Demon Blade

by Mark A. Garland

  "Lord Ferris is known to take council from them," Olan added. "And their members have been seen to visit his chambers as the merchants do."

  "Perhaps they aid him with black magic," Hoke advised.

  "I find this interesting as well," Frost said. "Another extra piece of the puzzle, you see, and one that does not bode well for the future of Ariman, not as you men must envision it."

  "Nor I," Madia said.

  "If the Demon Blade was found," Delyav offered, "and Ferris and his mages should actually acquire it and learn its secrets, there might be no way of opposing them."

  "He would need more than a few witches to make use of such a tool," Frost declared. "Worry not."

  "I want to go back, and soon," Madia said, abruptly leaning forward, gathering everyone's attention. "To take Ariman back, to rebuild the prosperity my grandfather won and my father preserved. Jaffic is gone. I am all that remains. I owe this to my father, to my cousin, to myself. And I want what is mine."

  She paused, looking solely at Hoke. He was eyeing her cautiously, though no longer as if she were a child just learning to walk, the way he had looked at her when she had spoken of this in times past. She leaned on the strength that a winter spent with Hoke and Keara had given her, and an autumn spent with peasants, and time spent with just herself. She almost didn't know the girl that had been exiled from Kamrit those months ago; the girl who let everyone down—including herself—let her father suffer and die full of guilt and doubt and pain at the hands of assassins, lacking the company of his only child. Lacking the knowledge that she loved him. Though this last was something she hadn't realized until it was much too late.

  She couldn't change what she had done, but she could do justice to her father's memory, to herself, to Jaffic and the rest of Ariman, and to the lands Lord Ferris sought to exploit. She could do what must be done. . . .

  "Still," Hoke cautioned her, "you cannot go alone."

  "Hoke is right," Madia said, addressing the two knights.

  "But men such as you can help me find a way to take control of Ariman back from Ferris and his merchants and his dark mages. You know his allies, and those who oppose him."

  Olan and Delyav were looking at each other again, deep concern on their faces.

  "What is wrong?" Madia asked.

  The two soldiers looked expectantly at Hoke, who only shrugged.

  "Well, of course," Olan began, shuffling his feet under the table, "most everyone thinks you are dead. They may not believe you are indeed Madia. And those who do . . . "

  Delyav cleared his throat. "You must understand that you have . . . that is, that you are remembered . . . what I mean is, in the past, the name Madia has been . . ."

  "He means to say you were a trollop, a coward, a fool, and an embarrassment to the crown, and the only thing you may command in Kamrit is sour humor," Hoke finished for them.

  "Yet the woman I saw fight outside was not one to laugh at," Frost said, sitting back in his chair. "And no coward of any sort."

  "She has the blood in her," Rosivok said. "Watch her. Only a fool would think otherwise."

  Madia sat looking at Frost and the Subartans, warming in the glow of their unexpected praise; in truth, even the most lavish compliments of young courting nobles did not compare.

  "Hoke speaks only the truth," she said. "But I am learning. And I will learn even more. I wish to change what has happened, to atone, but I must start with you, Olan, and you, Delyav. I must ask for your help as well," she told Frost. "I have seen your magic, and I've seen these Subartans fight."

  Frost began to chuckle. "I am inclined toward straightforward and profitable tasks, dear girl. I am not much interested in political troubles, nor in lending my Subartans to such, though you are welcome to my advice."

  "Ariman is quite rich," Madia said. "As are the lands that stand to profit from a return to a more gentle and just rule. You would be paid very well for your troubles."

  "If you are successful," Frost qualified.

  Madia only looked at him.

  "Go more slowly," Hoke suggested, leaning toward Madia with a knowing smile. "You can't ask men to forgive your past and risk their lives all at your sudden whim."

  "But Frost and his Subartans are already wanted men," Madia said, addressing them. "There were many witnesses to what just happened outside, freemen and merchants from all over the province. Word of what has happened will spread no matter what Hoke or anyone else does. And I will doubtless be wanted once it is learned that I am still alive. We might act to help each other!"

