Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Tae and Matrinka hung back, the Easterner for purposes unexplained and the princess for better access to the wounded. Kevral did not believe either of them necessary to win this battle, and she appreciated that Matrinka’s decision placed her in a position of relative safety. Once the battle started, the chaos of violence would claim the inexperienced first. She suspected, however, she would eventually discover Tae in the center of combat. Or maybe not, Kevral amended the thought. Tae had too often found himself the near-target of Kevral’s sword to practice his usual stealthy tactics among so many Renshai.

  The citizens stopped their work as the procession wound past, some dashing ahead to warn the castle, others begging information, and still more hiding inside cottages or shops. Kevral noticed the ranks of the renegades swelling, and a warm flush of satisfaction suffused her. Centuries of incorruptible reputation preceded the Knights of Erythane. No matter their own loyalty to king and country, Béarn’s peasants would trust the knights’ honor more. Despite their long commitment to the heirs of Béarn, the Renshai would never receive the trust that Kedrin and his knights inspired. Renshai had long endured a love/hate relationship with kingdom and populace, their infamous savagery and dedication to violence holding them always at a distance from the people their swords protected.

  The march to Béarn Castle slowed as the infantry enlarged far quicker than the cavalry. All of the knights, Griff and his escort, and most of the Renshai owned horses. Equal numbers of renegades rode or walked, but the peasants who joined them either did not own, or did not bother to ready, their mounts. Some of the walking renegades paused to explain the situation to Béarn’s citizenry. Although they would have little effect upon the coming battle, their support would make a smooth transition for Griff once the confrontation ended.

  During the ride through the city, Kevral loosened her swords in their sheaths a dozen times. Instinctively, her senses remained keyed for threatening movements, freeing her mind for the thrilling inevitability of battle. Once again, she had promised Captain to avoid killing elves; but even he seemed to doubt the possibility of leaving Dh’arlo’mé and his closest followers alive. He had asked that the humans allow the elves to handle their own, magically and otherwise. Though the leaders had agreed, including Thialnir who represented the Renshai on Béarn’s council, her people would ultimately do as each saw fit. While readying for battle, some may not have bothered with such details. Kedrin, too, had voiced his preference, that the combatants spare every Béarnian soldier possible. The need to kill even one, he had stated, would be a tragedy.

  Kevral turned her full attention to the castle as the spires and turrets hove into view. A massive stone wall, cleared of vines and moss, surrounded the courtyard. Kedrin rode directly to the gate, where two guards clutching halberds stood guard on the opposite side.

  Kedrin dismounted, and the two regarded him with jaws set stoically and fingers blanched around their polearms. Kevral sensed nervousness about their movements, though she could single out no specific action that triggered the impression. They certainly had reason enough for concern.

  Knight and guards conversed for several moments, then Kedrin turned back to his men. Kevral read puzzlement on his features. She waited until he finished explaining to the knights and moved on to Griff and his guardians. “Dh’arlo’mé has requested a meeting with our leaders. He promised a peaceful discussion and a solution that would please all of us.”

  Griff grinned broadly. Rantire’s eyes narrowed to slits. Kevral felt more confused than suspicious. “We’ll need to discuss this with Captain.”

  Kedrin nodded once, authoritatively. “I’m headed there next.”

  “How many leaders does he want?” Baynard asked.

  “Five or six. He said he’d have a like number.” Kedrin did not await more questions but kneed his white stallion and rode off to relay the message to the groups farther behind.

  “It’s a trick,” Rantire said as the knight-captain headed away.

  “Maybe.” Baynard shrugged, turning his gaze to Griff. “Then there’re certain people we don’t send. But killing five or six of ours, especially leaders, won’t gain Dh’arlo’mé anything but a pack of enraged followers.”

  Braison joined the conversation. “Unless he’s got magic to turn our leaders against us.”

  Baynard turned to the ex-knight. “That’s why Captain has to be among the ones we send. I trust him to identify any magic he can’t handle.”

