But Ruvary had yet to decide if this storm was the product of magical opposition or the result of a spell conjured by Lorens himself. If the wizard-king brought on such a potent defence of his castle, it would never do abandoning him — betraying him.
Ruvary had been tempted to join Squann in the secret tunnel and escape. Ambition burned too brightly within him for that, though. The idea of bringing to justice such a traitor in the ranks of King Lorens’ guard assured him of a secure post.
“As secure as I can get,” he muttered to himself. The gusts of wind drowned out his mumbled words and insured that no one overheard. In spite of this isolation caused by the elements, Ruvary looked around guiltily. Lorens knew everything. They said the Demon Crown gave these powers, but Ruvary cared little for such speculation. That the king knew anything was proof enough that he had cast his lot with the winning side.
“May the demons take all rebels!” he shouted in the teeth of the storm. As if answering, a jagged bolt edged down from the sky and blew apart the landing above him. Ruvary threw up his arm to protect his face from flying fragments.
Doubt assailed him again. Did Lorens conjure this storm to protect the castle from the rebel forces or did another, more powerful wizard send it as a screen for the rebel attack?
“Captain, here he is,” came a frightened voice. Ruvary turned to see two guards supporting Squann. His predecessor as commander of the guard twitched feebly. One eye came open and peered at him, but Ruvary did not care about Squann’s condition.
“Take him to the battlements.”
“But the storm!” protested the one who had given him trouble before. This time Ruvary lashed out with his heavy boot. The man lost his balance and tumbled backward down the stone steps. Halfway down the flight bright red spots began to appear. By the time the soldier landed, neck broken and face destroyed, at the foot of the stairs, his blood coloured every worn step.
“Take the traitor to the battlements,” Ruvary ordered again. This time fear of his punishment outweighed fear of the storm. They dragged a limp Squann to the walkway.
“Over there. Put him by the pole that supported the banner.” Ruvary felt uneasiness growing. He stripped off his metal armour and cast it down the steps. He did not allow his men to follow his lead in this. If a lightning bolt came down from above, let it seek out his underlings. They existed only to serve him — and to die, if necessary.
“Ruvary,” croaked Squann. “This does no good. I am dying. Poison. Anneshoria poisoned me with a blade.”
“You allowed the prisoners to escape. No,” said Ruvary, enjoying this moment of superiority to the utmost. “You didn’t allow the prisoners to escape. You helped them.”
“The kingdom.” Squann’s next words vanished in the sonic assault from the thunder. “We must stop the war. It is destroying us all.”
“You sell out to rebels? That is your way of ending the fighting? You should have obeyed our liege lord. Only by following King Lorens can we unite Porotane.” Ruvary looked around self-consciously, wondering if his noble speech went unheeded by his monarch. He had no hint to the effect of his words, either on king or storm.
“Captain, the storm worsens,” protested a soldier. The lightning blast limned him and turned him into something less than human. For a brief instant, Ruvary thought the flesh had been stripped from the guardsman’s body and only his skeleton was left. He blinked and wiped the rain from his eyes. A chill worked down from the Yorral Mountains and threatened to turn this cold rain into sleet.
“Tie his hands to the pulley,” he ordered. Ruvary watched as Squann was bound to the flagstaff. “Raise him.”
The soldiers exchanged glances, then hastened to obey. The thunder deafened them; it also drowned out Squann’s cries of pain as they jerked him slowly upward on the staff. The wind caught his thrashing body and pulled him away. Ruvary wondered if he could estimate the wind’s velocity by the angle Squann’s body made with the flagpole.
Such a notion vanished when the very heavens opened with a powerful jagged sword thrust of lightning that ripped asunder clouds and terminated on Squann’s torso. A cascade of burned offal rained down. Again Ruvary tried to protect his eyes but the afterimages remained — and they frightened him.
He did not see yellow and blue dots dancing merrily. He saw demons cavorting as they feasted on Squann’s cremated flesh.
