Rage of a Demon King (62 page)

She grimaced. “The Lifestone. I’m young again, and I’m ready to be a mother.” She grabbed the front of his robe and pulled him toward her. Kissing him, she said, “Unless you’d rather I find someone else?”

“No!” he said. “It’s just . . .”

“I know,” she said softly. “But I regret not having children the first time around, and now I have another chance.” Her voice dropped and she said, “Beloved, I know you are suffering over the death of your children, and you’ve spoken about the pain of outliving them, but this time it will be different, I promise you.”

Looking in her eyes, he said, “I have no doubt.”

“Good,” she said, leading him down the stairs to the quarters Manfred had set aside for them. “Let’s go make a baby.”

Pug laughed.

Roo, Nathan, and the others had accompanied Erik to the keep when Rosalyn, Milo, and Gerd had been summoned. They entered, Roo with his usual bravado, the others more timidly. None but Roo had ever been inside a great lord’s audience hall before, even one somewhat worse for the wear of recent battle.

Mathilda moved slowly to stand before Rosalyn, who held the little boy on her hip. Gerd’s attention was drawn by a necklace the Baroness wore, and he reached for it. Rosalyn gently held his hand and Mathilda said, “No, let him play with it.”

“He’s teething,” the young woman said softly. Randolph, her husband, put a reassuring hand on Rosalyn’s shoulder.

Mathilda’s eyes began to brim with tears and she said, “He looks so much like his father.”

Rosalyn blushed and said, “He’s a good baby.”

Mathilda turned to Erik. “What do you suggest?” Her manner was again controlled and commanding.

Erik said, “I suggest nothing. Stefan was Baron when he fathered Gerd.” He saw Rosalyn lower her eyes at the reminder of the rape, and Randolph’s hand tightened ever so slightly, in reassurance. “It’s clear to me, Gerd is Baron of Darkmoor.” Then Erik’s tone became steel. “And Patrick will name
me
Baronial Regent.” The woman’s eyes widened, as Erik could almost read her thoughts: it was a ploy for Erik to seize control of the Barony. But before she could speak, Erik said, “But I have duties in the West. So I must delegate someone else to conduct the business of the duchy.” He crossed to stand before his nemesis. “You govern here, milady. Let Rosalyn and her husband live here or in the city as they choose, and see the boy daily. But you make him the next Baron of Darkmoor.” Then he lowered his voice even more. “But do a better job than you did with Stefan, or I will be back.” The woman’s face was a mask. “Manfred
was a good enough man. Despite your disagreements with him, he could have been a good teacher for the boy. Treat Gerd as you should have treated your sons, and you and I will have no issue. But should any harm come to him, I will be back. Is that clear?”

Mathilda looked past Erik and saw the baby smile. She stepped toward him, saying, “Let me hold him.”

Rosalyn handed Gerd to the old woman. Then she said, “Gerd, this is your grandmother.”

Erik left the hall and Roo followed after. Outside, Roo said, “Is this going to work?”

Erik said, “It better.” Then he turned to his friend and said, “For the next year or so you’re going to be around here like flies on dung, so if anything happens that I should know about, get word to me.”

Roo grinned. “And where are you going to be?”

Erik smiled and shook his head. “Recapturing a Kingdom, it seems.”

The herald blew a trumpet and Patrick said, “Well, let’s go talk.”

Word had arrived that morning that a large force of heavy cavalry was moving up from the south, slogging along the roads from the west of Dorgin, as a heavy rain had struck the day before.

Scouts reported that the banner of Kesh flew over the force that made its way toward Darkmoor. Now they stood outside the gate, as the evening sun set, and Patrick was riding with Erik, Owen, Pug, and Arutha to see what a Keshian army was doing this far north.

“Maybe they came to help,” suggested Nakor as he walked alongside Pug’s horse.

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Pug.

They reached the Keshians, and one of Darkmoor’s men, acting as herald, said, “Who comes before Krondor’s Prince?”

The Keshian herald said, “Highness, my lords, I have the honor to present his most esteemed lord General Beshan Solan.”

“General,” said Prince Patrick. “May we inquire as to your presence in our Kingdom? Are you perhaps lost?”

