Rage of a Demon King (56 page)

Dash dismounted. “The Prince sent me to tell you that the Earl of Loriél has been found other duties.” Lowering his voice, he said, “if any other noble rides through and troubles you, I’m to . . . facilitate.”

Erik said, “Thanks.” He found the next question awkward. “Any word on . . . your grandfather?”

Dash’s expression turned grim. “No. Nor my grandmother.” He looked westward, facing toward Krondor. “We are resigned to the fact they chose to die together.” He sighed. “My father is not dealing with this well, but he’ll come out of it soon.” Dash shrugged. “Truth to tell, I’m not dealing with it particularly well, either.” He looked at Erik. “How can I help?”

“I need someone to sort through all the dispatches as they arrive and save me from the ones that don’t need my attention. The command structure along the ridge is very disorganized.”

Dash said, “We’ve lost a lot of nobles, and many of their second in commands are garrison soldiers, with no field experience.”

Erik said, “I’ve noticed.” He looked at Dash. “A lot of nobles?”

Dash looked disturbed. “The Duke of the Southern Marches is dead. The Duke of Yabon lies injured and may not live. At least a dozen earls and Barons are dead. More before this is through, I think.” He lowered his voice. “While you were up in the mountains training, Patrick ordered all the lords who were coming here to leave one son home if they could. If we survive, we’re going to have a lot of new members of the Congress of Lords next year. We’re paying a bloody price in this war.”

“That we are.” Then the trumpets sounded and alarm was raised as another attack commenced.
“And that we will,” said Erik as he pulled his sword and hurried to his chosen place of command.

Calis said, “It’s time.”

Pug moved to stand beside his old friend’s son and asked, “Are you certain?”

Calis said, “Yes.”

He looked at his father, and something passed between them; something silent but profound, needing no words. Then he looked at Miranda, and she smiled at him.

Calis stood before the Lifestone, the huge green emerald pulsing with energy. He said, “Father, take back your sword.”

Tomas didn’t hesitate. He leaped atop the dais upon which the stone rested and placed a booted foot on the gem. He seized the hilt of his white and gold sword and pulled. At first the sword resisted his efforts, then suddenly it slid free.

Tomas lifted his sword, feeling complete for the first time since the end of the Riftwar, and a primal Shout of victory escaped his lips.

The gem began to pulse and Calis rested his hands upon it. “I am Valheru! I am human!” He closed his eyes and said, “I am eledhel!”

Nakor said, “Interesting. His nature is unique and he possesses the attributes of three races.”

Calis’s eyes opened and he stared into the gem. “It’s so obvious!” he said, and he lowered his head until his brow touched the gem. “It’s so easy!”

Pug looked at Tomas and they both asked the same silent question: What was so obvious and so easy?

In a grand pavilion, surrounded by servants and advisers, the demon Jakan seethed. Something called to him, something compelling and demanding, something that insisted he move toward it. He did not know what this thing was, but it haunted his dreams and sang to him. He knew where it was, a place to the north and east, Sethanon, and he knew that those who opposed him were denying him this thing.

The self-styled Demon King of Midkemia stood, and to those around him, the illusion of the Emerald Queen still held. She seemed to command them to depart, save those attendants she kept close by, the remaining Pantathian serpent priest, one named Tithulta, and the human General, Fadawah. They knew of the deception and were the only survivors of that bloody night when Jakan had devoured the Emerald Queen. It had been so easy. She had been alone with one of her victims, who died held in her arms and legs as she drank his life from him. The demon had used his growing powers to appear as one of her servants. He had slipped into her tent and quickly killed her and her newest lover. The woman’s power was significant, but wasted on keeping a youthful appearance. The demon didn’t understand this; it was so much easier to build an illusion, as he had.

In that moment of consuming the woman, the demon had encountered something alien, yet familiar. He had been touched by this agency and knew its name, Nalar. But beyond knowing of its presence, the mystic echoing within the Emerald Queen, the demon was otherwise unconcerned.