  Kevral did not know the best combination, but she definitely wanted to attend that conference. “Who decides who goes?”

  “Davian and Kedrin, I suppose,” Baynard said. “But first they have to determine if we go. . . .”

  Baynard continued speaking, but Kevral heard none of it. She spun her horse around and headed for the renegades’ elder, intending to influence the decision before representation of the Renshai fell naturally to Thialnir. He had the experience when it came to diplomacy, but Kevral had attended this matter from the start. She wanted to see it finished, and believed her companions, who crossed the entire Westlands for this moment, would feel the same. As that thought surfaced, it accompanied a better idea. Scanning the growing crowd of Béarnides, she searched for familiar faces. She located Davian long before the ones she sought, engaged in conversation with Knight-Captain Kedrin. The knight’s pristine uniform and familiar silk tabard, bedecked in front with Béarn’s symbol and behind with Erythane’s orange and black made a brilliant contrast to the rebels’ homespun.

  Torn, Kevral hesitated. Her plan would work better, but not if the leaders decided their course of action before she prepared. Continue looking or join those two? She had just made the latter decision when a hand caught her mount’s bridle. She glanced over to Tae who gave her a sweet smile of welcome. Readying plans had kept her too busy to chat with him. The moment she and Rantire returned with the Renshai, the group had prepared its assault.

  Tae became instantly defensive. “I didn’t trick you. I really meant what I said that night. And I love you.”

  Kevral had never considered the possibility of deception. “We’ll talk about this later. Where’s Matrinka?”

  Tae raised and lowered his shoulders, displaying his ignorance. “I can find her.”

  “Quickly, please.” Kevral turned her attention back to Davian and Kedrin, still together. “I’ll meet you both here. Go!”

  Apparently reading Kevral’s urgency, Tae rushed off without a reply. The Renshai fidgeted, and the horse echoed her impatience by pawing divots from the ground.

  True to his promise, Tae returned almost immediately, Matrinka riding at his side. Mior curled on the horse’s rump, with no more attention to balance than if she slept on the pillows of her mistress’ bed.

  “What’s the matter?” Matrinka rushed to Kevral. “Is someone hurt?”

  “No.” Kevral had planned to explain, but she feared the leaders neared a decision. “Just follow my lead.” She kicked her horse into a trot toward Davian and Kedrin.

  The men looked up as Kevral, Tae, and Matrinka pulled up beside them. “Are we going?” the Renshai asked before her horse even stopped moving.

  Kedrin frowned at Kevral’s rudeness but did not chastise. Davian asked, “You mean the contingent?”

  “Yes,” Kevral confirmed. “Are we going?”

  “Griff is in favor. He thinks it’s worth a try, as long as the ones who go understand the danger.”

  “We understand,” Kevral returned, leaving no opening for the men to deny her personal role in the undertaking.

  Kedrin smiled, clearly recognizing Kevral’s ploy. Davian’s brow furrowed around his dark eyes, and his mouth became lost in his beard. “We’ve only decided on the general constituents, not specifics: a Renshai, an elf, a renegade, a knight, and one other.”

  Tae grinned also, following more quickly than Kevral expected, though he had always proved quick-witted in the past. “The three of us.” He indicated Kevral and Matrinka with a subtle gesture. “Plu
s Captain and a knight, perhaps Sir Kedrin.”

  The knight-captain nodded in acknowledgment.

  “That is,” Tae continued carefully, “if you wish to consider a Béarnian princess renegade. Otherwise, you might want to find one more from among yours.”

  Davian stared, mouth bowing downward and features darkened by Tae’s presumptuousness. “And what makes you believe I would send any of you?”

  Kevral met the dark eyes without compromise. “Because it’s our dedication that brought Griff here, and we will see this through. What makes you believe you could send anyone other than us?”

  Davian recoiled, blinking, obviously unaccustomed to such impudence. A tense silence ensued, Kedrin rupturing it almost as it began. “They have a valid point, Davian. They managed to accomplish what our envoys could not. They have a right to see this safely finished.”