“Highness,” said the General. “Let us be brief. It is wet, and I would like to return to my camp. We
have closely watched this invasion, as you have provided us with remarkably candid intelligence regarding the enemy, their disposition, and intent.

“We did, however, incur losses as they attempted to expand into territory occupied by our forces,” the leather-faced old soldier said. “So my master, His Most Imperial Majesty, has decided that the former boundaries between Great Kesh and your Kingdom are no longer agreeable to us.”

Patrick looked ready to explode. “You dare ride into my own Principality and inform me the Empire is trying to annex territories beyond those agreed to?”

“In a word: yes.”

“Well, General, look around. It may come to your attention that the bulk of the Armies of the East are currently here in Darkmoor. Come spring, I can order them southward just as easily as westward. I am certain I can convince my father that we can wait a year to reclaim the Western Realm while we sort out some Keshian adventurers.”

The General seemed unimpressed. “Highness, with all due respect, your Western Armies are scattered and decimated, your Eastern Armies cannot stay here long, else you’ll face difficulties on your eastern borders. You have no significant navy left of which to speak. In short, while you could most certainly create some difficulties for Great Kesh for a short while, in the long run, to what advantage?” He took out a rolled-up parchment, and said, “Here are the terms of a treaty my Imperial Master sends to your father.”

Patrick nodded and a soldier took the scroll from the Keshian General. Patrick nodded to Arutha, who
took it, opened it, and read it. “Damn!” he said after a moment.

“My Lord?” said Patrick.

“They want it all. We keep everything from where we sit to the East. Kesh claims all lands between the Great Star Lake and the Teeth of the World west of the Calastius Mountains.”

“Kesh’s historical boundaries, as you know,” said the General, “before the unfortunate war with the rebellious Confederacy to the south forced us to abandon our hereditary lands.”

“Hereditary lands!” said Patrick. “Not in the worst fever dream of your most deluded monarch, General.”

Arutha said, “What of Queg and the Free Cities of Natal?”

The General said, “Kesh will deal with her recalcitrant children in time.”

Patrick said, “If you will be so kind as to wait, my lord, I will pen a reply to your Imperial Master. And you can tell Digaai for me that the formal declaration of war from my father will arrive shortly.”

Nakor said, “Highness?”

“What!” snapped Patrick, obviously close to a rage.

“I think I can help.”

Pug said, “What do you have in mind?”

“Watch!” He took out the Tsurani transport sphere and vanished.

“What is that odd little man up to?” asked the Prince.

Pug said, “I don’t know, but he usually manages to come up with unexpected results. I think we can afford to wait a little while.”

Patrick said, “Very well.”

A few minutes later, Nakor was back. “Look to the south,” he said.

The entire company of officers from both sides did as Nakor bade, and to the south a vast column of ruby light pierced the sky.

“What is that?” asked the Keshian General.

“That is Stardock,” said Pug.

“Stardock!” said the General. “That’s impossible! Stardock is hundreds of miles from here.”

“Nevertheless,” said Pug, “that light is coming from Stardock.”

Nakor said, “It’s a demonstration of power. It’s to let you know there are seven hundred very angry magicians down there who don’t like the way you honor treaties.”

“Seven hundred?” said Pug. “I thought there were four hundred.”

Nakor grinned. “We invited some of your old Tsurani friends to come visit.”

Pug rolled his eyes and said, “Three hundred Black Robes?”

“Well, maybe a few less.”

The General said, “Seven hundred magicians?”

“Angry magicians,” said Erik.

“And one very angry Prince, with the Armies of the East camped ten miles from here!” added Patrick. “Come spring, you can expect a two-front war, General. And from the look of that little demonstration, you don’t even want to consider what that means for the Empire.”

The Keshian General looked around and at last said, “What do you propose, Highness?”

Patrick said, “We’ll make it simple. You return to the
old
border, and come spring my father’s diplomats
and your Emperor’s can start renegotiating the boundary between our two realms all over again.”

“The old boundary!”

“Yes,” said Patrick. “We take back Shamata!” His yell caused his horse to turn completely around. “You think on this as you ride south, and you’d better be moving that way at dawn, else I’ll turn my army south and start marching that way myself, rain or no rain! Do you understand?”