Maarg had made a pact with someone to have those odd creatures who looked like Pantathians
open the rift to the Saaur world and to this world. But that was Maarg’s worry. Let him rot on Shila or return to the demon realm and its limited pleasures. Jakan was the only one of his kind on this world, and his power was growing by the day.

He glanced at his left arm and saw the tremendous growth that had occurred. The last human he had devoured he had swallowed whole, and had found a wonderful moment of delight as the creature screamed for almost a full minute inside his gullet. And now he was pleased to see the human’s face appearing on his belly. He flexed his shoulders and felt his great wings nearly touch the sides and tops of the pavilion. He would have to have it enlarged. The illusion of the Emerald Queen could move easily through the tent, but Jakan was now close to twenty feet tall, and as long as he fed, he would continue to grow. For a brief instant, he considered limiting his feeding, then dismissed the idea as too alien.

He ducked as he moved under the tent flap held open for the Queen by her guards. Fadawah and Tithulta appeared to be following at a respectable distance; no one without magic sight could see the mystic chains and collars Jakan had fashioned to keep them in tow.

The nearby army saw the Emerald Queen reach the large tent she had erected for the wounded. She entered and found a few soldiers attempting to tend the dying. “Leave,” she commanded, and those able to do so obeyed, for most suspected what was about to happen.

Jakan moved to the first man, unconscious but still alive. The demon scooped him up with one hand and bit his head off, swallowing it. The blood and life
forces that ran down the demon’s throat filled him with an almost painful pleasure. Never had a demon risen so rapidly, become so powerful, and still had so much potential before him. He would be the mightiest Demon King in the history of the race! Nothing would withstand his march, and when he had devoured this planet, he would use the rift knowledge these people possessed to reach other worlds. Eventually, he thought, I will be a god!

He turned toward a man who could barely move for his injuries, but whose eyes were wide with terror as he attempted to crawl away from the horror he had just witnessed. Jakan realized that, in his bloodlust, he had let his illusion drop, and now sick and dying men moaned in terror. Grinning, with blood still running down his chin, Jakan moved to the man and impaled him on a single talon, lifting him before him. Then with a snap, he devoured him, delighting in the feel of the twitching body sliding down his huge gullet. Never has there been one such as I, he thought.

Jakan turned to his puppet, Fadawah, and said, “Order the attack! We overrun the puny humans today!”

The vacant eyes of Fadawah didn’t register any reaction. He turned and stuck his head outside the tent and said, “Order all units to attack!”

Soon, thought Jakan, I will feast on thousands and then I will reach this place, Sethanon, and see what it is that calls me there.

Calis smiled. “It’s like untying a knot!”

He had two hands upon the Lifestone and the pulsing green light was bathing him, washing over
him, infusing him. Though he didn’t move a muscle he had never looked more animated, alive, and powerful to those who knew him.

His father came to stand next to him and asked, “What do you see?”

“Father,” said Calis, enraptured, “I see everything!”

A six-foot-tall spinning column of green energy sprang up atop the gem like a flame, and undulated, emitting a keening sound. Faces flickered in the flame, and Tomas’s golden blade came to the ready.

“The Valheru!” he said in a hoarse whisper, his every sense tuned and ready for battle.

“No,” said Calis. “This is but an echo of their former existence. What they sought to become eluded them. What they returned to recover was never theirs.” He turned to look at his father. “Stand ready.”

“For what?”

“For the change.” Calis closed his eyes, and the flame shot upward, into the ceiling of the cavern, and ran along the rocky surface, fanning out in a circle. As it spread out from the point of impact, it thinned, diminishing to nothing more than a faint green overlaying the golden shimmer of Nakor’s protective screen.

Tomas dropped to his knees, the sword falling from his hands, as a moan of pain escaped him. He clutched his chest and stomach, as if in agony. Pug rushed to his side, saying, “What is it?”

Tomas’s teeth were clenched and he shook. He was unable to answer.

Calis said, “That which was Valheru is returned to the world.”

Pug left Tomas and came to Calis’s side. “Will he live?”

“He will,” answered Calis. “He is more than Valheru. As am I.”