  "A valid point," Frost said, nodding to her. "I dislike being unwelcome in large countries. A nuisance, truly."

  Madia smiled. "You would always be welcome in my country."

  "I am sure. Still, I will have to think it over. You intrigue me, but there is much to consider. Whatever his past, I have lost one of my Subartans, a man not easily replaced. This trip has already proven quite expensive. And taxing. You mentioned a room?"

  Madia nodded slowly, letting it go; the only tactic she could follow for now. "A room. Of course, later we must talk more of this."

  "Oh, of course," Frost replied, adding a tenuous grin. Madia turned to find Hoke watching her, shaking his head, a much larger grin on his face.

  "What is it?" Madia demanded.

  "Just that the Madia I used to know would have thrown a royal fit just then," Hoke replied.

  "My thoughts exactly," Olan said, smiling too; he was nearly as old as Hoke, and the lines at the corners of his eyes grew deep and black as the grin broadened his face.

  "I hear tell soldiers killed that girl, last fall," Madia said.

  "So Hoke insists," said Delyav.

  "A great fortune that I never knew you until now," Frost exclaimed, looking smug.

  Madia turned to him. "And that now, you do," she said. "My lady, if it serves Ariman, I pledge my sword to you, whoever you are," Olan announced, standing up, bowing from the waist.

  "And I mine," Delyav added, rising as well, bowing with his friend. "On the word of Hoke, and on your own."

  "And I mine, in spirit," Hoke said. "I am too old and damaged for such a mission."

  "You serve well enough," Madia said. "My well-being is proof of that. No more is asked of you." She turned her attention again to Frost. "Sleep on it if you like," she told him, "but I am going with you to Kamrit. And Olan and Delyav with me, if they will. You are in need of a third Subartan, someone to complete the triangle. I will take my cousin's place."

  "You are no Subartan, my dear," Frost said.

  "I can learn," she said. "As I'm sure Jaffic did."

  "Perhaps," Frost said, puckering his lower lip. "Perhaps you can at that."

  "Then you're agreeing to help her?" Hoke prodded.

  "I make no contract with anyone," Frost explained, "so that I am free to change my mind about anything, at any time. But, as I said, I will consider the situation."

  "Your ways could make a man a little nervous," Olan remarked.

  "That cannot be helped," Frost told him. He looked at Madia again, took a breath and let it go with a sigh. "You would trade in hearsay, whims and speculations, dear girl, and they are not enough. You may travel with me, and perhaps I will help you, in some manner or other, but it is best to make one decision at a time, for the making of too many plans can bring bad luck."

  "As can too few," Hoke responded.

  "You are a most arrogant man, Frost," Madia ventured, watching his reply.

  The big wizard winked at her. "As I insist," he said, and with that they both began to chuckle.

  Keara came through the door just then and headed straight to their table. Hoke introduced her to the others.

  "Should be stew in the pot," she said. "Can I bring some to anyone?"

  "And plenty of bread and ale," Hoke added, getting up himself to go and help her. In a moment they returned, setting wooden bowls and spoons and clay tankards and hard loaves all about, and talk gave way to the sounds of hungry mouths
.

  Chapter XI

  Tyrr looked up as the door came open, assessing what the eyes told him. Across the table, Kaafk pushed his ledger aside, then wrinkled his nose.

  The soldier Ingram stank of horse sweat and swamp decay, all made damp and pungent again by his own rank perspiration. A beard of several days darkened his face, and nearly every bit of mail, leather and armor plate that he wore seemed to have acquired some blemish or other. He had removed his helmet as he entered Tyrr's chambers, revealing the stiff, matted mass his hair had become underneath it. He now stood still and waited, chest heaving; he was apparently still out of breath from his arrival and subsequent efforts to report at once upstairs, as he had been ordered.

  A reliable, enduring commander, Tyrr thought, and one who put duty ahead of all else—including hygiene.

  "You were successful?" Tyrr made the Ferris resemblance ask a question already couched in doubt; Ingram had been away to Golemesk three weeks longer than planned, and no messengers had been sent with news, indicating there was little of it.

  Ingram looked stricken. "We were not, Lord Ferris."

