Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Weile grinned with pride.

  Tae redirected the conversation back to its original track. “My point being that the elves had a hand in the slaying of Pudar’s prince, so why not Béarn? Or the East for that matter?”

  The smile got swept away in Weile’s reply. “An elf killed Pudar’s crown prince?”

  “No,” Tae admitted. “They just cast some sort of spell that confused those present enough to believe your enemies . . .” He emphasized the “your” slightly, just enough to instill guilt, “. . . when they claimed I killed the prince. At least, that’s how I finally put the whole thing together.”

  Weile rocked in his chair, obviously contemplating Tae’s words thoroughly. “Was that before or after travel became difficult?”

  “Before.”

  Weile made a thoughtful noise.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Weile’s attention drifted back to Tae. He paused longer than appropriate, obviously unused to sharing ideas. Then, realizing he could not train his son to his position without explanations, he said, “It seems the elves must have chosen to work with my enemies first. They must have rejected that association and come to me instead.”

  Tae blinked, his father’s logic too clear to require such intensive consideration. “It seems that way.”

  “Either that, or my enemies hired the elves. That association left a bitter taste, so the elves came to me when they needed assistance.”

  Tae narrowed his eyes, attempting to track his father’s intentions and believing he needed more information. “Does it make a difference who hired whom?”

  “All the difference,” Weile replied. “Who had more to gain from that scenario?”

  “The elves,” Tae replied.

  “The enemies,” Weile inserted, nearly simultaneously. “They had you dead and me at least desperately embarrassed, perhaps hunted by one of the strongest kingdoms in the world.”

  Weile’s gall astounded Tae. “You would consider us more significant than the crown prince of Pudar?”

  “To a rival crime leader, yes.” Weile rose, walked beside Tae, and placed an arm across his shoulder. He spoke directly into Tae’s ear, as if to reveal the greatest secret of the universe. “Tae, I swear I never did it for the fame or the power. It would scare you to know just how much authority you stand to inherit.” He stepped back, clearly expecting the skepticism Tae knew his expression revealed. “My bodyguards.” He jerked a thumb toward the back room where Daxan and Alsrusett waited. “The best and most loyal anyone could find. They worked for Stalmize’s king before every noble with a taint of royal blood started warring for the crown. Disgusted, they came to me.” Weile raised his brows, point only partially made. “Tae Kahn, princes battle for thrones all the time, and they slaughter one another with no more remorse than starving predators on the street.”

  The analogy unsettled Tae. He had always envisioned royalty as being above the deadly squabbles that those who lived by their wits survived on a daily basis.

  “Right now, Tae, it’s common knowledge among soldiers and town guards that the most stable group in the East is mine. We may not follow the official laws of the kingdom, but we can be trusted. That’s more than any castle in the East can claim.”

  Though it seemed obvious, Tae had to ask. “So many of the men who are involved in this . . .” He made a sweeping gesture intended to include all of Weile’s broad flock.

  “. . . once served Eastern kings as soldiers, guardsmen, elite fighters. Yes. Do you still think I’m aiding the wrong side?”

  Yes. Tae thought it better to avoid an answer. “You believe the elves assisted a rival in order to . . .” The argument broke down. “. . . in order to what?”

  “Test them,” Weile inserted. “Calculate whether they would best serve elfin purposes.” He returned to his seat, emitting a barking laugh. “Your escape made them look incompetent, so the elves came to me instead.”

  “And now you’re essentially running the East.”

  Weile shook his head. “No. I’m not doing that. I could if I wished, but I never wanted a kingdom. You know that’s not why I did this.” He mimicked Tae’s earlier gesture.

  “Maybe not. But if the kingdoms have fallen to chaos, and you command this much respect, perhaps it’s your duty to become king.”

  Weile’s eyes widened, then he laughed again. “You’re playing with me.”

  “I’m not.” Tae’s own words surprised him nearly as much as they did Weile. “You could always establish another king later, but if you have any loyalty to your country, you’ll reunite it. If that means becoming the king, then so be it.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not enough I’m offering you power? You have your eye on a kingdom?”