The General glanced over his shoulder and saw the red light in the sky. “I understand, Highness.”

“Good!”

Patrick turned his horse and rode off, Erik and Greylock at his side.

Pug waited as the Keshians returned the way they had come, and Patrick rode off. When only the two of them remained in the street, Pug on his horse and Nakor at his side, Pug asked, “Nakor, what did you promise Chalmes and the others to get them to pull that stunt?”

Nakor smiled. “I gave them Stardock.”

“You what?” asked Pug.

Nakor said, “Well, you told me to think of something.”

Pug asked softly, “You gave away my duchy?”

“I had to. Independence from both the Kingdom and Kesh was the only thing I could think of that they’d fight for. And the Tsurani like having a neutral way into Midkemia, too. Which is why they helped.

“Either way, though, you lose Stardock, to the magicians or to the Empire. This way is better, I think.”

“But you gave away a duchy! What am I going to tell the King?”

Nakor shrugged. “You’ll think of something.” He grinned.

Consequences

Fadawah frowned.

He looked at the maps his aides had provided and said, “What is the situation here, Kahil?”

“It is the city called Ylith,” said the captain who had been charged with gathering intelligence. “It is a major seaport and the only sea entrance into the province of Yabon. It is relatively untouched, and most of its garrison was already sent south to defend Darkmoor. There is only a small force there as well as a few ships. There is another garrison in Zūn, as well as in Loriél and Yabon.” He indicated the different locations on the map. “However, if we can seize and hold Ylith until spring, those garrisons should be easy to destroy.”

Outside, his regrouped army was settling in around the town of Questor’s View. They had overrun the town in under a day’s fighting, as it had been defended by less than one company of regular soldiers and a half company of militia.

Fadawah nodded. “Good. We will take Ylith.”

Twenty thousand men had made their way up the coast, after Fadawah had judged the situation hopeless at Darkmoor. As soon as he had seen the disposition of the men when he had come out from under the demon’s trance he knew that even if they took Darkmoor, they would possess a useless mountain of stone and dead bodies.

The reports that had followed him along his retreat, about the sudden snows and the arrival of another army from the east, only made him all the more certain they had been on a fool’s errand, attempting to drive across the mountains, to seize a city reported to be abandoned. He had briefly wondered at the sanity of the demon, but given what had happened since, he said a prayer each night to Kalkin, thanking the god of gamblers for blessing him. How he had survived when so many others had been destroyed by the Emerald Queen or the demon was beyond him.

But now he had more immediate needs. His army was a long way from home and hungry. The good news was that as he traveled north the lands were more abundant, and his men were starting to eat well again. He said to Kahil, “Word is to be sent south that any of those who managed to get away from Darkmoor could come to Ylith, to winter there.”

“Very well, General,” said the intelligence officer, who saluted and left the tent.

Fadawah also knew the Saaur were out there somewhere, and he was concerned. If he could speak to Jatuk he might convince the leader of the lizard people that he was also a dupe, a tool used and almost discarded, but if he failed that, the angry
lizard would seek someone upon whom to vent his rage. As the highest remaining officer of the Emerald Queen’s army, Fadawah was a logical choice.

Fadawah sat back on the small stool in his tent. He had been cast upon a distant shore by a capricious fate, but it was his nature to turn an advantage wherever he might. That was why he had become the most successful general in Novindus, rising from mercenary captain in the Eastlands, to Military Overlord of the Emerald Queen.

His senior captain, Nordan, said, “What will we do once we’ve taken this Ylith, General?”

Fadawah said, “We’ve paid in blood for other people’s greed and ambition, my old friend.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Now we serve our own.” He smiled at his old companion. His thin face looked especially sinister in the faint light from the small lantern that hung from the tent pole. “How would you like to be General of our armies?”

Nordan said, “But if I become General, what about you?”

Fadawah said, “I become King.”

His finger outlined the coast between Krondor and Ylith.

“The Kingdom’s Western Capital is in ruins, and no law exists between it and Ylith.” He considered his options.

“Yes, King of the Bitter Sea. How does that sound?”

Nordan bowed. “It sounds . . . appropriate. Your Majesty.”

Fadawah laughed as the cool fall wind blew outside the tent.