Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  “Apprentice Knight of Erythane.” Ra-khir’s sense of honor forced him to correct. He had not yet passed the tests required to take his place among the rigidly honorable and maddeningly honest knights. He headed up the companionway, each step steady.

  Tae scrambled up behind Ra-khir, his motions comparatively quick and light. “Knight, apprentice knight. A matter of formality.”

  Ra-khir heaved onto the deck as Kevral back-stepped to give the men room. “Don’t let Knight-Armsman Edwin hear you say that. He’ll take it out of my hide.”

  “Promises. Promises.” Tae scurried up beside the muscular redhead. Though seventeen and a year younger than Tae, Ra-khir carried far more height and bulk than the wiry Easterner. They seemed a study in opposites. Ra-khir’s hair lay neatly combed around comely features, and his green eyes sparkled with affection. He always dressed in the colors of Erythane and Béarn, like all the knights, yet he somehow managed to bring together the orange and black and the blue and tan without it clashing. His every movement seemed poised and his every action polite.

  The son of a criminal lord, Tae had grown up surrounded by thieves, thugs, and murderers. He looked the part. Shaggy black hair tumbled over his forehead and spilled into his face. Restless eyes seemed never still, and his simple garb did little to enhance his narrow, sinewy body. An edge of a scar peeked from beneath one sleeve, mute testimony to the night enemies of his father slaughtered his mother, stabbed him sixteen times, and left him for dead. Kevral knew most women would believe her insane for even considering a life with Tae after a proposal from Ra-khir. Yet his wild spontaneity and quick sarcasm attracted her every bit as much as Ra-khir’s gentle kindness. Both had touched her heart with their honest openness and competence. There was more to Tae than even she would have believed and more to Ra-khir than most would believe possible.

  “Stop staring at us and let’s go,” Tae cut to the obvious with a directness that made his companions blush. He headed aft without savoring the results of his words.

  Ra-khir inclined, then raised his head toward Tae’s back, the gesture plainly conveying respect as well as indicating Kevral should precede him. She obliged, and Ra-khir followed.

  As the three fell silent, the voices of their companions at the stern reached them as whispers. Matrinka and Darris enjoyed a rising wind off the port rail, and Mior threaded between the gunwale gaffs as the wind ruffled her fur in patches. Captain tacked smoothly to take advantage of the wind. Griff remained in place with his back against the mast as the boom swung harmlessly overhead, forcing Rantire to shift position. Kevral hopped into a crouch on the gunwale, without supporting her weight against the rail. She chose the port side mostly to appease Rantire as it placed her in a better position for guarding Matrinka. Tae hunkered in the stern, and Ra-khir picked an attentive position toward starboard, one hand balanced on the rail.

  Captain waited only until all of the humans had settled before commencing. A strand of his red-brown hair floated on the breeze, and his yellow eyes gazed out over the sea. “At one time the elves lived on a world called Alfheim, without worry or weather, without need for sleep or shelter. Our magic served no purpose except enhancement of play. We lived too long to concern ourselves with time, and the concepts of need and power held no meaning. Our language did not acknowledge any of these.

  “The gods could reach our realm freely. Frey, our creator, lived on our world. Our only contact with humans consisted of rare visits by the Northern Wizard, he or she who championed the cause of good. The elves were his charge along with the Northern peoples, while evil claimed the East and neutrality the West. No magic existed among humans, so they could never find us, and the elves never thought to concentrate their magic or visit the world of mankind. I came at the request of a Northern Wizard to navigate the seas to the Wizards’ Isle where they met for matters of import. I was considered ponderous and too serious by the others of my ilk.”

  Captain frowned at an irony too obvious to deny. He had become outcast for his wish to restore the elves to the lighthearted state they had once defined without need to question. “Elves had no laws, no conventions to govern behavior—such was unnecessary. Every elf did as he or she pleased. When Odin created our worlds, he took all chaos from man’s world, believing they could not handle it. For whatever reason, he left the elves a balance of sorts, though the fulcrum falls far more toward chaos than the one eventually intended for mankind.”

