the report from a messenger from William with disbelief, but the fires on the docks proved the enemy was in Krondor.

As they rode, Erik wondered how Roo was faring. Had he gotten safely to his estates?

Roo sat heavily on the chair, holding a mug of cold water freshly drawn from the well. He said, “Thank you, Helen.”

Helen Jacoby and the children were waiting in the anteroom of the estate house. Roo had just ridden up,
after a desperate night of avoiding raiders, fighting, and keeping his wagons together. He had come to his estates the day before and, finding things peaceful, had returned down the road to join Luis in seeing the wagons safely home. The frequency with which he sighted invading soldiers, a full day’s ride east of the city, told him more than he wanted to know about the battle for Krondor. He had seen firsthand the sacking of a city by the Emerald Queen and had no desire to repeat that experience.

Three additional wagons had been sent ahead two days before, and now servants were busily filling them with household possessions for the journey eastward. Given the rapidity of the enemy’s advance, Roo was going to order them gone at sunrise, ignoring whatever was left behind. He now decided the entire train of wagons was going straight to Darkmoor, rather than stop at Ravensburg. He’d halt long enough to offer Erik’s mother and Nathan, and perhaps Milo, Rosalyn, and her family, the opportunity to come along. He owed Erik that much, at least. But he wouldn’t stop. The enemy was moving much too fast, and Krondor hadn’t held as he had hoped it would.

One more day, he thought as he drank deeply of the cool, fresh water. If the invaders had been delayed one more day, he’d be free of worry. He also knew he would have to ride out this evening to the Esterbrook estates and insist that Sylvia and her father leave at once. They would have no way to know the enemy was as close as it was. He could provide quarters for them in his inns in Darkmoor and Malac’s Cross without Karli becoming too suspicious, he thought; after all, half the population of Krondor was on the road eastward.

Finishing his water, he set it down and asked, “Where’s Karli?”

“She’s upstairs with your cousin Duncan.”

Roo smiled. “I’ve been wondering where he’s been.” He stood up. “I’d best go see what they’re doing.”

Helen looked concerned. “He said something about helping her move some things.”

Roo looked at her. “We still have plenty of time to get out of here. Stop worrying.”

She smiled and said, “I’ll try.”

Roo went upstairs and found them in Roo and Karli’s bedroom. Duncan was lifting a wooden box filled with Karli’s best clothing.

“I have been looking for you for two days!” said Roo to his cousin.

Duncan smiled. “Things got pretty confused in Krondor. I went looking for you at Barret’s, but you weren’t there. By the time I got to the office, Luis told me you were back at Barret’s, and then when I got back to the coffee house, and again found you not there, I headed back to our office.

“Things were pretty nasty in the streets by then, and when I finally reached them, your wagon train had headed out. I saw the mess at the northern gate, so I doubled back to the southern gate and rode here. I figured you’d want a reliable sword here to protect your family.” He grinned as he took the box and carried it past Roo, then down the stairs.

Karli said, “Do you believe him?”

“No,” said Roo. “He was probably with some whore when the panic set in, and he came straight here. But at least he’s right about my wanting you protected.”

Karli came and put her arms around her husband. “I’m afraid, Roo.”

He made reassuring noises and patted her shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

“Krondor is the only home I’ve known.”

“We’ll come back when this is over. I’ve made one fortune, and I can make another. We’ll rebuild. But first we must see the children to a safe place.”

At mention of the children, her own fear was put aside. “When do we leave?”

“At first light. Luis is bringing up the last wagons, with as many mercenary guards as he could scrounge up, and we’re going to caravan to Darkmoor. I’ve got horses and equipment to repair wagons there, and once we’ve rested, we’ll head down to Malac’s Cross.”

“Why there?”

Roo considered telling her what he knew, then decided it would only confuse and frighten her more. “Because the enemy will be stopped at Darkmoor,” he said. “Malac’s Cross will be far enough away from the fighting for us all to be safe.”

Karli took Roo at his word and hurried downstairs to oversee the packing. Helen watched the children, and Roo was impressed with the calm manner in which she reassured them, keeping them diverted and entertained. He spent a few minutes with the four of them, listening to their prattle—children’s issues of importance, he assumed, little of which made sense to him.

Toward the end of the day, a cold meal was prepared, and everyone ate. The presence of Duncan seemed odd to Roo, as Duncan had almost no interest in Roo’s family, despite his attempts to charm
Karli over the years. If anything, to Roo he appeared distracted.

When the meal was over, Roo said, “Duncan, I want you to wait down by the stable and let me know when Luis comes in with the last wagon.”

Duncan nodded amiably. “After he gets here, I’m going to take some of the men and sweep the grounds. You never know when some of those invaders might come wandering down from the hills, or if local bandits are going to try to take opportunity of the confusion.”

