Demon Blade

by Mark A. Garland

  "Probably the same one I crushed," Madia said.

  Frost's face bunched up into a grimace. "Oh, no," he said. "Then the bad luck was increased manyfold."

  Madia wrinkled her nose at him. "And that wind omen has to do with hunting game."

  "Perhaps," Frost grumbled.

  "I am not interested in bugs or breezes, Frost, only in what you plan to do right now. We need help!"

  Frost looked up and sighed, then nodded. "I have prepared a twinning spell that should work well enough. It will take time, and—and more, if I am to do the lot of you."

  "What kind of spell?" Lord Bennor asked, overhearing.

  "How much time?" Hoke asked impatiently. "They may charge at any moment."

  Frost shrugged. "I cannot say. I have never tried the spell on such a scale before."

  "What difference does it make?" Madia said. "Please, Frost, begin."

  The sorcerer nodded, then turned and asked the lords to gather their men on the grassy slope. They each moved off without question and began calling out the orders. As the armies came together, Frost faced his palms toward them, then started at his left and began moving slowly right, repeating a lengthy chant as he went. As he spoke, Madia saw the men and horses begin to blur as if she were crossing her eyes. She blinked reflexively, but the blurring only worsened. Then the soldiers first affected gradually clarified, and where there had been one, now there were two.

  She kept following Frost's hands until he finished, then waited another moment as the last of the troops became clear. Frost slumped briefly, breathing deeply; his arms seemed limp, but then he straightened just a bit, and his eyes rose to the others again.

  "Two armies," Jurdef Ivran said softly, still gaping at the sight before him.

  Frost cleared his throat. "Each man will go into battle with another of himself, though these others have no substance. They are simply reflections on the air. And like any reflection, they will mimic the movements of the genuine soldier exactly. The effect is . . . interesting."

  "Sounds confusing," Lord Dorree said, squinting at the field of men.

  "Yes, exactly!" Hoke answered. "Confusing for any man trying to attack one of us. It is difficult to fight a swordsman that strikes from two directions at once."

  "Ah, splendid," Lord Burke said, grinning widely. "A confusion we can truly use!"

  Madia turned her gaze again to the armies that awaited them. Still more than two to one, even when the doubled images are counted—still a hopeless battle, she thought, though now, at least, not entirely. Then she saw the men on the far hilltop begin to move.

  * * *

  The calls of captains reached Madia's ears an instant later, followed by the clatter of armor and the shrill whinny of horses wheeled into motion as ranks formed behind her.

  "You still need a plan of attack," Frost said, and Madia realized he was leaning toward her, speaking so the others would not hear. "And they need a leader to carry it forth. Disorder will be Ferris' ally."

  Madia saw the look on his face and could almost feel his thoughts pressing in on her mind. "A—agreed," she said, some part of her convinced that every eye was glaring at her, waiting for her, expecting . . . something.

  She tried not to say it, but part of her let it slip. "Me?" she heard herself ask.

  "If you are ever to be ruler of Ariman, my young queen, you must be that woman now, or the moment will pass you by."

  It struck her that he had never called her "queen" before. She felt an almost overwhelming sense of pride as the thought swelled within her, a sense of victory—and indelible rightness—over a foe that was both within her and without. But they will not let me, she thought then, the glow of achievement fading too quickly. The great lords and their men and militia would not all follow her, not now, perhaps never, even though she was . . .

  "You will try," Frost told her, almost as if her thoughts had somehow strayed to him. "You must. I was not sure, once, whether you should ever be allowed to sit on your father's throne, on Hual's throne. I journeyed with you for many reasons, Madia, to fight, perhaps, but also to study your character. I was prepared to prevent you from gaining control, unless you convinced me I should not."

  "I know that," Madia confided. "I kept trying not to think about it. I had no question I was worthy—at the time. Now, I am not so sure. . . . "

  "Yes, you are."