Then Pug saw that Calis was also undergoing a painful transformation, as whatever part of his heritage also was Valheru was being torn from within. Perspiration ran down his forehead, and his arms trembled, but his eyes were afire and his gaze was locked within the stone.

“What is happening?” Pug asked softly.

“Something that was taken from this world is being returned to it,” said Calis. “I am the instrument of that return.”

After a moment, tiny flecks of green light spun away from the glowing nimbus that surrounded Calis and the stone, flying in random directions. Pug dodged the first spray of light and it went past him, then as he turned another struck him in the chest. Instead of its causing injury or pain, he felt nothing but a sense of energy, something warm and healing passing through him.

He looked at Tomas, bent over in agony, but as the tiny green flecks struck, Tomas began to recover. After a moment, he looked up at his boyhood friend, and Pug saw his eyes were clear, free of pain.

Tomas rose and slowly moved over to Pug and Calis. He looked at Pug, and the magician saw wonder in Tomas’s eyes, wonder he had not witnessed since Tomas had taken on the mantle of Ashen-Shugar, last of the Valheru. For the first time in fifty years, Tomas looked more like the boy from Crydee than Pug had ever seen him, and in a voice filled with amazement, Tomas said, “My son is healing the world.”

Then, a cry of joy, a note so profound Pug couldn’t tell if it was a sound or a feeling, rang through the
cave, and the gem seemed to erupt, casting an awe-inspiring flame of life throughout the room. Nakor nearly danced in delight, while Dominic made the sign of his god.

Nakor said, “We don’t need this,” and dropped his spell of protection.

As it vanished, an echo from across the world, as black and evil as the previous note had been alive and good, resonated, and Nakor’s eyes widened. “Oops!”

The demon’s head came up from its feasting. “No!” it roared as it felt something being taken away from it. Sethanon! the voice in his head screamed.

All dreams of power and primacy were forgotten. The mystic leashes to the two slaves were released as the demon strode to the front of the tent.

Two guards turned as Jakan emerged from the tent. They grew pale and fled.

General Fadawah blinked as if coming out of a daze, and he saw the demon rip apart the entrance to the tent, sending tatters in all directions. He only glimpsed the horror before it leaped to the skies, but it was enough.

The General turned to see the confused Pantathian high priest, also coming out of his daze. Rage gripped the General, and he pulled his decorative dagger. He raised it high and plunged it between the neck and shoulder of the Pantathian, driving the serpent priest to his knees. For a moment the creature rocked on his knees, then he toppled over.

Fadawah didn’t even attempt to remove his blade from the last dying member of the Pantathian race. He hurried out the rear of the Queen’s pavilion and
found terrified officers standing in the command tent. He looked to where their eyes were fixed and saw the demon soaring toward the mountains, in the direction of the castle at Darkmoor.

One of the captains of the mercenary companies who had risen to the staff of the Queen’s army saw their commander before him, and stammered out, “Orders, sir?”

Fadawah said, “What has happened? I have been in the power of a monster and don’t know what has happened. Tell me!”

“You just ordered a full-scale attack. All units. We are engaging the enemy along the entire ridge.”

“Damn!” said the general. He had no idea how long he had been in thrall to the demon, but he knew he had to discover quickly what had occurred. The last thing he remembered clearly was being in the Queen’s tent outside the City of the Serpent River; then he had lived in a timeless haze, a vague dream of horror and fear; and now he was on the other side of the world in the middle of a war and he had no idea whom they were fighting, where his units were deployed, or if they were winning or losing. And with the Queen dead, he had no idea why they were continuing to fight.

Looking at his staff he said, “Maps! I want to see where we are, where every unit is, and what we know about the enemy.” As the staff jumped to obey, a few of them stealing glances at the diminishing figure of the demon as it sped eastward, Fadawah was consumed by one goal: Survival.

Erik fought.

What had begun as a moderate push, a probing engagement to discover potential weaknesses in the defenders’ line, without warning had turned into an all-out offensive. Erik kicked the man he had just killed, letting him roll back down the ridge into the trees below.

