Demon Blade

by Mark A. Garland

  She was no adventurer, Hoke knew, and not at all the type to keep company with soldiers, though in the brothers Mauro and Umblic she had chosen her company well. Fine men, both of them, and two names he had heard other visitors make mention of when talk turned to old loyalties, and to disaffection with the new.

  Anna came around the table and they threw arms around each other.

  "Where are you headed?" Hoke asked, sitting with them, calling to Keara for ale.

  "Here," Anna said.

  "To Kern?"

  "No," Mauro replied. "We have come for you."

  * * *

  "I had not heard how Madia and the others were fairing," Hoke said, as Anna and the brothers finished their long explanations. He gazed past those at the table, out through the window beyond. He had been worried Madia would never reach Kamrit, that her cause would abandon her and she would give up along the way—or worse. Her crusade had been lacking in design and assurances, though now it seemed that did not matter; it seemed that she, like himself, had not realized what they were up against.

  Now Hoke took solace from the fact that the princess had kept her new allies and taken her cause all the way to Kamrit Castle, though he winced as Anna told him of their defeat and narrow escape, of their new exile, and the demon prince they believed Ferris to be.

  "No wonder the changes have come so fast and have gone so unopposed," he said.

  "That is what weighs on our minds," Anna said.

  "I see," Hoke replied, "but if even a powerful wizard is helpless against him, what hope has anyone?"

  They looked to each other first. Hoke studied the expression on Lady Anna's face, an ironic half-grin. Then he noticed this same look on the faces of both brothers, and he began to feel uneasy.

  Hoke pressed her. "What is it you want?"

  "We need help, of course. Where a few have failed, many may not," Anna said, her eyes suddenly dour, staring into his. "But no one in Kamrit seems able to rally the people, or even the old loyalists in the army, against Lord Ferris." She paused long enough to scowl a bit at Mauro and Umblic. "That is why we need you. All Ariman will be lost, perhaps the great fiefs and Neleva as well, if something is not done. War will destroy all that both Andarys kings have built, all that men like my husband fought to preserve. But there is more."

  Hoke looked at her, waiting.

  "If I am right, the king himself is not dead, but being held captive in his own dungeons."

  "Now you go too far!" Hoke told her, but then he listened while she tried to explain. The more he listened, the more persuasive her story became, but in the end he still could not accept that Andarys lived.

  "Enough," Hoke said. "Even if I am to believe all that you say, and even if I did as you ask, I see little promise in the effort. If there are none in Kamrit who would stand against Lord Ferris, then I cannot create them. In order to begin, there must be a beginning. Can I preach righteousness to men who fight only for wages, or teach courage to those who fight for their enemies out of cowardice? In any case, I am old and damaged. I have served my king and country, and well, and there is little more I can do."

  "That is what I told her," Mauro said, and Umblic nodded sympathetically.

  Anna made a fist and thumped Mauro's chest, causing him to wheeze. "Your king still needs you, all of you!" she said. "And you are both wrong. There are men who would act, but they have nothing to bind them together, no one to lead them. You can lead, Hoke, as perhaps no other man in all of Ariman could. You can inspire men to follow you."

  "But still there will be too few of us," Umblic quietly argued. "And so many who do Lord Ferris' bidding. What could Hoke do but lead us to doom?"

  "An honorable doom, then," Hoke said, looking at the brothers.

  "A great comfort," Mauro said.

  Hoke picked up his ale and drank deeply. When he had finished, he let a thick, airy burp boil out. "Of course, the arguments are good ones," he told Anna. "But Madia went with a great wizard and good fighters, and from what you say they failed completely, and my friends died. I am afraid old Hoke and a few dozen heros would fare no better."

  "I don't have enough answers, but you were my greatest hope," Anna said, pain welling up in her eyes, tears barely held back. "My last hope. Surely there must be something, some way. . . ."