Roo glanced at the two women and the four children, shooting Duncan a black look.

Duncan quickly recovered by saying, “It’s almost certain they aren’t around, but it never hurts to be cautious.”

After he left, Helen said, “Rupert, is it dangerous?”

Her calm and frank manner kept the children from sensing distress, and Roo thanked the gods she was here. He said, “War is always dangerous, especially when the invader is hungry and far away from home. That’s why we’re taking everything with us that might serve him, and what we can’t take with us, we’ll destroy.”

“Destroy?” said Karli, looking confused. “Not my furnishings and things, certainly?”

Roo decided it best not to mention that the invaders would most likely smash everything in the house in frustration and burn it to the ground. He said, “No, merely that we’ll burn the food we can’t carry and make sure there are no weapons or tools left behind. If we can’t take a wagon with us, we’ll smash the spokes and break the yoke. If a horse goes
lame, we’ll put it down, and poison the meat. We’ll dig up the garden tonight and make sure there’s nothing here to help the enemy.”

Karli looked very distressed at the news of losing her garden, but she remained silent.

Abigail said, “Father, where are we going?”

Roo smiled and said, “You’re going to ride on a wagon tomorrow, my darling. It’s a long trip, and you’ll have to be on your best behavior. But we’re going to the town where your father was born, and we’ll go on to see other interesting places. Won’t that be fun?”

“No,” said Abigail. “I don’t want to.”

Helen smiled and said, “She says that a lot these days.”

Roo looked at Karli, who said, “She doesn’t know what any of this is about.”

Roo said, “Children, we’re going on a journey, and it will be a grand adventure.”

Helmut grinned and drooled, while Helen’s boy, Willem, said, “Is this like the sagas?”

Roo grinned at him. “Yes, just like the sagas! We’re off on a great adventure and you must be very brave and do exactly what your mother and Karli tell you. There will be men with swords all around, and you’ll see new places and great sights.”

“Will there be fighting?” asked the boy with wide eyes.

Roo sat back and said, “If the gods are kind, no. But if there is, we’ll protect you.” He glanced from face to face, from the tiny perfection of the children to his wife’s nervous smile to Helen’s resolute expression, and said, “We will certainly protect you all.”

*   *   *

Erik reached Greylock’s position at nightfall. He had engaged the Emerald Queen’s forces a half-dozen times along the way, and had witnessed the carnage they had left behind. Bodies littered the roadside, and it was clear that their first concern had been food. A few items of value, coins, jewelry, and the like, were found scattered around, but not one edible item could be seen.

After exchanging the password, Erik and his company rode in. Owen greeted Erik. “How are things? Bad?” he asked.

“Worse,” said Erik, dismounting. He allowed one of Greylock’s men to take the horse to tend to it and followed the former Swordmaster of Darkmoor to a campfire some distance behind the barricades they had erected across the road.

Erik left his own officers and sergeants to see to the horses and get the men fed. Greylock pointed to a pot of steaming stew and said, “Help yourself.”

Erik took a wooden bowl and spoon and suddenly realized he was starving. As he filled the bowl, Greylock fetched him a small loaf of bread and a wineskin. “Tell me what you know,” he said after Erik had shoveled in a couple of heaping spoonfuls of the savory stew and taken a drink of wine.

“If Krondor’s not fallen this day, it will by tomorrow, no doubt. The palace is gone.”

Both men knew that meant it was almost certain Knight-Marshal William was dead. Duke James might or might not have escaped. The Prince and the rest of his court, those nobles not in the field, were now safely in Darkmoor if everything had gone according to plan. Greylock said, “We’ve been pretty
quiet. A few of the enemy’s scouts have come close, but we chase them away, and when they see our fortifications, they seem inclined to move on.”

Erik nodded as he chewed another mouthful of stew. After he swallowed he said, “If things are going according to plan, they’ll waste a lot of time wandering north and south before they realize they’ve got to come back this way. Maybe we can pick up some of the time we lost at Krondor.”

Greylock ran his hand over his face, and Erik could see that the older man was as tired as he was. “I hope so. There’s still a lot to be done.”

Erik put down his empty bowl and drank again from the wineskin. “Well, there are no more refugees behind us, so at least we no longer have to worry about a rear guard.”

Owen nodded. “Now we just defend, making the bastards pay for every inch of ground.” Then he grinned at Erik. “No offense,” he said, remembering Erik’s own sinister birth.

“None taken,” said Erik. “I’m a bastard by birth; these invaders work at it.” He sighed. “I’ve been more tired, but I can’t remember when.”

Owen nodded. “It’s the pressure. The always being on guard. Well, as you and your boys have to take over here while I pull back tomorrow, we’ll take the watch this night. You should be able to rest for one night.”