  Matrinka cleared her throat, brows low in concentration. “But I’ve always heard chaos is the root of deception and treachery as well as idea.”

  Captain mulled the words, mouth tightened to a slit that scarcely lessened the broad lips. At length, he spoke “Thank you, m’lady. You’ve brought a detail into focus I’d never considered before. I’ve always accepted that Alfheim’s balance falls farther to chaos while Midgard’s shows a preference for law. It explains why elves never banded together in causes, never built dwellings, and never combined abilities until we came to Midgard.” He smiled, his mouth appearing enormous in the wake of the pursed line it had previously formed. “Or, depending on your viewpoint, why humans did do those things. Think of law as structure and chaos as planning. Evil is self-interest and good a sense of brotherhood.”

  Kevral fidgeted, glancing around at her companions. Everyone seemed riveted. Aside from Rantire, who attended her charge, they all stared directly at Captain. Kevral forced herself to focus on the elf’s words, though they had begun to seem more tedious than any song of Darris’.

  Captain continued, “Long ago for you, but within my lifetime.” Catching Kevral’s eye, he winked. “And Colbey Calistinsson’s. . . .”

  Now, Captain gained Kevral’s attention, too. She had modeled every aspect of her life after the legendary Renshai hero who had lived centuries before her time. No swordsman had ever neared his weapon skill, but Kevral set her sights on that goal. Once, she believed she had come close; but a recent meeting and spar with the Renshai-turned-immortal had proved her far wrong.

  “. . . Midgard contained law but not chaos. The Northern Wizard championed good. All Northerners, including elves, had no concept of evil. The so-called Southern Wizard championed evil and the East; and his people knew no good. Between them stretched the Westlands all but one of you call home.”

  Tae corrected the misconception. “The West is my home, too. Now.” He did not explain further, but Kevral understood. Tae’s father had sent him westward with the instructions to return East at the age of twenty, if he survived, to claim leadership of the underground, his birthright. Hunted by his father’s enemies and disinterested in organizing criminals, Tae had no intention of going back.

  Captain accepted the words without question. “All of you call home, then. The Eastern and Western Wizards championed neutrality, unaware that Odin planned eventually to give them charge of law and chaos. The Wizards maintained the balance for millennia.”

  Matrinka redirected the story back to her question. “So elfin chaos consisted only of genius because Alfheim had no evil and therefore no self-interest.”

  Captain nodded. “My assumption exactly.”

  Rantire added dubiously, “So adding chaos to Northmen could have turned them into elves?”

  “Theoretically.” Captain turned to look directly at Rantire. “Not physically, of course. Which might explain why our languages and religious beliefs are similar. But humans didn’t start of a single mind, as elves did. There’re many different types of people. As evil tried to persuade good and good evil, the lines blurred. That started fairly early on after creation, from what I’ve read.”

  “The point being?” Kevral’s warrior need for swift answers made her impatient.

  “An important one for me.” Captain swung back to Kevral without disturbing the tiller. “Elves did as they pleased, which, essentially consisted of whatever felt good. Ultimately, they all carried the same deeply ingrained, innate sense of values. Elves always agreed.”

  Tae asked the signif
icant questions, the ones that had initiated the conversation. “So how did elves get here? And why do they hate humans?”

  “That’s where Colbey Calistinsson enters.”

  Interest piqued, Kevral rose. Relying on holy tenets, she took up the tale. “Colbey unwillingly became the Western Wizard and brought chaos to the world.” She corrected. “Our world. He championed law and the Eastern Wizard chaos. But everyone thought it was the other way around, and everyone was afraid of chaos, so they all tried to destroy Colbey.” Finding every eye on her, Kevral turned the story back to Captain. “Right?”

  “Not exactly.” Captain sucked in a deep lungful of sea air. “Colbey did carry the Staff of Law and hand over the Staff of Chaos to the Eastern Wizard. And everyone did believe he had done the reverse. But Colbey never championed law or chaos. He believed ultimate balance could exist between law and chaos, as it did for good and evil. That view was shared by few, at best. Colbey gained more enemies, including the other Wizards, and the very gods he worshiped.”

