Demon Blade

by Mark A. Garland

  "There may be," Madia said, smiling coyly. "For a fair price, and a promise of stories from your travels."

  "Good enough," Frost said, then he looked about, considering other nearby booths. "For now, I wish to do a bit more browsing. Can you go and tell the innkeeper?"

  "I'll tell him when we get there. I would like to browse along with you, if you don't mind."

  She didn't really make it a question. Frost found her with one discerning eye. "I see. I am being held captive."

  "Something like that."

  "Very well," Frost said, hiking a large leather pouch off the ground and over his shoulder, turning to go on. "You can tell me what other places passing wizards have told you of, so that I do not bore you with old news."

  "Bore me," Madia said, and started after him. "Please."

  She glanced at the youngest Subartan as they walked. He looked away as she did. No, she thought again, it couldn't be. . . .

  They paused three booths away and Frost, setting his pouch back down, began sniffing at the table's many jars, asking the spice merchant about the contents of some, in particular a cluster of painted white pots. Madia noticed the little troll-like man again, at first standing almost beside her, then moving around between herself and Frost, eyes twitching in his head. A sudden commotion stole her attention.

  She looked behind her to find a half dozen soldiers coming toward them at a jog. She didn't recognize any of them, but that didn't mean they might not recognize her. Mercenaries, certainly, as many in Lord Ferris' new army seemed to be, at least the men that had passed through Kern. Still, that didn't mean they hadn't been informed of her presence here by someone who knew her—possibly by the men with Hoke, in fact.

  It was too late to go anywhere. She stood tense but still, casting about for possible escape routes.

  "Stop, thief!" one of the soldiers began yelling, the sergeant. Madia realized they were not looking at her but past her. She turned and saw the little man glancing hastily over his shoulder, his body dancing erratically in place. The soldiers pushed Madia out of the way, then went around Frost's much larger bulk, eyeing the Subartans as they passed. They grabbed the little man by the arm and held him. Then a merchant arrived just behind them, the armorer, red faced and pointing a finger accusingly—at the little man, and at Frost as well.

  "It's one of them!" he shouted, panting through gritted teeth. "Search them both!"

  The Subartans came quickly forward, forming a shallow triangle with the large male Subartan directly in front of Frost, the young one to the right, the woman left, a defensive posture, Madia noted. Frost stood back against the spice booth, barely managing a thin smile.

  "I am sure you'll want to search this other fellow first," Frost said. "He likely has what you seek."

  "Dead men are easily searched," the sergeant snarled, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword. He seemed to size the situation up, then nodded toward their short, shaking prisoner. Two of the men searched him perfunctorily but found nothing.

  "Now, you, step away from the booth," the sergeant asked of Frost. The Subartans closed ranks. All six soldiers drew their swords.

  "You'll join the dead, then," the sergeant said, "but to what end? What have you to hide?"

  "Nothing," Frost said. "But I will not be searched, nor will I let you plunder my things." He bent down and picked up his sack. The cinquedea dagger lay on the ground just behind it.

  "Get him!" the sergeant shouted. The soldiers moved in quickly. The Subartans suddenly exploded forward. Madia jumped back, trying to get out of the way. She glanced at Frost, who had put his things back down and closed his eyes, apparently lost in concentration, and apparently certain he had little to fear. She turned to the Subartans again and watched them cut three of the soldiers to pieces almost immediately, leaving torn and bloodied bodies, mortal wounds all. They parried with the rest, but already another group of soldiers, nine or ten in all, was approaching from the east end of the square. They joined in the fight and drove the Subartans back.

  Madia fell back again as well. Four more men lay on the ground by the time she came to rest. Then the bearded young Subartan lurched to one side. He dropped low and came up again, one blade caught in the ribs of a soldier who had been trying to get around behind him. Three of the other men saw their chance and lunged.

  The Subartan tore his weapon free and struck as the first sword slashed his leg. He cut off the attacker's hand with a single pass, but another blade had already found his left side exposed. He feinted to his right and pulled himself free. Blood ran from both his wounds as he repositioned himself, crouched nearly on his knees, parrying more blows from the two remaining soldiers. They moved too quickly, forcing their way closer, trying to finish their downed opponent from two sides. Madia took her long sword in her hand and ran into the fray.

