Demon Blade

by Mark A. Garland

  "Name's Grear," the man answered, grinning now precisely like a trapper observing his catch. "Now who are you?"

  "We are citizens of Kamrit, on our way home until a bandit's rope stopped us."

  Grear didn't smile. "Those all citizens behind you there?"

  "They are."

  "What's the big, fat fellow's name?"

  "My name would mean little to you," Frost said in a quiet voice, remaining seated. He glanced at the boatman, who had a most troubled look on his face and who seemed to be squatting as low as possible. With the current, the stern was drifting around to the right away from the men on shore; nothing to be done about it. Frost reached back with one hand and touched the boatman's leg, trying to comfort him, then he turned again toward shore.

  "Just answer," Grear replied. "I'll be the judge."

  "This boat and its cargo mean nothing as well," Frost said, louder now. "We have little money and only some spring wool. Hardly worth the wear on your rope. Let us pass."

  "Your name is Frost!" Grear came back, shouting it, obviously aggravated now, the grin suddenly gone. "You hailed from Achien once, some years ago. You were a well-known sorcerer there, and all for hire."

  "Do you wish to hire me, then?"

  "I would know who has."

  Frost saw him repeatedly glancing from Olan and Delyav to the Subartans and back. The four bowmen behind Grear kept their weapons up, held at ready. Frost concentrated on the wood, completing the first spell he had begun, speaking under his breath.

  "We have simple business in Neleva," Madia said. "Nothing so exciting as you would imagine."

  "All of you have yet to introduce yourselves!" Grear insisted.

  "The Subartans are my personal companions," Frost said, ready now. "These others are simply fortunate enough to share a part of my journey with me. Where they go is not my concern. And none of yours."

  "You're lying!" Grear snapped. "I say you're the ones who did in two full squads in Kern. You and the girl. And Lord Ferris wants to know why you did it. If you won't tell me, he wants your heads! You'll fetch a fine price, either way. All of you," he added, slowly drawing the big sword out, wrapping his other hand around it. Frost saw the Subartans turn the straight-edge of their blades to face the shore. He had seen them deflect arrows in the past, moving faster than conscious thought. But at such close range, and with no way to get to the bowmen quickly enough to prevent them from reloading . . .

  He didn't want to be hauled into Kamrit under guard and thrown in a dungeon, forced to strain his wits and palate under the those awful conditions, any more than he wanted to lose another Subartan.

  "Lord Ferris has already cost myself and others far too much, my friend," Frost told the soldier. "Far more than I am likely to forgive, though now, there is at least a chance. Unless you insist on doing everyone a disservice."

  "You are a bigger fool than I imagined," Grear replied.

  "Very well," Frost said, bowing from the neck to Grear and his men, then he turned one hand palm-out, concentrating again on the wood in the bandit's hands. All four crossbows turned black, then burst into flames.

  The men tossed the bows from hand to hand for an instant, then let them drop to the ground, wringing their scorched fingers. Madia was the last one out of the boat, close behind Olan and Delyav and the two Subartans. Frost turned to the boatman, who was crouched, clutching the rudder, his face paralyzed in a wide-eyed gape. "Prepare to continue," he said, then he seated himself again and looked back to the soldiers.

  Grear was dead already, struck down before he could swing the big sword twice, padded leather armor torn apart by the Subarta's serrated blade where Sharryl had laid his breast open. Now another man lay dead and bleeding just beyond Grear's body. Frost watched as Olan and Delyav picked one man each, showing the prowess of their years of service, dodging then striking, forcing their opponents back until they could take advantage of their momentum in a brief flurry of successful thrusts.

  Rosivok toyed with another man momentarily, advancing with erratic motions while Sharryl went after the soldier who had been keeping the rope taut. But as she approached him, circling the horses to get at him, he made the animal bolt, then clung to it somehow as it disappeared into the bright green trees and shrubs. Far too fast for anyone on foot to follow.

  Rosivok seemed to suddenly tire of the fight. He sprang, a direct attack to his opponent, followed by a thrust that left the man nearly torn in half. Only one stood against them now, locking swords with Delyav. Madia joined that fight, and in a moment it was ended.