  She stared at him, eyes locked, their minds nearly touching. Frost turned abruptly and coaxed his mount down the hill a few paces, rejoining Rosivok and Sharryl. Madia looked about to find the others muttering nervously among themselves and gesturing at the approaching legions. Hoke seemed to be taking up the role of moderator, a job that was already proving itself to be nearly impossible.

  She needed to say something—to prove herself somehow to these great men that even Hoke could not fully control. The battle, she thought, straining to bring her mind to bear. If it must be fought, she could at least use it to her advantage. Use it to take her rightful place.

  During the many lessons she had endured throughout her youth, much history had been thrust upon her. She had promptly forgotten most of it, but war, like most tales of other lands or other times, had always fascinated her. The details still escaped her, the names of many cities and their rulers, but what had happened remained clear enough. She remembered one action in particular. . . .

  She took a breath and raised herself up in her saddle. "Brave lords! You will recall the Battle of Kaya-Thai. We will divide our forces into two groups. Jurdef, you and Lord Dorree will ride with me to meet the approaching forces. Lords Burke and Bennor, you will gather all the archers to back the main attack, then divide the remainder of our forces and attack from either flank. If we must break off from the battle, tell your men to disperse, then regroup here."

  Well, she thought, they are staring at me now.

  She waited out their silence, avoiding their eyes by turning to check on the approach of the enemy's forces—which were nearly a third of the way across the shallow valley, and nearly at what she thought would be an optimal striking position. She turned to the lords again and glared at them. "Now!" she said. "There is no time to tarry!"

  Still, not one lord moved; they sat looking from one another to the young princess giving them orders. But as Madia found Hoke's eyes, she saw a look in them that lent her strength. He knows, she thought. He understands. Hoke prodded his horse to turn until he faced the great lords, a position that put him squarely beside Madia.

  "My liege," he said, bowing to her, "I pledge my sword to you."

  She noticed more movement then, and saw that it was Frost, followed by Rosivok and Sharryl, coming toward her again. The three of them gathered just behind her.

  "We await your needs," Frost said, using a loud voice, one Madia was quite familiar with. She saw that the look on his face had changed for the better; some of the glow she remembered had returned.

  "I, too, pledge my sword," another voice called out. Prince Jaran came from among the other lords, followed by Purcell and the men who had made the journey with them from Bouren.

  Madia felt the urge to proceed quickly now, while it was possible. "Would we wait until they are upon us?" she shouted, drawing her sword. She turned toward the valley. Behind her, she heard the satisfying sounds of many more swords being drawn.

  "I heed," Jurdef Ivran replied as he broke away from the others and rode toward his captains, shouting them to readiness.

  "And I," Lord Burke echoed, and turned out as well. Dorree and Bennor quickly followed. Within minutes, the lines had formed across the hilltop. Archers took up their positions at the crest of the knoll and waited to open fire as the main force gave way to them. Madia waited until the flanking cavalry was in position.

  "For the realm!" she shouted, and a rousing cry went up all around her. She raised her hand, and the roar of voices rose and held as nearly four hundred men—eight hundred to the eye—joined her, rushing down the hill.

  * * *

 
; Frost stood with the archers as they drew back their long bow strings and loosed their first arrows. Again and again they fired, taking a growing toll on the advancing enemy below until the two lines of soldiers came together amid the bodies of the fallen. The archers moved off down the hill, hoping to find the range of the cavalry reserve near the base of the far hills, ready to draw swords and join the others if they were needed. Frost remained behind, gathered still with Grish and Marrn and his two Subartans, and a handful of guards.

  The fighting appeared to go well at first. Though the enemy enjoyed superior numbers, their advance was stopped cold by the legions of the great lords—an army that somehow managed two bodies for every man. Frost continued to watch, monitoring the spell he had cast and listening to the echoed cries for blood and victory that rose not from the attackers but from friendly forces, from men defending their homes.