  Hoke shook his head, then reached across the table and took one of Anna's hands in his. "You have not heard me out," he said. "There may be a way, but we must find it first. Surely something must be done. Much has happened in these lands these past few months. Ferris' men have spread throughout all of Ariman and into the great northern fiefs. Every day I hear of more troops in the north. I hear reports of attacks and men dying. An undeclared war has begun. Borders are being ignored, trade is being strangled by robbers and tolls, and there are fewer merchants.

  "Most nobles dare not show their heads for fear they will be singled out. No, I did not mean that I would not help—this is still my country, whether Kelren lives or not." Hoke squeezed Anna's hand. "I am proud of Madia, truly, and I fear for her now, for all the sons and daughters of the realm. I simply don't know how to help. Not yet."

  He looked past her again, out the window into the narrow street beside the inn. Two of Lord Ferris' soldiers, passing through on their way from Kamrit to the great fiefs, were walking by, trailing their horses, as they did so often lately. Several local citizens hurried to give them room and let them pass unimpeded, smiling as they did. Hoke watched as the soldiers continued across the square, and the people in the street turned and spat on the ground where the two men had stepped.

  "Ferris inspires much bitterness," Anna said, and Hoke realized she had been watching, too.

  "Which could be used against him," Hoke added. "Yet most people seem willing only to show their feelings among themselves."

  "So you have said, but perhaps—"

  "They are not strong enough to risk anything else," Mauro said.

  "True," Hoke agreed. "Though one can only imagine how troubled and angry the rather powerful great lords of Bouren, Jasnok, Vardale, and Thorun must be."

  "Their anger remains their own, as do their loyalties," Umblic said, shaking his head.

  "They each quarrel with raiders from Ariman that ride onto their lands," Hoke went on, "but they believe the rumors they hear of the other great lords, each halfsuspecting the rest of collusion with Lord Ferris. Or expecting the next lord to start a war with Kamrit that they in turn will be drawn into, like it or not. They have never worked together before, not since their fathers did in the time of Haul Andarys. But there has not been a need, nor anyone to point one out."

  "If Ferris has called them to homage, they have not complied," Umblic said.

  "But does anyone truly know which rumors are true, or which lords can be trusted, or even how troubled they are?" Mauro asked, squinting, concentrating on the thought. "These things we would need to know. And Ferris is prepared for the great fiefs to move against him in any case."

  "Perhaps, but certain troops and their commanders are more formidable than others," Hoke stated with authority. "While it might be impossible to unite the folk of Ariman under Ferris' nose, it might be possible to bring together a force outside Ariman's borders. I propose that in the morning we should begin a journey north to the four great fiefs. Perhaps they only need someone to lead the way. To make them see. Even Neleva might eventually join a proper effort."

  "I do not think so, but I will go," Umblic said.

  "As will I," chimed Mauro.

  Anna was smiling at Hoke. He let go of her hand, then leaned closer. "Let us hope we are right about me," he whispered. "And that the time has not already passed."

  * * *

  "I sense concern," Tyrr said, gesturing toward the largest chair in his chambers.

  "These military maneuvers of yours are ruining trade north of Kopeth," Kaafk grumbled, sitting down to dinner: a large roasted fowl, split unevenly between the two plates, with Kaafk's portion by far the larger of the tw
o. "Everyone fears the battles will spill over into Ariman, and all four great lords are in a mood to kill anyone so much as near their borders. Merchants—my merchants—have been detained, robbed, even killed!"

  "A temporary condition," Tyrr said, embracing calm, forgiving the other's tone. "Begin, now," he added, nodding. Kaafk paused a moment, contemplating, then he cut into the tender chestnut-colored meat and tasted a piece. He seemed quite pleased. Tyrr cut off a tiny bit, made the jaw chew slowly—let it continue, absently. "Perhaps you should be on hand there to minimize the effects."

  Kaafk looked up suddenly at this, his expression even more intent. "I can't be everywhere! There are many things that require my attention. Problems abound. Worst of all, Neleva has slowed its exports to almost nothing. They do not trust you, my lord, and they've begun to make trade difficult for anyone associated with me."

  "There is no trade without you, without Kamrit."