All along Nightmare Ridge, the Kingdom army struggled with the invader, a slaughter unmatched since the Riftwar. Erik looked around as he found himself in a relative lull. The wounded and dead were being dragged away by their comrades, and others quickly drank from water buckets carried by the boys from the baggage trains.

Jadow came running along, Sergeant Harper behind him. “They’ve turned our northern flank,” said Harper, blood splattered across his face. “Jerome is dead, and his entire company with him.
Duko’s got men on our side of the ridge and they’re pushing us to the south.”

“Damn!” said Erik. He turned to a runner and said, “Orders to the Flying Company—”

Jadow interrupted. “There is no Flying Company. I sent them in as soon as Harper reached me. They’re up there right now.”

Erik rubbed his face, feeling as if fatigue was ground into his skin like grit. His thoughts were chaotic from lack of sleep and constant fighting over the last two days. “All right,” he said to the two sergeants. “Take every third man from here, and bolster the north. If you can’t hold, pull back, and when you get to the first defensible position on our side of the ridge, facing north, dig in. You hold them there, and if they turn east and go down the mountain, they’re the Army of the East’s problem.” He turned to the messenger and said, “Go to Darkmoor. Tell Prince Patrick we have a turned flank on the north and are trying to dig in. We need reinforcements. Got it?”

The young soldier said, “Yes, sir!,” saluted, and ran to his horse.

Erik turned to see Jadow and Harper already pulling every third man off the ridge and leading them northward. He saw Dash standing a short way off, his sword drawn and blood all over his well-cut tunic and trousers, and he said, “I thought I told you to read dispatches.”

Dash smiled. “There’s nothing in there that can’t wait, and it seemed an extra sword was needed.”

Erik nodded. “You have that right.”

Suddenly the enemy was pushing over the ridge again, and Erik became embroiled in the struggle.

Tomas said, “Something is coming!”

Pug said, “I can feel it, too.” He paused, then said, “I recognize that presence. It’s Jakan!”

Nakor said, “Sho Pi, you and the good Abbot must hide.”

Sho Pi said, “I will stay with you, Master.”

Nakor grabbed the younger man and propelled him toward a hole in the wall. It was the dusty underground remnants of the last battle that took place in the ancient city created by the Valheru, beneath the destroyed city of Sethanon. “My protection trick could hide us from the Nameless One’s hearing, but it can’t stop an angry demon who wants to come here! In there!” insisted Nakor. “Hide in that hole, for what is coming may destroy us all, but at least the rest of us have some means to protect ourselves!”

The broken masonry was the result of the titanic battle between the dragon Ryath, whose sleeping body was now occupied by the Oracle of Aal, and a Dreadlord, used by Nalar as a distraction as the spirits of the Valheru attempted to reenter Midkemia. “Get down and stay out of sight.”

Nakor hurried back to stand next to Miranda, while Pug and Tomas took up stations on either side of Calis. Miranda said, “Can you protect yourself?”

“I’m tougher than I look,” said Nakor, but his grin was gone.

Calis was lost within the dismantling of the Lifestone, his face a mix of rapture and calm. His eyes were now fixed upon a spot at the center of the stone, which was growing smaller as more and more shreds of the life energy flew from it.

Miranda said, “Whatever he’s doing, it’s making me feel good.”

“If we weren’t facing the coming rage of a Demon King, I think we’d be enjoying this.”

Miranda felt a large speck of the green life force pass through her stomach; her eyes widened and she said, “Oh!”

Nakor giggled. “That looked interesting.”

“It felt interesting,” she said. She ran her hand over her stomach. With a look of mixed apprehension and uncertainty, Miranda said, “Something’s going on.”

Nakor looked around the hall, which was now almost universally illuminated in green light, and said, “The life structure of this world is being set right. It’s a healing, a rejuvenation. Ancient souls trapped in that thing for centuries are being freed to return to the universe, as they were intended to do.” He glanced at Miranda. “Some of the side effects might prove very unexpected.”

Miranda said, “I don’t doubt it.”

Tomas’s eyes narrowed and he tilted his head, as if listening to something. “It’s coming.”

“What is?” asked Miranda.