  She cut the nearest soldier down, striking through one side of his back, then pulling away. She moved forward again and saw the third man turn. Finding his eyes with hers, she looked high, then swung low, a simple deceptive move Hoke had taught her. An effective move, she found, as the soldier screamed and collapsed on his half-severed leg. She swung again unopposed.

  When she looked around, she found the other two Subartans still engaged, standing on the bodies of dead men now as they fought the last five able soldiers. She took the man nearest to her. He noticed her approach and turned to face her, his look one of mild surprise. Madia had seen such looks before, the first reaction of a man finding himself opposed by a young girl. Then he swung almost absently, raking the air with his sword, apparently intending a quick, easy solution to the problem. She used his moment of misjudgment to dodge and thrust, and found a solid target. She withdrew and moved toward the next man.

  There were only three soldiers left now, but even as she took stock of them, she could see that they were changing, their bodies beginning to glow with a satiny white corona. Their skin began to wrinkle as their eyes glazed over, their postures shrank slightly and arched forward, their hair turned a pure white, then fell to their shoulders. Rosivok and Sharryl stood back, watching as the three men dropped their swords and lowered themselves voluntarily to the ground, breath heaving in and out of their chests, fear and exhaustion on their faces. Their arms lay at their sides as if there remained no strength to lift them anymore.

  Madia looked at Frost, whose eyes were open again. The young Subartan lay a few feet from him, unmoving.

  She started toward him, but Frost was there first, bending and putting his hands on the young man's head, much as he had done to her. In a moment he stood again and turned to the remaining two Subartans. He shook his head slowly, side to side.

  Madia looked at the other two, saw them each nod, no apparent emotion on their faces, though their eyes barely moved from the still body. Frost had lost the smirk Madia had believed was engraved on his features. In its place was a languid, empty look, an apology of sorts, Madia thought, meant for the others.

  "We should get off the streets," the male Subartan said after a moment. "Before more of them come." He waved his blades at the bodies strewn all around them.

  Madia looked across the square. There were but two other men about in any form of armor, but their surcoats bore the crest of Jasnok; no one was moving in their direction.

  "I think we've killed every soldier in Kern," she said.

  "There will be more," Frost said, turning to her, a subtle, yet surely unfavorable look.

  "Yes, but perhaps not for a day or two," Madia replied. "I will have your friend's body taken from the square."

  "You were a fine warrior, Jaffic," the male Subartan said, and Madia knew that it was true: Jaffic had been her cousin's name, Jaffic Andarys, Duke of Kamrit. He had changed so much in the years since he had left the castle, but behind the tanned and hardened skin, the remarkably improved body, the thick beard and long hair, behind all that, she could see it was him. They had never been close, and it had been so long, but the loss still gripped her now, a solid thin
g that lay in her belly and squeezed at her chest.

  Jaffic had finally come home.

  The street was growing busy now, people beginning to crowd in again, gawking, talking among themselves. Madia looked at their faces, found them looking back at hers. And it occurred to her just how public this whole unfortunate event had been.

  "You must think of yourselves," she said, swallowing dryly. "You'll still need a room for tonight. You must come with me."

  She went a few steps, then turned, waiting, looking sternly at Frost. In a moment he nodded. He picked up his bag again, then the dagger beside it. He handed the dagger to the armorer, scowling deeply. The little man who had taken it was nowhere in sight.

  "I would sell this quickly," Frost told the merchant. He waved a hand at the lifeless soldiers. "As you can see, it is very bad luck!"

  * * *

  Madia stepped through the door and found Hoke seated at a table just inside, still joined by the two knights he had met in the square. The three of them looked up, staring at Madia as she stared back. They eyed Hoke briefly, then stood and bowed at the waist. "Princess," the one on the left, the older of the two, said. "We are at your service."