  The leader of the renegades turned on the knight now. “I’m not denying their skills, just concerned that diplomacy is not among them.”

  “I’ll go with them,” Kedrin assured, glancing carefully among the three. Kevral acknowledged the unspoken question with a discreet nod. She would control her own urges for the good of Griff and Béarn. Kedrin continued, “And you can send one from among your men who can speak as well as fight.” He added, without offense, “Yourself included, of course, though I believe our cause better served with you continuing to lead this group in our absence.”

  Davian pursed his lips, glancing from Kedrin to Tae to Kevral to Matrinka. As his dark eyes rolled over the last, he started over, examining each in turn. Finally, he heaved a deep sigh. “My lord, I trust your judgment in these matters, even over my own. I still believe a parlay would fare better with experienced spokesmen and politicians as our representatives. But, if you endorse the group you described, I will send Baynard with it. Good luck. Gods’ blessings. And please remember that at all times you represent the kingdom of Béarn.”

  Kedrin glowered at the obvious insult, though Davian clearly intended his warning for the others. The chosen ones reined their horses around, and Kevral whispered to Tae, “Let’s go before he changes his mind.” They headed toward the front of the crowd, pausing only to add Baynard and Captain to the group. While Kedrin explained the situation to the one-time guard, Kevral tossed Rantire a victory salute.

  The older Renshai rode to her cousin’s side. “You’re going?” Rantire’s tone lacked wistfulness and the pride Kevral expected.

  “Isn’t it grand?”

  “Another way to abandon your charge.” Rantire dismissed the honor by belittling it.

  “I’m bringing her with me.”

  Rantire stiffened a moment, then glanced at Matrinka. “Worse than I thought. You’re dragging her into the danger. Do you also shove her into the center of combat?”

  Kevral threw up her hands, realizing she should have said nothing to her cousin. Her friends had always found Rantire overprotective to a fault. No harm would befall Matrinka that did not kill Kevral first; the Renshai’s confidence in her own ability left the heir free to do anything she wished, short of suicide. When first assigned to protect the princess, Kevral had refused even to exchange names. She had worried that a personal relationship would hamper her ability to guard or, worse, drive Matrinka to her bodyguard’s aid when running would serve her better. Experience had taught Kevral that friendship only enhanced her loyalty to her charge, and it had allowed her to understand the needs beyond simple survival. Without a will to live, without a sense of self-worth, breathing and a heartbeat meant nothing. “As a matter of fact, I have dragged her to the center of combat when I could protect her better there than in a camp beyond my sight.” Kevral shook her head, her cousin’s single-mindedness maddening. “Someday, you’ll understand.”

  “No,” Rantire also shook her head, but with a slow sadness. “You’re the one who will understand, and I regret the cost will be Matrinka’s life.”

  Without time or inclination to argue, Kevral returned to the contingent, grumbling, “Stupid, bullheaded . . .” She struggled for an insult without resorting to profanity.

  “Renshai?” Tae suggested.

  Kevral jerked her head to the companion, now at her side. She flushed. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

  “You didn’t,” Tae admitted. “You whispered. I was eavesdropping.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Or that might have worked.” Tae raised and lowered his brows, wearing a cocksure smile. “But I like ‘Renshai’ better. It more suits the narrow-minded inflexibility you once represented and now curse.”

  Kevral stared, as astounded by Tae’s verbal dexterity as his words. He had a point she could not deny. Early in the group’s association, she had condemned Ra-khir for his staunch devotion to an honor that differed from her own, even as the knight despised Tae for completely lacking honor. Time had brought tolerance and understanding to all of them. Tae had changed as well. Fresh from his experience living on the streets, he had measured every word so as to sound deliberately low-class, composed, and in control. Eventually, the group had learned of Tae’s vast repertoire of languages. Kevral realized it should not surprise her to learn Tae had mastered the long words and adroit phrasings he chose to avoid in the past.