  Darris twisted as if in pain, the need to question a brand for his bard’s fiery curiosity. Matrinka saved him the stress of finding proper wording so as not to spark the requirement for song. “So the Renshai’s twist on religion is correct?”

  “From what I understand, in almost every detail,” Captain admitted.

  Darris finally found his tongue. “So the Ragnarok occurred?” It was the major point of contention between Renshai and others who followed the once only Northern religion, including Béarn and most of the Westlands.

  “Of that, my friend, I am absolutely certain.”

  Kevral’s heart pounded a slow cadence. Where once she found the elf’s story a chore, now she would not have missed a syllable.

  “The system of Wizards championing causes gave way to a balance that hinged upon the Béarnian ruler’s neutrality. Colbey became the immortal overseer of balance, charging his people, the Renshai, with protecting the heirs. The Staves of Law and Chaos became the test by which the rulers are measured, and magic otherwise disappeared from man’s world. Poised on the very brink of Ragnarok, Odin talked Colbey into joining the gods at the final battle.”

  “I’m sure that was difficult,” Kevral inserted with a smile and obvious sarcasm. Death in valiant combat with its guarantee of Valhalla—the goal of Northmen for eternity. Heroic death established a place among the Einherjar, those souls who battled on the side of gods in the greatest of all wars. Even now, the Renshai still fought for that goal, believing a second Ragnarok would come. Kevral could think of no greater reward than a place among the gods during the Ragnarok while still alive. Nothing could please a Renshai more.

  Captain grinned at the interruption. “Now, the gods entered Ragnarok knowing in advance who would live and die, and the means of their deaths. No one suspected Odin had groomed Colbey to rescue him at the final battle. Odin intended for Colbey to shift the tide of the war, to help him fight the Fenris Wolf destined to kill him. Together, Odin reasoned, they could slay the wolf, and Odin would defy his fate.”

  Kevral listened, rapt. She could hear the voices of the gods surrounding her, the rasp of sharpening weapons, and the clatter of warriors arming for battle. She savored the perfume of enemy blood, and the sweet cries of battle seemed to echo through her head. She could imagine no honor greater than exchanging attacks with the massive wolf and dying so that the gods’ AllFather might live.

  Captain chuckled at his own image of what came next. “But even Odin’s power was not strong enough to stay Colbey from his own cause. Frey, the elves’ creator, was fated to die on the sword of the fire giant, Surtr. The giant would then live to kindle great conflagrations on the worlds of man and elfin kind, destroying them. Setting his sights on saving humans, Colbey betrayed Odin and assisted Frey instead. Odin was killed, and the fire giant, too. But, in the moments before his death, Surtr still managed to set both worlds ablaze. There was no time to save Alfheim and Midgard. Frey chose the former and Colbey the latter. Neither could battle the fire alone, and they could not reach a compromise. Colbey won through guile and strength of mental will. Their combined efforts rescued Midgard, but Alfheim was lost.”

  Tae tapped the taffrail. “Which explains the elves’ hatred for humans. But how did they survive? And how did they get here?”

  “Dh’arlo’mé, now the leader of the elves, was the Northern Sorceress’ apprentice when the system of Wizards was destroyed. Knowing the Ragnarok was imminent, he taught the elves to combine magic—a difficult task given the nature of elves. Eventually, they opened a gate to Midgard. Those nearest escaped in time, but most elves perished in the fires. Even those who survived got badly burned. Bitterness scarred them as deeply.”

  Silence followed Captain’s tale as the humans considered the implications of what they had heard. Kevral tore her thoughts from the conjured images of Ragnarok to understanding of the elves’ trials.

  Griff broke the hush at length. “I don’t understand.”

  The simple statement fit the heir’s childlike innocence, though it required elaboration.

  Captain indulged without patronizing. “Which part doesn’t make sense to you?”