  Soon the battle was joined by flanking cavalry, a hundred men—two hundred images—on either side, who charged in led by Lords Burke and Bennor. For a moment the tide seemed almost to turn as some of the offenders, caught between three charging forces, lost their confidence and bearings and turned, ready to retreat. But a moment later, Ferris' own cavalry reserve came charging forward and entered into the fray, several hundred strong.

  The armies of the north held their ground. Then Frost suddenly felt his spell begin to lapse, each reflective image dissolving like so many bricks of mud in a heavy rain. Grish and Marrn each tapped him on the sleeve at the same time. Frost looked high on the far hills again and saw a figure there, just a small dot, surrounded by men and horses—the grand chamberlain, he knew: the demon prince.

  * * *

  Madia had seen several of her own troops fall, but many more of the enemy. Each time a thrust was aimed at her mirror image, she found it almost too easy to run her sword through the muddled attacker, and she realized that each of her fellow warriors had discovered this same good fortune. She struck yet another man down, then another, and an uncontrollable grin spread across her face. Most of Ferris' men wore partial plating and mail, their faces exposed. Madia recognized only a few of them: some weak men of Ariman, those who had paid homage to Lord Ferris in her father's absence. But most were the hired mercenaries she had hoped they were, and those that were not would be . . . remembered.

  The idea rested easily in her mind. She had not made fealty to Ferris, nor had Anna or Hoke or the great lords and the many men who fought with her now. Everyone here had made their choices, and they would live, or die, by them.

  She dodged a fresh assault, then watched her target duck low in his saddle as she swung her sword about, away from him, causing her second image to swing toward him. As he came up to block the false blow, she was ready. She batted his blade aside as he raised it, then ran him through and watched with an almost shameful glee as he slipped to the grassy ground.

  She looked up to find Burke and Bennor arriving from either side, their cavalry sweeping into the ranks of Kamrit's mercenary army. They quickly learned the methods Madia and the others were already perfecting, and the battle began to turn. Then suddenly, the double images faded and were gone.

  The fighting nearly stopped momentarily as foot soldiers from both sides watched in wonder while half an army vanished—then a captain in Kamrit's legions barked at his men to attack, and the sound of clashing steel filled the air once more. This time, however, Madia saw the enemy's greater numbers weigh heavily in their favor. Her people began to die. The battle was quickly being lost.

  "We must withdraw!" she shouted to Hoke, who was nearby, battling two men on foot from his horse. She moved closer and nearly beheaded one of the men. Hoke managed to cut off the other man's sword hand, a blow that concluded the challenge.

  "Withdraw!" he yelled, joining Madia as she shouted it again. Captains echoed their words across the battlefield, and soldiers began to scatter in all directions. Madia and Hoke broke left, riding as fast as their horses would carry them, away from the screams of the dying left behind.

  * * *

  "They flee, my lord," the captain said; a new captain—Tyrr had not yet entirely bothered remembering his name, though he thought it might be Rinaud. He was an older man, well experienced, a veteran of other wars in other lands who came highly recommended and similarly priced. But already Tyrr had begun to tire of his confidence, warranted or otherwise. He was too much like Kaafk—who had forced Tyrr's hand, had made Tyrr destroy him against his wishes and better judgment! Cursed Kaafk! Cursed captain! Cursed human beings!

  He felt the body shudder again. Soon, he allowed, I will be only Tyrr. Once the armies of the north are defeated and Neleva lies within easy grasp. Soon, I will finally let go. . . .

  "I expect them to regroup," Rinaud added, sucking his lower lip through a space where a front tooth had once been. "Probably on the hill again. I will call another charge as soon as our scouts find them. You have defeated their magic, my liege. They will not attack us in force again, I am certain."

  Frost's magic, thought Tyrr, sensing the other's presence in the spell he had dismantled, in the very air between them, by the faint resonance of the other's mind. The spell the sorcerer had placed upon the charging legions was an intriguing one, something Tyrr had never quite seen the like of, at least not on such a scale. And the troops themselves seemed well trained and well led; a fine strategist in command, no doubt, one of the northern lords. . . .