“Down. Get out of the storm. Now!” Ruvary was first down the stairs. He heard the others behind him, but he dared not turn to see if they were uninjured. The image of the demons had burned itself into his brain as surely as the energy bolt had seared Squann’s body. Ruvary slipped and almost fell when he came to the foot of the stairs; he had forgotten the pool of blood left by the other unfortunate soldier.
Boots leaving bloody prints, Ruvary went to report the traitor’s execution to King Lorens.
*
“I cannot see. I cannot feel. I am blind and deaf. Who puts me into this black existence?” Lorens paced back and forth, wailing piteously and struggling to set the crown more firmly on his head. No matter how he twisted or turned it, no images from afar appeared.
“Calmness. I must not panic. Why doesn’t the Demon Crown work? What have I done wrong? What? A spell? What?” He spun in fright when a strong rapping sounded at the door to his chambers. “Who is it?” he called.
“Captain Ruvary reporting, Majesty.”
“Enter and be damned.”
Ruvary came through the door more timidly than his knock had intimated. Lorens took some small pleasure in being able to frighten an underling. Not a year ago, Ruvary would have terrified him, a poor apprentice wizard never straying far from his master. Now the powerful soldier feared him!
“Majesty, the traitor has been put to death. On the battlements.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Lorens said. “I watched.” He kept the panic from rising in his voice. Anything within the castle appeared perfectly to the magic of the crown. Nothing beyond the boundaries of Castle Porotane could be spied upon. He was blind and deaf when he needed his power most. What caused this blackness?
Who caused it?
“Do you think the rebels will attack in the storm, Majesty?”
“They are fools if they do. Dalziel Sef might consider it a bold stroke, though.”
“Gaemock is not their commander?”
“I could not locate Gaemock.” Lorens bit his tongue to keep from revealing more of his weakness. He had concentrated on Sef’s troop placements, his weaknesses and his strengths. Of Dews Gaemock he had not seen a trace. If the rebel leader plotted elsewhere in Porotane, such a move had been hidden by the sudden storm.
“Do we prepare to repel or do we mount an offensive of our own and sally forth?” Ruvary shifted restlessly from foot to foot while trying not to seem nervous in the presence of his liege. “I need to know so that I can prepare the formations and have the horses saddled and ready by dawn.”
“Attack or defend,” mused Lorens. He tried to remember what he could about the rebel position. “Ask Squann. He knows such things.”
“Sire, Squann is dead. You witnessed his execution for treason against you.”
“What? Yes, of course, I knew that. Yes.” The winter cold that had crept into the castle didn’t matter; Lorens experienced a sudden fever. His hold on the soldiers seemed tenuous. He dared not let this ambitious whoreson take over. Squann had tried to do that. Squann had died. He remembered that now. He could kill Ruvary, too. Yes, that was what he had to do. But later. After the rebels were defeated.
He smiled crookedly. Ruvary might die a hero in battle. That would solve the problem of another ruthless, relentless soldier trying to usurp power as Baron Theoll had done.
“Defence is out of the question. Dalziel Sef will never launch a direct attack. He will attempt to lay siege to the castle. The early winter favours him, diminishing our stores more quickly.”
“Then we attack?” Ruvary sounded uncertain of this approach.
“I know the precise location of every cavalry unit Sef has in the field. Is that not good enough for you to defeat him?”
“He is entrenched on the upper slopes.”
“They are not slopes. They are hills. Less!”
Ruvary started to speak but Lorens’ mood quieted him. The king did not have to charge up a fortified slope wreathed in falling snow; his men might have to in the morning.
“You worry needlessly, Ruvary.” Lorens regained his confidence. Sef would not move his troops in this storm. His position would be unchanged from the last scrying with the crown. “I will show you their troop concentrations, their weaknesses, how you will attack and win.”
Lorens pulled out a map of the surrounding countryside and began marking the positions for his new field commander. By the time he left, Ruvary’s confidence had soared.