  Calmly, Tyrr absorbed the knowledge. "Explain."

  "We worked the edges of Golemesk, talking to people everywhere in the region, but no one seemed to know anything, even when offered gold coins, even when tortured. So we began a search of the more habitable parts of the swamp, working our way inward, checking each trail and dwelling we uncovered. Then incidents began to occur."

  "Incidents?" Kaafk asked.

  Tyrr silently awaited the captain's answer.

  "At first only noises, a sudden splashing, or the snapping of branches nearby, a faint growling noise around dusk, but never within sight—and whistling, though it was an animal sound, not like any I have heard. Then my men began to vanish."

  "Vanish?" Tyrr made the mouth ask.

  Kaafk silently awaited the captain's answer.

  "Squads returned short a man or two, saying they had been riding a path, nothing strange about it, and the next look around, there was one of the horses with an empty saddle and no trace of the soldier, no sound or scuffle."

  "Ah," Kaafk said. "Good! This tells us that someone there has reason to chase you off."

  "I began to suspect these areas, of course," Ingram continued. "So I mounted a force of thirty men and began a thorough search in the region where the last man was lost. We found nothing, but as dusk approached, they found us."

  He looked off momentarily, growing distant, his mind apparently distracted.

  "Who?" Tyrr insisted.

  "Leshys."

  Tyrr absorbed this, too. Something he had vaguely considered in his plan, of course, though only so much was known of such creatures, the knowledge passed on by those that had gone before. "Creatures of nuisance," he affirmed. "What of them?"

  "A most deadly nuisance," Ingram replied. His breathing had slowed to normal now, but his posture was beginning to sag, blending with the general air of physical and personal defeat that shone in his face, despite his efforts to hide it.

  "They came from the shadows of dusk as we tried to leave," he said. "We didn't know what we were fighting at first. You cannot see them until they are upon you, until their horrible animal faces fill your eyes. My men have many teeth marks, those that survived." Ingram turned and displayed the wound on the back of his own neck: twin half ovals made of pointed red punctures that had begun to scab over. "They hang on with their teeth, then hack or beat a man to death with knives and stones and thick branches.

  "I lost eleven men in the first encounter before the creatures suddenly vanished as if by magic. There was nothing, not a sound nor a trace anywhere, by the time we rallied. We waited in the area awhile, searching nearby, but nothing else happened.

  "Finally we gathered our dead and began to ride out. The second attack came only moments later, just like the first, though in near darkness. I split the men into pairs and ordered them to cut the beasts off each other. We killed a few, but I lost seven more men before the attack ended. We looked for the bodies of the creatures we'd killed, but the others must have dragged them all off. Or—"

  Ingram stood there a moment, mouth half-open, as if some thought or other was stuck there and would not allow it to close. "Or they do not die," he said finally.

  Tyrr watched a chill rake Ingram briefly.

  "A very great nuisance, apparently," Kaafk said, looking at Tyrr, raising his eyebrows. "Soldier's work, certainly."

  He smiled, looking across the table, then dropped the smile and rubbed his rather large nose. "Well, they must be hiding something."

  Tyrr absorbed the knowledge. "Perhaps not," he said. "This is the way with leshys. Annoying, fascinating, rather delectable creatures, really," he added, recalling stories of what good sport they had been when demons had last walked on this world, how tasty they were supposed to be once you caught enough of them to make a good meal. "They need no reason to kill those who enter their domain, I think. Still, there may be more to it.

  "I have many advocates throughout the land, from the southern seas to the Spartooths, all gathering information. I grow ever more convinced that the Demon Blade has come to reside in that region, and I want it found. There must be additional searches made. If it is in Golemesk, then that is where we must go to retrieve it. If all the leshys must die, then die they must. I can arrange some help for your leshy problem if you need it, Captain. Go and clean yourself up. And report to me tomorrow. We will discuss your new orders then."