  "It is all right," Hoke said. He looked at Madia's three companions, then glanced quickly around. There were fewer than a dozen other patrons in the room, a mix of townspeople and travelers, but some were beginning to take notice. "Come," he said. He got up, indicating a table near the back wall. "We'll talk over there."

  As they made their way to the table Madia noticed Frost looking at her as if she had stolen his purse. She let it wait until they wre in the back of the room, then Hoke asked loudly, "Who are they?"

  "A wizard from beyond the Spartooth mountains, and what remains of his guard. His name is Frost."

  "My Subartans," Frost said. "Rosivok and Sharryl."

  "One of them was killed," Madia said. "There was a fight. I—I became involved."

  "Of course," Hoke remarked, frowning at her.

  "There is more," she said. "The Subartan who died was someone I knew, and you as well, I think. Jaffic Andarys, my cousin."

  "The long lost nephew?" Hoke asked her, obviously surprised, though not apparently devastated.

  "The same."

  "I knew him," Hoke went on. "A wild boy, when I saw him last, though he played your father like a lute when he desired. No more comfortable than you were with the prospect of royal responsibility. He left without blessings, to find adventure, though it seems he may have found too much. And left Ariman with one less heir, as well." He looked straight at Madia with this last remark, a look of accusation.

  "I had no idea," Frost remarked. "He came to me when news of my need for a third Subartan reached him. And he was working out very well. It seems his loss is a loss to many."

  "Who's employ are you under?" Hoke asked Frost.

  "No one's," Frost replied. But he was still looking at Madia, another look that seemed to hold an air of accusation as Madia studied it. And then it made sense to her. But she hadn't lied to him, simply allowed him to assume she was named after the princess, and wisely, she thought. There had been no need for him to know the truth, and no reason for her to trust him or his Subartans in the least. And her own cousin had kept a truth from her, after all. Frost could have been in league with the Lord Ferris, or worse—though, if he was, the bodies outside would likely strain their relationship.

  She looked about and noticed no one was talking.

  "Perhaps we should start over," Frost advised.

  They pulled seven chairs about and sat down, and Hoke finished the introductions, including the two knights, Sirs Olan and Delyav, then Madia told the others what had happened outside. Silence fell once more.

  "I have heard of your death," Frost told Madia, after a moment. "You fight well for a ghost."

  "And I have heard of you," Hoke said to Frost. "They say a man can never know whether to trust you or fear you."

  "What more can I ask?" Frost said, chuckling. "Other than to hope he might smile while he opens his purse!"

  Hoke frowned. "I see."

  "Your troubles outside were most unfortunate," Delyav said, looking at his hands. "Olan and I may have to explain why we were not killed along with those others."

  "You knew nothing of it," Hoke replied. "You were here with me!"

  "Drinking at an inn might not be reason enough. We should be about arresting all of you right now."

  "Unless of course Lord Ferris never learns we were here," Olan said. "Though it is unlikely."

  "There are few in Kern, or elsewhere in Ariman, who feel a bond with Andarys' apparent successor," Hoke replied. "Word will be slow to travel, and details can be missed, at my urging."

  "And then what of you two?" Madia asked, still watching the two soldiers.

  "They knew Kelren well," Hoke said. "Olan fought at my side many times, and Delyav a few as well. Unlike that lot rotting outside, they can be trusted. They believe, as I do, that the king's death, like your own, was planned, and that the grand chamberlain cannot be trusted. They have news of Kamrit, and I think you should hear it."

  "First, Frost and his friends need a room," Madia told Hoke. "And the body of Jaffic needs to be taken care of. Quickly. Perhaps we could see to it."

  "Of course," Hoke said.

  "Thank you," Rosivok said in a low voice. Hoke gave him quiet acknowledgment. Then he excused himself, rose and went to the other side of the room where a boy was bent over an empty table, scraping at dried food with a dull knife. He spoke to the boy, who then nodded and disappeared out the door.

  "I am traveling to Neleva," Frost said as Hoke rejoined them. "But of course I must pass through Kamrit. I too would like to hear what these men have to say."