Lorens watched the officer leave, sure of his victory. The longer Lorens thought about it, the less certain he became that he properly remembered the images he had seen. He spent the remainder of the night listening to the storm and worrying.
Why wouldn’t the Demon Crown function?
*
“The storm is lifting, Majesty. Thank you.”
Lorens looked at his new captain and almost asked what he meant. Lorens held his tongue in time. It would not do to admit that he had not been the author of the prodigious storm that had hammered away at the castle walls all night.
“You will ride directly to glorious victory. Nothing can stop you. Go now!”
The heavy castle gates cranked open and the line of mounted soldiers stirred in anticipation of the coming battle. When the gates had opened enough to allow a double column through, Ruvary gave the command and they raced out to meet the rebels.
Lorens walked up to the battlements and stared across the countryside to where the major battle would occur. The storm had left the land damp and the sky cloudless and blue. The uneasiness he had felt at being in the storm and blinded by it evaporated when he saw how proud and strong his troops looked. They rode into battle at his order. And they would triumph this day for his glory!
The Demon Crown warmed to his touch and glowed its familiar off-hue green. He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them and both saw and saw. Sef had not repositioned his troops during the storm. Everything he had told Ruvary remained true. There was no way he could lose if his soldiers fought valiantly!
Using the magic given him by the crown, Lorens relished the sight of blood flowing as the front of his assault force met the outer fringes of the rebel defence. The enemy drew back, then turned and ran in complete rout. His forces pushed on, the double column splitting, one half going to the east and the other plunging westward.
The rebels to the east had the chance to escape into the farmlands. His cavalry spent needless time tracking down the fleeing cowards. The true battle occurred to the west where his soldiers pinned the rebels into a fork in the river. If Sef were to escape, he would have to cross the River Ty.
Lorens watched and saw that the rebel leader could not do it. He had made no provision for escape, thinking his position secure. That cost Sef the battle. The rebel fought well enough, Lorens saw; but to no avail. He had lost the high ground, he could not flee across the river without boats, and the river effectively hemmed him in.
He had to fight like a cornered rat or die.
Lorens laughed aloud, the sound that of a madman. Sef had no choice. He would die even if he fought!
“Squire!” the wizard-king bellowed. “Prepare my steed. I will ride to the scene of battle and personally lead my troops.”
The frightened squire hurried to obey. Lorens flicked the hem of his cape up and dangled it over his left arm. Head high, crown giving him minute by minute intelligence about the fight, he went to the courtyard, allowed the squire to help him mount, and then rode quickly for the front lines.
Lorens marvelled at the change that had come about in him. While under Patrin’s tutelage, he had feared all things beyond the ordinary. Now he rode through the rebel-infested countryside to take his place at the front of troops fighting a desperate enemy. Courage came with the Demon Crown.
Lorens also knew that there was no one along the road to waylay him. A quick survey using the crown had shown only barren land denuded by troops and the ice storm of the night before.
He sucked in a lungful of crisp, cold air and rode with head held high, as befitted a conqueror. He had led his men to conquest over the rebels. He had vanquished them. Duke Freow had failed. Theoll had made a botch of it. No one else in Porotane could have succeeded.
“Majesty, you shouldn’t be here,” came Ruvary’s harsh words. “It is too dangerous in the field. They fight with the savagery of a force twice their size.”
“You attack in the wrong spot, fool,” snapped Lorens. He knew the source of his commander’s irritation. The rebels held back his troops, true, but Ruvary did not want the soldiers seeing their king leading. He wished to snatch away all the glory for this victory.
“You!” bellowed Lorens. He signalled to a sergeant leading a small company of lancers directly up the hill and into Sef’s main force. “March to the west, then cut north and attack their flank. They will collapse totally.”
“Majesty, we have few enough troops. To divide — ”
“Silence, worm! Obey or die!” Spittle ran down Lorens’ chin. Only the wind turning it icy caused him to notice. He swiped at it and adjusted the crown on his head. Black powers welled up within him. He swallowed hard when he saw the peculiar red-lit land peopled by the grotesque dancing figures of demons. Using the magic power locked within the Demon Crown, he directed his senses deeper into his new and daunting world rather than denying its existence.