  "I am sorry, my liege. I have failed in my mission. I will accept whatever action—"

  "If I were truly disappointed, Captain, you would know it," Tyrr said. Control, he reminded himself, denying his first thoughts with practiced efficiency. It would be inappropriate for the grand chamberlain to show disfavor by consuming the good captain. And, of course, quite wasteful! It would have been too easy to let himself slip again, to let his essence show, more signs that his carefully forged construct and controlling spells were beginning to erode. They required constant attention, as did his demeanor. But he knew that too well. That is how the many who came before me failed, he thought.

  The longer he remained in this world, the more difficult it would become to contain himself within his human form. The longer things took . . .

  But there was no reason to get—excited. There would be time enough, or he would think of ways to ensure that there would. There was no cause for worry. No need!

  "Go," he told Ingram. "I'll have no need of you until tomorrow." The captain bowed, turned and hurried out, closing the door behind him. Kaafk slid the ledger back in front of him but did not look at the figures.

  "You don't strike me as a merciful, forgiving man, my liege," Kaafk said, gazing through the room's only window, then finding Tyrr with the corner of one eye. "Yet sometimes your lenience surprises me. You don't intend to discipline Ingram at all."

  Tyrr saw that it was more statement than question. And perhaps part of a calculation. Kaafk was like most men of power, lacking discipline yet expecting it from others, enjoying his own ideas of success while berating men of lesser stature at every turn, preying upon them, even those he relied on. In this they were like demonkind—a deficiency, Tyrr thought, no matter how intrinsic it seemed, that ultimately divided men and wasted resources and opportunities in ridiculous proportions. And like his own kind, men seemed slow to learn from their mistakes and those of others. Tyrr would shine against their dimness as he outshined the old demons, would soar above them as he soared above Tybree.

  "He does his best," Tyrr said, certain of that. "He is, after all, only human." Another slip, Tyrr realized, but an affordable one.

  Kaafk looked at him in silence, considering the remark, then he seemed to let it go. He went back to his ledgers, to completing his account of the already remarkable profits enjoyed by his guild and the others that had aligned themselves with him, with the "new" order. Though this was nothing, Tyrr insisted, compared to what would be theirs once
Neleva and the great northern fiefs were finally conquered. Then Tyrr could shed the human construct he wore like a prison, and reclaim the glory that had once belonged to demonkind—the world that had been taken from them.

  He watched a familiar smile of contentment spread across Kaafk's heavy face.

  "I am pleased that you are pleased," Tyrr made the mouth say.

  "Here," Kaafk said, chuckling. He lifted his pen and slid the ledger across the table. "As you can see, by the end of the month—"

  "Your figures do not concern me, Kaafk. I need only what I need, and you seem well able to provide it."

  "How will you know if I cheat you?" Kaafk asked, looking up just enough to fix Tyrr with a measured gaze.

  Tyrr made the lips smile. He could force the merchant to tell every truth the man had ever known, if he thought it necessary. But Kaafk seemed to have a refreshing and useful lack of tolerance for hypocrisy in any form, and a limited desire to see his throat slit. He would cheat Tyrr sooner or later, of course, but as yet, he had not.

  "I will know," Tyrr made the mouth say.

  Kaafk seemed to ponder this a moment, then he pulled the ledger back and, without looking down, broke into laughter.

  "You do not fear me, do you Kaafk?" Tyrr asked, curious as to what the man's answer might be.

  Kaafk paused, finally glanced back down at his writings, then let another chuckle slip. "As much as I think I have to, my liege," he said.

  "Beware your estimates," Tyrr replied.

  Kaafk, for just an instant, displayed a clear flicker of dread. Then he shook his head and grinned, and returned to his figures.

  Tyrr absorbed the notion, and felt a twinge of pleasure.

  Chapter XII

  The walls surrounding much of Kopeth had been laid open in the last great war and never restored. No garrison had been maintained there in decades, so Madia was surprised as they arrived, then quietly entered the city through a pathway on the western edge, to see soldiers walking the remaining gantries. She followed Frost, who claimed to know the place. He stayed in the narrow streets, moving through an old section of the city made up of the houses of laborers and beggars, thieves and whores. Western Kopeth lacked markets and tradesmen, places where the grand chamberlain's soldiers would be found.