  "Lord Ferris is consolidating his control," Delyav began. "He will proclaim himself king before long; no one doubts this. All Ariman believes you are dead, and they have all but forgotten poor Jaffic."

  "Lord Ferris is not the man your father was," Olan said. "He is strange, especially lately, and troubling to be around. He seems taken with himself and easily agitated. He metes out justice without mercy, with no compassion for any man, an insult to your grandfather's legacy, and your father's. He finds favor only with the rich merchants who frequent his chambers, men eager to help him finance his new army in return for trading preferences in the new order Lord Ferris seeks to forge."

  "And what order is that?" Madia asked.

  "Most of us, those still loyal to your father's ideals, believe he intends to expand Ariman's control over the entire region, from the Ikaydin Plateau to Glister, by force if necessary," Olan answered. "An army such as the one he is building can only be used for conquest. He may have plans for Ikaydin, too."

  "He is too ambitious," Delyav said. "He seems to have no conscience for the hardships his tolls and taxes have already caused."

  "No one protests?" Frost asked. "Are there no land barons willing to see Andarys' vision through, no men of justice?"

  "There were," Olan replied, "but some of those most opposed to Ferris' conduct have been accused of crimes and put in prison, or blocked from trade with the merchant cartel that Ferris has assembled. It has all happened so quickly!"

  "And two of Andarys' greatest compatriots have recently been attacked by bandits on the road and killed," Delyav added. "Much like Madia was—or nearly so," he corrected. "Both men traveled on good mounts and with good men, no easy target for peasant robbers on foot. Rumors and speculation abound. I have even heard tell a squad of Bouren troops, led by Prince Jaran himself, was seen near abouts after both attacks, and that he is behind them."

  "This too has helped Lord Ferris," Olan said, "who insists Lord Ivran and the other northern vassals are plotting against Ariman, and plan to—"

  "Nonsense!" Frost snapped. "I've come from Lencia just three days past. I know Lord Jurdef Ivran, and his son, and knew Jurdef's father before him. Trust that they are as concerned as you over goings-on in Ariman. They have done nothi
ng to foster these rumors, and do not understand them. But I can tell you they don't trust Lord Ferris any more than you."

  "In that you are wrong!" Madia argued. "It was Bouren troops that tried to kill me. The same lot, no doubt, and Prince Jaran with them. I don't know why, but I know what I saw."

  "Jurdef Ivran claims no plots exist, and no troops have been sent, and I believe him," Frost said, then he looked around the table. "Although, troops from Kamrit have been seen riding the western edge of Golemesk Swamp inside Bouren."

  "Lord Ferris sends troops to Golemesk to search for the Demon Blade," Olan said. "There are many new rumors that it now rests there."

  "There are always many rumors!" Frost said, obviously irritated by the subject. He paused, rested his hands on the table in front of him, and linked his fingers. "And even if they are true," he added, more calmly, "the Blade is of little use to any who do not know its secrets, and none do; probably not even the one entrusted to keep it. It has been too long, and the secrets were kept too well, I think."

  "I would worry less about the Blade and more about Lord Ferris. The fellow intrigues me. He creates trouble and events out of nothing with an almost magical talent. A jongleur of the fates. Has he a wizard in his circle?"

  Olan and Delyav looked at each other, then shrugged. "No," Olan said. "King Andarys had only a few magicians, entertainers for the most part, but Ferris sent them away."

  "Indeed?" Frost said, fingers beginning to rub and curl.

  "Indeed what?" Madia asked.

  "Ferris has enjoyed such a remarkable fortune of events, yet he has had no wizard or mage of any sort to help ensure it."

  "That troubles you?" Hoke asked. "Not everything that happens owes tribute to your trade."

  Frost smiled at him, remarkably serene. "Of course," he said. "But you miss my point. I dislike puzzles that seem so complete, yet have so many pieces left over."

  "There is now a mage's guild in Kamrit," Delyav said. "Dark mages, they say. And those who want to be such. Dark magic and secret ways. Witches, that's a better name. None of them seem to have any real talents, mind you, but every soul in the city has a story to tell of them."