  Now it was Tae’s turn to laugh. “I don’t even want the power, remember? I’m talking about you, not me.” For an instant he contemplated the possibility that greed did drive him to recommend such an action, but the thought practically discarded itself. He had spoken the truth. His father had a strong sense of justice and an astounding ability to unite even those who seemed adamantly self-devoted. “And why are we talking about kingdoms anyway? I’m still trying to get you to understand that you’re on the wrong side.”

  “Meaning criminals? Or the elves?”

  Tae knew Weile would never listen to arguments concerning the former. “I mean the elves. They’re planning to destroy mankind.”

  “I believe,” Weile said in a bland monotone indicative of rising anger, “that you have now stated that four times, without a shred of proof.”

  Frustration plied Tae. “I can’t bring you a signed confession.”

  “How about just a logical argument.”

  “All right.” Tae sought the most convincing point, hampered by the nervousness stemming as much from the likelihood this might prove his first, last, and only chance to gain his father’s trust as to rescue Westland travel. “Give me something to work with. Why do you believe the elves want to stop travel in the West?”

  “They’re trying to befriend humanity. They’ve met with some understandable hostility. They want the chance to show their harmless intentions before humans amass armies.”

  “So they hire humans to kill other humans?”

  “No. They hired humans to prevent travel. We chose the method.” Weile added quickly, “I instructed my men to use the least violent methods necessary to accomplish that goal, though I did give them permission to kill.” He shrugged, a gesture that neither excused nor condemned their methods. “Sometimes violent men press their limits. And sometimes travelers press their rights to the roads to the death.”

  Tae did not dispute the last point. Kevral, Ra-khir, Darris, Matrinka, and he would not have allowed anyone to stand in their way as they escorted the last heir to the throne of Béarn. “But why would elves who only wish to befriend mankind take the last true heir to Béarn prisoner?”

  “I don’t know, Tae,” Weile said, his tone impatient. “We could ask them. I’m sure there’re a thousand possible reasons, not the least of which would be his own safety. Gentle giants, the Béarnian kings. They would fall easy prey to warring cousins.”

  His own safety? Tae could scarcely believe he had heard the words. “Starving him doesn’t seem protective to me.”

  “You think they wanted him dead?”

  “Yes.”

  “There are faster ways than starvation. If the elves wanted this heir dead, they certainly wouldn’t have wasted time doing it slowly so you could charge in and rescue him in the meantime.”

  Tae had to concede that point. Rantire had explained the elves’ method by stating that she had partially convinced Dh’arlo’mé that Griff’s death would herald the destruction of the universe. If you knew a man’s death could bring the Ragnarok, would you lock him in a dungeon? Before Tae could speak the question, he anticipated his father’s response. If it was the only way to protect him. The ease with which
Weile, and now he himself, could counter every argument unnerved Tae. Is it possible I’m looking at this from the wrong side? The thought felt ridiculous, yet he sensed a grain of truth beneath the discomfort. Fatigue closed over him in a wave, and he cursed the blunting of his thoughts that even a full night’s sleep had not dispelled. In a quiet corner of his soul, he knew, without need for proof, that he sanctioned the correct side in this dispute. Yet doubts nibbled at that certainty as they had never done before. Details did not fit his image of the elves as demonic creatures totally dedicated to the ruination of mankind. If the elves could pin Ragnarok on mankind and despise them through generations, how could they so easily forgive betrayal among their own? Tae turned to the only argument left in his arsenal. “The gods themselves sanctioned our mission against the elves.”

  Weile stared, without blinking, far longer than decorum allowed. “Excuse me?” he finally said.

  “Colbey Calistinsson directed us to the island of elves and told us to trust the elf they now call Lav’rintir.”

  “Colbey Calistinsson?” Weile frowned. “The Renshai warrior who killed the Eastern general in the Great War three hundred and twenty plus years ago?”