  Sharryl had already collected one of the other horses to pursue the escaped bandit. Frost shouted ashore: "Leave him!" They might wait half the day for her to return, he thought, and he had no desire to do that.

  Those on shore set about dragging bodies into the brush.

  * * *

  The boatman, shaking noticeably, wrestled his craft ashore thirty yards upriver, where the others pulled it up far enough to allow Frost to get ashore without wading.

  "I have no wish to be wanted by the crown," the boatman said, apparently expanding on something he and Frost had already begun to discuss. "My family—"

  "We will part company here," Frost said to the others, by way of explanation. "I cannot ask this man to throw his life away. He will say that we forced him to carry us, and that he let us off at the head of the lake. We will go ahead on foot. I am sure we would find the river ports of Kamrit much too crowded with waiting soldiers, in any case."

  He turned to the boatman, then reached into his bag and produced a few gold coins. As he handed them over, he placed his other hand on the man's shoulder. "Keep our full payment," he said, "and something extra."

  "Thank you," the boatman began. "I—"

  Frost cut him off. "Go," he said. "And the Greater Gods be with you."

  They waited until he got back aboard, then everyone helped push the heavy craft off the soft muddy bottom. Dark clouds drifted away in the waters around their feet.

  "Your reputation is more widespread than I was aware," Madia said, approaching Frost.

  "I seldom mention it," Frost replied. "It is a burden I must carry."

  "We must carry," Madia corrected.

  "Perhaps."

  "No matter," Delyav noted. "Lord Ferris seems to be expecting us and is seeking compensation for the loss of his men in Kern."

  "I expect compensation for the loss of my father and my cousin, for the dishonor he has brought to the throne of Kamrit," Madia corrected.

  "Interesting," Frost said, "that you should speak so of dishonoring your father's throne."

  "Or that you should speak of honor at all, since you say you honor only yourself," Madia snapped back.

  "As you wish," Frost taunted, grinning at her, savoring the sour expression he drew in return.

  "They were but killers," Rosivok said, looking upstream, ignoring the conversation. "They would have taken us nowhere."

  "I agree," Frost said. "Mercenaries. And expected to succeed, I'm sure, so we might hope to meet with very few others like them for a time."

  "You sound so intent. So . . . committed, perhaps?" Madia said, looking at him.

  Astute, Frost thought again. She was a worthy ally; the time had come to seek a common ground. "These men were hired to learn what they could, then kill us all," he told Madia. "I take a dim view of such behavior in a monarch—and I already had a dim view of Lord Ferris, I assure you. Come, and we will talk as we travel the road. By the time we reach Kamrit, we must be ready.

  "Rosivok," he instructed, "gather one of their horses to serve as pack." Then he turned back to Madia and wondered when she would see fit to ease that foolish grin of hers.

  * * *

  Tyrr lent an ear to Kaafk as the other man leaned close. One of Grear's soldiers stood below, several paces behind Kaafk, the same man who had come before, Tyrr thought. He listened as Kaafk explained what the man had to say about the incident at Chelle, especially the flaming bows. Tyrr found
the account most intriguing.

  "And do they know that you lived?" Tyrr asked the soldier, who seemed reluctant to look at Tyrr directly.

  "They must," Kaafk replied. The soldier nodded.

  "I wish to take them prisoner, at least the wizard. They will leave the boat, since they must assume we are expecting them and since a boat is a poorly defensible place to be. We will put patrols on all the roads until they are located, then reduce the guard on all the main gates to the city, so we do not scare them off. We'll let them come. I still want to know their plans, and who their friends in Kamrit might be.

  "Once they have been found, I can follow their progress, then destroy them as I choose." And Frost, Tyrr mused, if he was truly as talented as he appeared, would provide a rare amusement, a chance to exercise his true prowess, which was something Tyrr had lately developed a dire craving for. One of many things. . . .

  "I will help in any way I can, my liege," Kaafk said, though of course, Tyrr observed, reading the expression on the merchant's face, there was obviously nothing for him to do.