  "This is obvious to all, and yet . . ."

  "Yet what?"

  "Yet they seem willing to injure themselves in order to protest the control we have gained. Many of my associates have returned from the ports of Neleva, as well as from the north, with stories. You should listen to them sometime, so that you might know how the Nelevans, and others, see you."

  "Of course you will tell me."

  Kaafk pushed another large piece of bird into his mouth, lips smacking, a sincere effort, then chased the swallow with wine. He barely looked up.

  "Many have heard of the ceremonies you attend, the sorcerer's tricks that some have seen you perform these past few months. They worry over the many citizens and soldiers you hold in the dungeons, the many more who have been executed. They fear your powers and your wrath, perhaps beyond the point of reason. Many, especially in Neleva, are not certain what most of the jailed and beheaded have done to reap such penalties."

  "They must be told that the prisoners and the dead were my enemies, and that I intend to treat my friends very well. Surely you can attest to that."

  Kaafk looked up again, chewing and grinning. Tyrr met his eyes and felt what meaning there was within them. Kaafk must have his own reservations, certainly, and he had seen Tyrr do more magic than most, but wealth was a more powerful force than any kind of fear for this man, an answer to the most impossible questions, or at least a means of denying the need to ask. "Already," Kaafk said, "I am rich beyond even my own dreams."

  Tyrr swallowed his tiny bit of meat and contemplated another. "And that satisfies you?" Tyrr asked, testing.

  "For now." Chuckling.

  Tyrr allowed the banter. "They will come around," he elaborated. "Not all have openly opposed me. Many, I think, might have opposed your control of the markets, but fear has prevented that."

  Kaafk nodded. "Of course."

  The sentiment was genuine. Tyrr made the mouth grin. Despite his attitude, or because of it, Tyrr mused, Kaafk remained one of his better decisions.

  "One by one, the northern fiefs will ultimately declare their wars against Ariman, or each other, whether they mean to or not," Tyrr went on. "I have a report only this morning that our troops have met with resistance in Bouren, and some of Ingram's forces have taken the fight to Lencia itself."

  "Your forces remain thin in those regions, as I understand, my liege, and much of the rest are scattered all over Ariman. They hardly seem prepared to invade the north, or even defend our northern borders."

  "For now, a great army is not needed in the fiefs. And gathering my forces would send too large a message to all our neighbors. As you say, they are already nervous."

  "Then, at some time, before it is too late, Ingram and his men will have their battle joined?"

  Tyrr reflected on the thought. "Perhaps," he said. "On the other hand, I grow somewhat dissatisfied with him. Despite every opportunity, he still has not found the Demon Blade for me."

  Kaafk nodded and stuffed the last of the bird into his mouth, then he began looking over the carcass for anything he'd missed. "The search continues, then?" he asked as he reached over and started on the bowl of fruit.

  Tyrr pulled a second, very small bit from his own portion, put it into the mouth. "I have already engaged the services of another, a wizard known as Gray, and his compliment of men. He is known to many as a very powerful mage, and he insists he is capable of obtaining the Blade from Golemesk, if it is still there. His price was ridiculous, but if it buys the results I need, I may even pay it."

  Kaafk was slowing down, filling up. He worked his face into a half twist, then let a great belch escape his lips and smiled briefly. "I am curious as to the Blade's powers. What makes it such a prize?"

  How could he tell this fellow that he didn't know the answer? How could he go on not knowing it himself? Yet there was no choice!

  Tyrr felt a tremor move through the body, the semblance beginning to loosen around the edges. He paused again to reinforce the spell and reminded himself once more that the increasingly annoying task would not be his forever. Soon enough, the world would know him for what he was and would be too vulnerable to object. Unless, of course, something went wrong—unlike Tybree and the others like him, Tyrr had learned that at least: something could always go wrong.

  "The Blade is a mystery," he finished, "and one I must discover. I must be the one to learn its secrets, no one else." Secrets that could be put to good use, he thought, if possible, or kept from the rest of the world, if need be, forever.