  Tae realized how ridiculous he sounded. “Yes.” The single word emerged almost as a question.

  “Hmmm.” Weile pretended to accept the absurd. “So what does a four-hundred-year-old man look like?”

  “Amazingly spry,” Tae played along for the moment, but sobered an instant later. “I know how weird that sounds, but it was him.”

  “You examined his teeth?” Weile referred to the usual way of aging livestock.

  “He had an aura of power about him. He fought with a skill beyond any mortal’s. He read minds and talked without words. He helped bring Kevral back from the edge of death.”

  “He read your mind?”

  Tae winced, but he would not lie. “Not mine, but my friends told me he read theirs.”

  “And talked without words?”

  Tae sighed. “Not me again.” He defended those details he had witnessed. “I did see him practice with his sword.” He shook his head, the sight still lingering as an image of flashing gold and silver, without detail, and a speed and competence unmatched by any mortal.

  “A sword practice? That was enough for you to believe in immortality?”

  “Yes,” Tae said, without a hint of skepticism. “And Lav’rintir identified him, too.”

  “The traitor elf he brought you to.”

  Tae did not bother to respond. Again, he floundered, and frustration drove him to speak from the heart. “Father, even though I slept well last night, I’m still very tired. I don’t know whether more sleep will clear my mind enough to find the necessary words. I don’t even know if those words exist, but I do know I’ve worked on the side of right.” His voice gained the unwavering boom of the staunchest priest. “There is the staff-test, sanctioned by gods. The wrong man or woman on Béarn’s throne will result in the destruction of mankind . . . and the elves.” His voice lost its authority, to turn almost pleading. “If we don’t divert the elves from their petty vengeance, we will all pay with our world and our lives.”

  Weile applauded. “Beautiful speech, Tae Kahn.” Then, his features drew into a tense knot of disappointment. “I taught you to think for yourself, not to believe the pretty words of some golden-tongued, self-proclaimed prophet. I didn’t raise you a fool to fall prey to so-called truths whose only proof lies in the faith of its followers.” Weile leaped from his chair, clearly agitated. “Hunches, intuition—only tools. I will support any cause you follow so long as it’s based on reality and you understand its strengths and its weaknesses. I lead criminals. I make certain my interference does more good than harm and never try to convince myself that I represent goodness. Please, don’t dedicate your life to words and unsupported concepts.”

  Tae lowered his head, pride dashed in an instant. His father had attacked the very foundation of his trust, and he wanted the words to enrage him. Yet he felt only exhaustion. The hot boil of anger would not come, and that only placed his beliefs further into question. “I can’t talk about this any more today.”

  “Fine,” Weile said softly. “I understand.”

  The conversation shifted to reminiscences, mostly happy memories of Tae’s mother. Soon daily business replaced any chance for personal discourse. The give and take of men accustomed to working together lulled Tae into a calm routine. The discussions between his father, his bodyguards, and, at intervals, Kinya closely resembled a general conferring with his soldiers. Had he not known the nature of their business, he could never have guessed it from their discussions. To Tae’s surprise, Weile occasionally asked his opinion of a particular strategy, with a nonchalance that suggested long association. Kinya smiled at intervals when he believed neither father nor son could see.

  Tae discovered himself reveling in a closeness he had never anticipated. Their long talk about the past coupled with his father’s direct, sincere attention to his suggestions regarding tactics filled the gap of bitterness between childhood and the present. It seemed to Tae as if they had never separated, in person or philosophy. He had not realized how much he missed his family, its traditions and its methods. He had changed so much, yet even this short time with his father brought back the Tae Kahn he had nearly forgotten and never realized he missed.

  The day passed faster than Tae realized. Underground, night looked the same as day, and only the occasional openings of the door revealed the rain and the passage of time. The rich array of spices in the evening meal brought back a fresh round of memories of his mother’s cooking and of a culture he once believed he could abandon without a backward glance. Western food tasted bland in comparison, and he had forgotten the vast spectrum of tastes that his friends had never savored. The Eastlands traded their gems and spices for Westland lumber, meat, and vegetables; yet the Westerners had never learned how to properly season their food.