  "Very well," Tyrr made the mouth say summarily. He dismissed Kaafk and the entire court for the day, thinking of his needs, his plans. . . .

  He left the hall and made his way through the castle to the kitchens. He chose a small piglet, only four hands tall, from the kitchen yard and instructed one of the cooks to slaughter the animal. Then he sent the cook away and drew a black velvet sack from beneath his cloak. He put the piglet in the sack and tied it shut, then carefully worked the spell he had constructed. The bag lay suddenly flat and empty. Tyrr put it back under his cloak and left.

  He descended two levels, past the guards—men chosen and prepared especially for the job—and continued down into the subterranean chambers that were part of the old dungeons, rooms that had not been used since the time of the first kin. In the largest of the ancient cells, the imps waited for him, still in their demon forms, held there where he had bound them. They were each identical, each perfect, the only two lesser demons Tyrr had been able to summon out of the dark realm before the gate he had fashioned collapsed.

  Already, though, they had grown weak, kept here away from all sources of energy, from even a meal of animal flesh, since none could be trusted to feed them and Tyrr had not taken the time. He fed them now, siphoning power from the friction between the worlds of darkness and light, then giving it to the creatures using a spell he had taken great care to perfect. The imps grew more substantial, more energetic, then they began to drool as Tyrr drew the velvet sack from under his cloak and concentrated on his spells again. The sack grew suddenly full, and he reached inside to withdraw the piglet.

  When the imps had devoured the animal fully, Tyrr told them exactly what he wanted them to do, then set them free.

  Chapter XIV

  They circled around to the south, following a small and barely passable rocky road through the apple orchards, then approached the gate in the city's walls nearest the inner bailey, where Madia's carriage had always entered. One of the most secluded, this was also the gate Madia was most familiar with. The only drawback was that the guards were quite familiar with her, but Frost insisted she should not concern herself with that. As they neared the wall, the wizard stopped, planted his staff and turned to her, reciting twice over four words not meant for her to understand. Then he closed his eyes and slowly opened them again.

  She felt no different, and the Subartans showed no reaction at all, but Olan and Delyav looked quite surprised.

  "What is it?" she asked. "What has he done?"

  "You have a different face," Olan explained.

  "And a different figure," Delyav chuckled. "Quite plump. You could be the wizard's daughter!"

  She glanced at herself and saw only the body she was used to, a body grown leaner and harder than when last she had passed this way. She shrugged and looked at Frost.

  "You see nothing because you of all people cannot be fooled as to who you are," Frost said. "Something you would do well to remember." Then he turned again and continued toward the city. Madia frowned and followed him.

  The gate sentries asked after their business, and Delyav and Olan vouched for everyone—friends they had made while touring northern Ariman, they said. All were allowed to pass. The castle, Madia thought, would prove more difficult.

  She felt a strange sensation as she passed unnoticed among the people on the streets, the very same laborers and tradesman, beggars and squires who had lined the streets when her carriage had passed not so long ago. But they did not look quite themselves to her, either. Each face stood out, especially the poorest of them, lines and expressions that told their sad stories. She felt almost as if she truly were a ghost, and only these people were real.

  Frost asked her to lead the way now. She did so, taking the shortest routes until they reached the end of a narrow street and emerged onto a wide crossroad. Smooth, flat stones spanned the distance from the shops and houses to the castle walls, some fifty paces across the way. Madia began to notice the quiet—the usual clutter of citizens and carts was not there.

  "It's as if everyone is hiding," she told Frost. "This way is normally a popular one."

  Frost nodded, then motioned to the two Subartans. They took up defensive positions on either side of him while Frost pulled Madia close. "Whatever your plans, you are pledged to be my Subartan, for now," he said, reminding her of it.

  She nodded, then did as he asked and stood by while the wizard put himself in another focussed trance. A faint greenish sheen shimmered briefly about him. She watched it spread to her, surrounding her as well. The green seemed to brighten momentarily, and then it was gone, leaving no visible trace at all.

  Frost came to again, then paused to gather himself. "A warding spell," he said, "quite useful," then gave the signal.