  The fruit was gone. Kaafk sat back, draining his mug. "If you wish, I will go to the northern borders, but not until it is safe, my liege," he said. "I will do what can be done to restore whatever is lost, and replace whoever has died, but I must live long enough to do so."

  The chuckle was back, grating at some part of Tyrr's construct—or Tyrr's self. He pressed on:

  "Safe trade will resume, I can assure you. Trade by my law is preferable to no trade at all. Eventually, all the people of the realm will become accustomed. The needs and desires of so many never go unserved for long."

  Kaafk belched once more, then nodded.

  "Perhaps," Tyrr said, thinking about it, "when the time comes, I will go with you. I have never been to the northern fiefs, and those lands will be mine before Neleva."

  "We will save Neleva's warm southern beaches for last, aye, my friend?" Kaafk grinned privately.

  Tyrr attempted control, refused his urge to strike out, and allowed the insolent address. "Neleva and her rich harbors must be taken slowly and carefully. I want a gentle surrender, in order to insure as little damage as possible. Patience, Kaafk, as well as tolerance, are virtues—no matter how difficult the process tends to be."

  "Of course." Kaafk seemed to grow uneasy as Tyrr looked at him, and Tyrr savored the thought of this slight intimidation, but then the big man shrugged his shoulders and excused himself for the evening. Tyrr let him go.

  When the other was gone, Tyrr summoned his servants. His own two pages entered the room, both moving slowly, somewhat awkwardly, as if re-thinking every step—a side effect of the controlling spells Tyrr had fixed upon them. They cleared the table, including the largely untouched meal on Tyrr's plate. In a moment, one of the men returned with a whole goose, still alive.

  He placed it on the table before Tyrr. The bird honked at the construct, then began strutting nervously. Tyrr placed a holding spell upon the creature and it grew still, moving only its eyes. Then he picked the bird up and pulled feathers out, several handfuls, and bit into its throat.

  The blood ran down the chin and arms of the construct, warm and fresh, feeding the body, feeding Tyrr.

  The pages stood and waited until he was finished, then cleared the carcass away.

  Chapter XIX

  Prince Jaran watched from the woods as the soldiers from Ariman grew visible, appearing with the dawn in the clearing below the hills, preparing for war. Two hundred at least, he guessed. The young prince had only a handful of men with him, down to seven now, three having died just yesterday from wounds receiv
ed in a skirmish on the edges of Golemesk. There had been twelve men in the squad of encroaching troops they'd caught emerging from the swamp. Jaran had intended only to warn them back to Arimanian soil, but they had attacked before a word was spoken, and fought nearly to the last man.

  The news had come just an hour after that, a rider from home sent to inform the Prince that Lencia was under attack. "The offenders have been repelled, and all goes well," the message said, "but beware their presence upon your return." The rider explained that the king had been ready, that the Arimanian forces had broken off quickly and fallen back. From what Jaran could determine now, though, they had not given up all together.

  "There are a few more men scattered to the North, and still more nearer Lencia to the South, all from Ariman," Purcell, Jaran's first man-at-arms, whispered to him. Jaran turned and looked back into the woods. All of his remaining men were assembled there, including the two he had sent on reconnaissance.

  "Are they up to moving?"

  Purcell shook his head. "No, they are staying for now. This force must be the one that attacked Lencia. The others may have arrived since then."

  "And what is their strength?"

  "Before you," Purcell said, indicating the encampment below. "The others are not many."

  "Hardly sufficient to defeat my father," Jaran said with a tenuous sigh of relief. "He could defend Lencia against three times as many. The best they can hope is to eventually starve the city."

  "There may be more on the way, we cannot know. Surely a report of their failed engagements has been sent back to Lord Ferris."

  "If there are more troops on the way they would be waiting to attack again, just as they are. Still, I would not think the Arimanian commander too eager to admit his failures to Lord Ferris. They may be reassessing their plans, hoping to invent a better strategy. A good time to strike back at them, if true. I must tell my father."