“Jakan,” said Pug. “It can be the only thing on this world to disturb the harmony of life to the point where we can sense its approach.”

Tomas held his sword. “I think soon. Within the next hour, two at the latest.”

Pug glanced at Calis, who was still consumed by his task. “Will he be finished?”

Tomas said, “I do not know.”

They waited.

*   *   *

Erik crouched low as another flight of arrows sped overhead. The instant they had passed, his own
archers rose and fired back. The attack had picked up intensity all afternoon, and now he feared he was about to lose domination of the ridge.

Suddenly enemy soldiers were atop the ridge and he was again facing hand-to-hand combat. The determination of his men was unmatched, but their endurance was flagging.

No word had reached him from the north since he had sent Jadow and Harper to reinforce the northern flank, and the men he had sent were now critically needed here. Erik worried that he might have compromised both positions in an attempt to protect them.

The press of battle took his mind off worries for a moment, as he felt the line around him sag, as more and more of the enemy appeared and fewer and fewer defenders stood next to him. Erik let his sword swing like a scythe, cutting down attackers like wheat. He heard men scream, grunt, and curse on all sides, and focused upon the moment. The battle was now in that place he knew where no amount of coordination was possible; the battle would be decided by the strength of the men who fought it. If the defenders had more resolve, they would win.

Erik saw two enemies before him, and in that instant he felt in his soul that the battle was lost. He struck down the first man, shattering his shield with a tremendous blow, but barely dodged a thrust by the second.

Then a third man and a fourth came at him, and in that moment, Erik knew he was going to die. He slashed out and took the second man in the face, cutting his cheek to the bone, which shattered as the blade dug in. He pulled back his sword and tossed
the man as a cat tosses a mouse, sending him into the two men who came after.

Erik knew it was just a matter of moments, and he was determined to take as many of the enemy with him as possible before he was overwhelmed.

He struck out against one man, and took a sliding blow to the ribs that caused him to turn suddenly, opening himself up to another sword thrust. A blade struck his left arm, glancing off the leather of his gauntlet to leave a long angry red cut on his forearm.

Erik took a glancing blow to the side of the head, and his knees weakened. He couldn’t stand upright, and as he tried to step back, his heel slipped, saving his life. Erik fell back, struck rock and dirt, and rolled head over heels a dozen yards. He came to rest on his back, staring up over his boots at five enemy soldiers rushing down the hill to end his existence.

As the first man reached Erik, his sword held high overhead to deliver a killing blow, a goosefeather shaft appeared in the man’s neck. He seemed to take a step, go to one knee, then fall facedown at Erik’s feet.

Erik scrambled back as the other four men turned, looking to their left, Erik’s right, and another arrow lifted an attacker off his feet, propelling him backward. Only a longbow could unleash that much power. Erik looked and saw a half-dozen men in leather standing a dozen paces down the trail, firing at the attackers while children ran forward.

Erik blinked. They weren’t children but dwarves, dressed in armor and carrying war hammers and axes. Shouting their war cries, they were charging into the invaders, cutting them down.

Strong hands reached under Erik’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “How are you, man?” asked a
familiar voice, and Erik turned to see the smiling face of Jadow Shati.

“Better,” said Erik. “Much better.”

Sergeant Harper said, “We were being handed our heads, sir, when suddenly the lads who were trying to kill us got very concerned about their own rears.” He grinned, ignoring the dried blood that spattered his face. “The dwarves and elves were coming down the ridge, doing a grand job of slaughter as they went.”

As if a wind blew away a cloud of smoke, the dwarves and elves cleared the ridge before Erik’s eyes. A dwarf wearing a large gold torque, and carrying a hammer of obvious power, approached and asked, “You the officer here?”

Erik nodded. “Sir?”

The dwarf smiled. He set down his hammer, drew himself up to his full height, slightly under five feet, and slapped his chest with his balled fist. “I hight Dolgan, King of the Dwarves of the West, chief of village Caldara, and Warleader of the Grey Towers dwarven people!” Then he smiled and said, “It looks as if you could use some help.”

Erik grinned. “With thanks.”