  "We will go first," Delyav announced, looking at Madia, Olan nodding along with him. "We cannot allow you."

  She smiled at them, letting it slip. They were very good men, she thought, in just the right ways. The Subartans found new positions, one behind and one ahead of Frost, and they all started off again. Madia went just in front of the trio, following Olan and Delyav.

  "There is an entrance to the lower levels," Madia said.

  "One that leads into the storage rooms."

  "That will lead us to the kitchens and the lower banquet hall," Delyav said, nodding at her plan. "From there we will have many choices."

  "If we get in," Olan cautioned. "We're bound to meet someone there."

  "We will get in," said Madia. "If there are guards when we reach the entrance, you two will say you caught me hiding from duties in the kitchens. We can dispose of the guards as they let us pass, if they are not too many, and they should not be." She turned around to face Frost and the others. "You three will have to wait out of sight."

  "Suppose these guards are friends of these men?" Rosivok asked, talking to Madia, but watching Olan and Delyav carefully.

  "That is possible," Olan said. "But if they are truly our friends, then they will help us pass." Delyav seemed to agree. Rosivok quietly nodded, and again the two knights led off.

  Madia followed along as they entered Kamrit Castle through a small oak-and-iron doorway, then turned to the left. The storerooms were well stocked but deserted.

  In a moment Frost and the Subartans came out to join them. Cautiously, silently, they approached the kitchen and found it empty, too. Madia couldn't recall this ever being the case.

  "They know," Frost said.

  "They must," Madia agreed. "I had hoped to make surprise an ally."

  "If we are met by many troops, be wary of my lead," Frost advised. "I have prepared one or two surprises."

  "We must go further," Madia said. "I've not come all this way to leave with nothing."

  "I know," Frost said, leaving it at that. They made their way across the kitchen to the dining hall door. Madia tested the door, pushing it partway open with little effort. She couldn't see anything in the
huge dim hall beyond.

  "Wait out of sight again," she told Frost, and he moved slightly back. She turned and pushed the door fully open with her foot and stepped through. At once the doorway filled with a burst of thick orange flames that rushed in from all sides, enveloping Madia, turning instantly red then changing again, violet, saffron, and finally yellow-white as she held out her arms and looked at herself. The heat forced the others back with hands over their faces, though she felt nothing at all. Then she was through the arch, and as quickly as they arose the colored fires died back to a dim glow that traced the doorway opening for an instant, and was gone.

  "You are yourself again," Delyav said, staring at her as everyone was.

  "The warding spell as well as the false glamour I provided you has been neutralized by the spell that protected the entrance," Frost said in a somber tone.

  "A fine defensive effort," Rosivok remarked, looking the doorframe over.

  "The equal of Vasip, or even Montiby," Frost replied, stoking his chin.

  "What does that mean?" Olan asked.

  "That we are off to a poor beginning," Frost responded.

  "Good, I feel much better," Madia moaned, still a little dazed, her heart pounding. The image of the quick inferno still blazed in her eyes.

  "The magic is spent," Frost said. "We may continue safely."

  Delyav led the way again, though he seemed to use great caution. They started across the dining hall, a huge open room hung with ample tapestries and set about from wall to wall with four long, wide tables. Only a few of the room's many torches burned, making details hard to see. But again, there seemed to be no one about. Olan lit an extra torch from the wall nearest the door and held it up, then went on. When they were nearly halfway across the room, the tapestries came to life, bustling with movement as men wielding crossbows came from behind them and opened fire.

  Madia felt hands upon her back, felt herself being thrown to the floor, and realized it was Sharryl. Rosivok was rolling away on the floor just to the other side of her. She looked up to find Olan and Delyav faring far worse, arrows bristling from both of them, blood running from too many places as they stumbled forward and fell to the floor. She turned as she heard Frost shout from behind, repeating a short exotic phrase. Arrows impacted on the greenish air all around the wizard, but none seemed to reach him. Then the image blurred as the wall torches gurgled and puffed and filled the room with thick, gray smoke. Madia smelled a faint whiff of sulfur, nothing more; her eyes did not water, but everything had disappeared.