No, came a booming voice that caused his bones to quake. Not yet. Your time for this world will come. But not now.
Lorens wobbled and almost fell from the saddle. Only a gust of frigid wind that brought him to his senses saved him from embarrassment in front of his men.
“You obey or you die.” Lorens used the blackness and the denial of his power to form a spell that quickly grew beyond his control.
Lorens recoiled in horror as the swirling terror he created spun and stalked up the hill toward the rebel forces. One rebel, braver than his comrades or less fleet of foot, vanished into the whirling magical pillar. His shrieks of agony were blotted out almost instantly. Left behind was only the memory of the man.
The tornado dissipated but its dire effect on his troops remained. The frightened sergeant ordered his men around the hill in the flanking manoeuvre, as his wizard-king ordered. “Captain Ruvary be damned,” Lorens heard the sergeant say. “All he can do is flay me alive. The king can do that!”
The sense of power mounted in Lorens. He turned to Ruvary and smirked. Once he would have been frightened of the powerful soldier with the steel sword and battered shield. No longer. He had found a power transcending anything a mortal could command.
“Dalziel Sef,” he said suddenly. “The rebel leader is escaping across the river. He has found a small boat. After him, fool. Don’t let him escape!”
Lorens threw caution to the winds and rode directly up the hill into the concentrated might of the rebel forces. Following so closely after the cyclonic death he had sent that broke the will of the rebels. They threw down their weapons and fled screaming.
King Lorens was first atop the hill where the rebels had been strongest. He watched, eyes sufficing, as the lancers caught the retreat on the tips of their weapons. Nowhere did a rebel remain with defiance in his heart. All knew fear.
All feared Lorens!
“There,” he called to Ruvary. “That small boat making its way across the river. Stop it!”
Two men rowed frantically in the tiny boat to get Dalziel Sef away safely. Lorens tried once more to tap the power that had brought the cyclone into existence. As before, he found only impenetrable darkness that defied his attempts to use another spell. He could do nothing but use the Demon Cr
own to watch Sef flee.
“Archers. Get archers here. Shoot him out of the water. He must not reach the other side alive!”
The archers tried, but Dalziel Sef had gone beyond their range. The swift current of the snow-fed river carried the tiny boat along quicker than Usual for this time of year. But even if it hadn’t, Sef’s escape would have been assured. His head start was too great.
“All the rebels have surrendered, Majesty,” Ruvary reported. “Where do you wish them imprisoned? There’s a small village, long deserted, not a half day’s travel from here.”
Lorens brushed off the suggestion. “Kill them. Kill them all.”
“But, Majesty, I recommend — ”
Lorens swung on his officer, grabbed the man’s tunic and pulled him close. Bowing his head allowed the crown to touch Ruvary’s forehead. The office gasped and died instantly from the brief contact. Lorens jerked and threw the body to the ground.
“Let him rot. No one is to touch his foul body,” Lorens called out. “Let him remain a symbol to all those who would disobey or question my command!”
A hush fell over the conquering army. Lorens smiled crookedly. He had established complete dominance. He waited for the slaughter of the captured rebels to begin before turning slowly to survey his new kingdom, a kingdom unified under his control.
Only when he stared across at the uplift of the Uvain Plateau did he hesitate. Fierce storms clawed along the buttes leading up to the plateau — and the Demon Crown’s power faltered again.
He could not see anything on the Uvain Plateau…except for a castle perched high on a pinnacle.
CHAPTER XIV
“Light!” exclaimed Birtle Santon. “I see light ahead.”
“How long have we been in this demon-haunted tunnel?” asked Pandasso. He pressed close to Santon, making the adventurer move more quickly to avoid his touch. He could not forget that Pandasso had betrayed Vered to Lorens. Nothing in the man’s behaviour since had worked in his favour, either.
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 11