  But the sense of rightness quavered in the hush that followed the evening meal. The morning conversation returned to Tae in snatches, a wound that spoiled an otherwise auspicious day. His concerns upset his gut as well. No longer inured to the spices, he suffered stomach acid churning back into his throat and gas pains that knifed intermittently through his belly. Perhaps, no matter how right it felt at times, he could never return to his past.

  Weile had avoided the morning’s topic through the long hours, yet he returned to it one last time in the cool damp of evening. “Tae, it’s been my experience that the side of right is whichever one you’re on, and usually that’s determined by circumstance. No matter how much you hate your opponent, if you can see through his eyes, you can realize his hatred, too. The time of extremes passed long before our births, when a man’s morality was solely determined by his race. Then, good clashed with evil and both with neutrality. You took the side of your people and never questioned. Now, our world supports nothing wholly right or wrong. We pick our positions based on the knowledge we have. When it all comes from one viewpoint, we can’t make a valid choice.”

  Tae smiled tiredly. “So I can keep presenting my arguments?”

  “Of course. I’ll always value your opinion, even when I don’t agree with it.” Weile grinned back. “And I’ll state my case.” He studied Tae. “Tomorrow. Right now, you need your sleep.” Weile waved toward the right-hand archway.

  Tae started in the indicated direction, then stopped. Need drove him to ask, “What if we never agree on this?”

  Weile’s grin broadened. “We will, Tae, eventually. Trust me.”

  Tae nodded stiffly. For reasons he could not explain, he did not feel reassured.

  CHAPTER 11

  The Bonds that Break

  I can be there for you when you need me, like now. But I can’t not be there when you don’t need me . . . I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Tae tossed and rolled on the thick straw ticking Kinya had provided, sleep
an all but impossible goal. Every drift toward slumber brought images of objects breaking: church windows, statuary, and delicate carafes. He would awaken, startled, wounds aching, the explosion into fragments and the sprinkle of shards on stone ringing in his ears, only to find he had scarcely closed his eyes.

  Restlessness churned through Tae. Throwing back his covers, he rose and paced the cramped confines of his room. Aside from the mattress, it held a dresser with a few items of clothing only one size too big. The top drawer contained parchment, a stylus, and a shaving knife. A washbasin perched on the surface beside a comb he would not dare to run through the colossal snarl his hair had become. Tae passed these items forty times without denting the anxiety that plagued him. Before he realized what he had done, he shifted the mattress aside to reveal the escape hole beneath it.

  You can’t leave. You made a vow. Tae stiffened before he recognized the voice as that of his own mind. He cursed the guilt that made him believe otherwise. His loyalty to his friends had caused him to make the promise, and that same bond had driven him to visit them and risk his father’s wrath. The force that goaded him now went beyond friendship. If he remained with Weile Kahn much longer, he would lose his identity, be shaped into the perfect son by a man who had spent a lifetime chiseling the worst mankind could offer into devotees. He loved his father, yet he feared that emotion grew not from inside himself but from his father’s ability to twist him. Tae had always believed himself strong enough to resist any man’s interference. But the foundation of his faith was wavering, threatening to fall. Is it because he’s controlling me or forcing me to think? Tae knew that, in order to decide, he had to leave Weile’s influence. If he remained, he would gradually become whatever his father wished him to be.

  Still, Tae could not shake the satisfaction and sensation of rightness that had settled over him throughout the previous day. That had come from himself. No one could change another that swiftly, no matter his skill. Yet, Tae realized, his own love and confusion would become the best weapons in Weile’s arsenal. If I do this thing. If I become my father’s successor, I have to do it willingly. It has to be on my terms, or I’ll find myself trapped into something I can’t sustain. I’ll never have control of those men. And I’ll lose everything I could have been.