An elf approached and said, “I’m Galain. Tomas asked us to come through the ridge line from above Hawk’s Hollow, making sure that uninvited guests weren’t hanging about.”

Erik smiled. “Your arrival was most timely.”

“Well,” said Dolgan. “Better late than never, and it’s still a bonny fight. My lads will be pleased to thump a few heads.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Tomas has been forthright with what is at stake, and I pledge we will keep these murderers on the west side of the ridge.”

Erik said, “Thank you.”

Jadow said, “You’ve got a few wounds here.”

Erik sat on a rock and Jadow began field dressings.

More of his men came down the ridge from the north, and Harper reported, “We’re rolling them south, sir.”

“Good,” said Erik. “Keep the pressure on. If we can collapse them down around Darkmoor, we can win this fight.”

Erik waited until his bandages were finished, then stood and returned to his observation point, a large rock that gave him a good view of the immediate battlefield.

Below the ridge line, the enemy was dug in behind some sheltering rocks. The elven bowmen had turned the twenty yards of open space above them into a killing ground, and none ventured from behind the rocks.

Erik looked around, saw a boy holding his horse, and signaled for him to be brought over. He told Jadow, “Send a patrol up the line and make sure they’re not trying to climb back up there. I’m riding to Darkmoor to inform Patrick of the dwarves’ and elves’ arrival.”

As he mounted his horse, he said, “King Dolgan—”

“Just Dolgan will do,” interrupted Dolgan. “No need for titles.”

“Dolgan, how many men are with you?”

“Three hundred dwarves and two hundred elves. Enough for a right grand fight.”

Erik smiled. “Fine.” To Harper, Erik said, “Hold here until I return.”

Harper said, “Right, sir!”

Erik rode south, and as he did he saw that the assault on the enemy’s northern flank by the elves and dwarves had sent ripples down the line, stalling the assault. A stable line was established, and while the exchange of arrows was constant, the fighting was now sporadic.

He reached Darkmoor in an hour’s time, and only a reinforced barricade from the northern gate to the foothills north of the city kept the route open. The enemy had burned every building in the foulburg to the west, and the buildings to the north were abandoned.

Erik rode with an escort he had picked up at the outer limit of the city’s defense, men wearing the tabard of Darkmoor. The big northern gate was barred, while the small sally port cut within the gate was left open. Erik rode through, and on to the castle.

He went straight to the Prince’s conference chamber, and reported. After he told Patrick of the arrival of the dwarves and elves, the Prince said, “Now it makes sense. We’ve been facing steady pressure all day.” He pointed to a map. “While you’ve freed up the northern flank, we’ve had reports from the south that the same withdrawal along the ridge is taking place—”

Erik said, “The dwarves from Dorgin.”

“We can assume that much,” said the Prince, ignoring the breach of protocol. “That’s putting inordinate pressure on the center.” He stuck a finger on the city of Darkmoor. “We have mounting attacks here, and we are close to losing the outer wall.”

Erik looked around the room. He was the only
other officer present, the rest of the room being staffed by runners and scribes. Erik volunteered, “The Army of the East?”

Patrick said, “I sent word to bring up the bulk of the army, but they won’t be here until tomorrow morning.” He pointed to another map, one of the city. “Here we have three potential weaknesses.” He outlined the overall defense of the city and the areas of concern. Erik calculated. “Let me bring down a squad from the northern flank, and plug this breach here.” He pointed to the center of the three potential breaches. “If we plug that, we can move to either flank as needed.”

“Can you get a squad down here in time?”

Erik motioned to a runner. “With Your Highness’s permission?”

Prince Patrick nodded.

Erik said to the runner, “Head north, on the fastest horse you can find, and tell Sergeant Jadow Shati to come here with as many mother-murderers as Harper can spare. He’ll know what I mean.”

The runner glanced at the Prince, who nodded, and the messenger ran from the room. Patrick said, “Your wounds?”

Erik looked at his bandaged lower left arm and ribs and said, “I got sloppy. I’m fine.”

Patrick smiled. “You don’t look fine, Captain, but I’ll take your word for it.”