  "You misjudge your adversary," Tyrr grumbled imagining what this captain might look like with no lower lip at all. Calm, he cautioned himself anew. Consider the larger goals, and dismiss these annoyances.

  But the task was becoming a less savory one, the world was annoying him at every turn, Kaafk was annoying him—no, Rinaud. . . .

  It is the strain of maintaining human form, he thought, shaking the notion from his mind, not the events. In fact, there had been problems and setbacks, but overall he had many reasons to be pleased. If only I can remember them!

  "I judge that they are beaten, my lord," Rinaud persisted.

  "As you wish, Captain," Tyrr replied simply, mentally preening himself for the accomplishment. "When you are satisfied that there is no viable force left, we will examine the dead. I wish to know who no longer stands against me, and who may."

  His forces had been warned of the northern army's approach, and rumors that all four of the great lords were riding with them, as well as the girl many claimed was the Princess Madia, had been plentiful. But Tyrr found this altogether too fortunate—unless planning and patience was truly paying off on a very grand scale!

  Tybree was so very wrong!

  I was so right!

  He watched Rinaud wander off to give new orders. Riders sped away to the troops below, and slowly Tyrr's forces pulled back nearer the base of the hill to regroup. Tyrr looked up, away to the far hills again. He used a simple yet most effective spell that lent great vision to his demon eyes and saw that Rinaud's instincts had been false. The enemy was regrouping as well, just where they had been before the battle. Rinaud's scouts were riding back this way, riding hard across the valley, bringing the news.

  Tyrr decided to let Rinaud find out for himself, then to let him go about aligning his troops for a fresh assault. At present something much more provocative seemed to be occurring, a friction in the air barely yards ahead of Tyrr's massed forces, a gathering of ethereal energies that had already begun to form a faint glitter just above the ground. The phenomenon stretched from left to right across half the battlefield, and Tyrr felt a certain relief. He could meet any challenge, he was sure, but waiting to learn what that challenge might be held no appeal at all.

  "Yes," he said, made the lips murmur aloud. Interesting, he thought. This Frost fellow seemed never to learn a lesson—at least, not until it no longer mattered.

  Tyrr felt buoyed by this unexpected gift the wizard seemed to be sending him, and he went about preparing to unwrap it.

  Chapter XXV

  "Enough for now," Frost said, rel
axing the effort, speaking to the two other wizards that stood with him. He paused to reexamine their collective handiwork. All along the flat terrain just in front of Ferris' great army, the air had taken on a bright, shimmering look as waves of heat radiated upwards, dissipating as they rose to the skies. The heat formed a vaguely transparent wall. The earth at its base glowed like the sun, and the grasses had already begun to smolder. Almost no detail was visible beyond the waves of heat, but as the moments passed, it was clear no man among the enemy's numbers seemed ready to breach the line.

  "Wonderful work!" Madia declared genuinely. "This will give us time to ready another plan of attack."

  Hoke and the great lords stood with her, their faces weary from battle, yet each one seemed to rally now and vowed again to lend her their full allegiance.

  You were right about at least one thing, Madia, Frost reflected as he watched the young princess, listening to her, you were right about yourself. But she was wrong to think she and her able compatriots stood any chance now. He could let them go as they willed—do what his instincts and the damnable omens told him he must do and simply leave, simply run away. A fool's wager, this; discouraging odds and limited options—limited to one.

  He turned to Madia, then placed one hand gently on her shoulder. "No," he said. "You have done well, but another assault will only bring your deaths."

  "You can't know that," Jaran said, but the conviction in his voice was lacking.

  "Even without Lord Ferris' great powers, the odds are nearly hopeless by any measure," Frost persisted. "You all know this to be true. But you face not only men, you face a beast as well. It is the beast that I must take. Pray I can succeed against him."

  "We have agreed to assist Frost," Grish said of Marrn and himself. "We may better Frost's chances. We all agree the Blade might function better if more minds and strengths are applied to the spell Frost must use."