  Griff rose, towering over his guardian. “I could understand why elves might not like Colbey, though surely they realized the difficulty of his decision.” He scratched his mop of black hair. “But why do the elves hate us? We weren’t even born when all this happened. We didn’t even know they existed. At least, I didn’t.”

  “None of us did,” Rantire asserted, protecting Griff’s feelings as well as his safety.

  Captain gestured Rantire and Griff away from the jib sail. They complied. As the wind shifted over the starboard bow, he brought the Sea Seraph about. The boom swung through a perfect arc as the canvas took its new position. “Elves live centuries or millennia. The concept of generations means nothing to them. Also, remember, elves exist as a single, ethical unit.” He lowered his head. “At least, they used to. They assumed humans do the same. It’s only natural to apply your own experiences to others and expect them to react as you would.”

  Thoughtful nods joined Griff’s.

  The story meshed perfectly with Kevral’s understanding of Renshai religion. Only one thing jarred, and that was a detail outside the story. All Renshai believed Colbey had died battling Surtr’s fire, sacrificing his life for mankind. Some factions maintained that Renshai prayer and dedication to his causes raised him from the dead to live among the gods. Kevral, Matrinka, Darris, Tae, and Ra-khir had briefly traveled with Colbey prior to joining Captain. From him, she had learned that both interpretations were wrong. Colbey had survived the battle and now lived in Asgard with his wife, Freya, and his son, Ravn.

  Ra-khir indicated a wish to speak with a gesture as formal as court. “Is it correct, then, to assume the sudden rash of assassinations of Béarnian heirs has some connection to the elves?”

  It seemed obvious to Kevral, yet she still hung on Captain’s answer. King Kohleran deteriorated, victim of a slow, terminal illness. One by one, his children and grandchildren died. At first, the causes had seemed natural or accidental. Then the pattern had become too strong and suspicious for coincidence until, through a mysterious process Kevral now knew was elfin magic, bear statues had come to life in Béarn’s courtyard and murdered several of the youngest heirs. In desperation, the prime minister, Baltraine, had talked King Kohleran into an unprecedented staff-testing of all the remaining heirs, hoping to discover how to best concentrate security. In the past, staff-testing began after the king’s death, administered to the heirs in proper ascension order until one passed. Those who failed often lapsed into depression, attempted suicide, or turned to the comfort of drugs or drink. Their despondency went far beyond the loss of rulership, for the king or queen treated family well and those siblings who did not undergo the test seemed as happy before as after.

  Low in the king’s line, Matrinka had never expected to become queen; yet her failure at the staff-test had le
ft her battling hopelessness. When she surreptitiously discovered that no one had passed the staff-test, the gravity of the world’s situation came to light for Kevral. The king’s imminent death would leave only a three-month window to find a proper heir. Desperately, Matrinka and her friends had sought a solution and, eventually, had discovered the existence of an outcast uncle and his two sons. Uncle and eldest son had died accidentally, leaving only Griff.

  “Yes.” Captain answered a question Kevral’s musing had forced her to forget. “The elves fashioned the assassinations. It was their belief that creating chaos in the high kingdom would cause all of mankind to fail. I was the lone voice on the council who argued against it.”

  “Their belief?” Tae spread his fingers, a gesture suggesting anything next spoken should seem too obvious. “They were right.”

  “Coincidentally,” Captain admitted. “They didn’t know about the staff-test or Béarn’s ruler being the central focus of neutrality. They just assumed humans would prove as consistent as elves and that striking down the highest leaders might force the collapse of human society.”

  Tae whittled Captain’s point to its simplest reality. “In other words, they didn’t realize humans come in lots of different types, with different ideas and different beliefs.”

  Rantire nodded vigorously. “I’d gotten that pretty well figured out by the questions they asked me. I didn’t think they’d ever realize they could get the information I wouldn’t give them if they just found someone dishonest enough to betray mankind for money.”

  The implications of Rantire’s words alarmed Kevral. “But they did? Eventually figure it out, I mean.”