  Kedrin waved aside the contingent for a short discussion. “Captain, do you have any particular sense of what might happen here?”

  The elf’s head rotated back and forth in a sluggish, inhuman rhythm. The amber eyes fixed, stonelike, on Kedrin. “I don’t think my speculation can add much. Once, I could at least have assured no killing, but Dh’arlo’mé has become more man than elf in action. So long as their contingent matches ours, however, they cannot harm us with magic. To do so would require a large group of elves merging voices. Six would allow only minor spells that this group could easily counter, and I will warn you of sounds or actions that appear suspicious.”

  Captain’s description soothed only the edges of Kevral’s worry. The elves could amass groups to catch them in the courtyard or the great halls of the castle. Yet she saw no reason to concern herself with such possibilities. Harming the contingent would gain Dh’arlo’mé little, only enraging the troops still growing outside the castle gates.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Kedrin said. He inclined his head in the direction of the gates. “Let’s go.”

  The others followed unquestioningly. Three warriors, an ancient elf, and a crime lord’s son had nothing to fear from death. Only Matrinka fretted, hands clenched whitely and expression taut. Kevral considered releasing the princess from a service she had never had the opportunity to choose or deny, then discarded the thought. The Renshai understood Matrinka well enough to know that she would insist on coming despite her fear.

  The two guards in Béarn’s blue and tan remained as rigid as their halberds just beyond the wrought iron gates. At their backs, Kevral saw the familiar gardens and benches, interspersed with paths and statuary. Proud bears and stags stood sentinel over multicolored fields of blossoms shaped like animals and banners or in simple geometrics. Some sported a single color while others mingled hues into patterns that demonstrated the gardeners’ talents, not only as plant handlers but as artists as well. Less aesthetic, vegetable gardens sported melons the size of her head, clambering vines with crisp, colorful beans, and the leafy tops of varying tubers.

  “Gentlemen,” Kedrin addressed the guards with a courtesy that seemed misplaced. The oddity of pitting Béarn’s finest against Béarn’s soldiers struck Kevral then as it had not in simple theory.

  “Captain,” they said as one, heads bobbing in respect.

  Kedrin brushed aside a strand of freshly cut red hair. “We have assembled our contingent as requested by those you serve.” He chose vagary rather than insult. He would not call the imposter King Kohleran, yet neither would he antagonize with words such as “false” or “charlatan.”

  Kedrin’s tact reminded Kevral why he had accompanied them. She resolved not to speak unless violence beca
me necessary or she needed to impart information Kedrin did not know. She would not allow the elves to antagonize her into words she, or others, would later regret.

  “Very good, Captain,” said the right-hand guard. “You’ll need to leave horses and weapons. You may do so here or inside.”

  Kevral stiffened, already prepared to fight. He might just as well have demanded she strip naked.

  “Understood.” Kedrin turned to relay the command, though they had all heard it.

  Before he could speak, however, the guard added. “There will be no weapons at the meeting. On either side.”

  The words did not reassure Kevral. She had no reason to expect the svartalf to keep promises.

  Without hesitation, Kedrin unbuckled his sword belt, passing it to one of the knights at the head of the procession. “It’s routine.”

  Kevral believed Kedrin. Aside from Renshai, guards, and the occasional heir, no one carried weapons in Béarn Castle. She drew solace from Colbey’s words: “A Renshai is dangerous so long as he shares a room with a sword.” Kevral had proved the truth of that adage in Pudar’s courtroom. When the need arose to defend Matrinka, she had drawn a guard’s weapon faster than he could think to stop her. Though bothered by the request, she wordlessly joined the others. Soon the leading knights had collected a sizable pile. Renegades took charge of the horses, and one guard winched open the gates while the other protected the opening his companion created.

  The contingent entered, Kedrin leading. Matrinka followed, Mior curled on her shoulders. Kevral took a position at her charge’s right hand, and the others filed in behind them. The gate crashed shut, and one of the halberdiers led them along the straightest courtyard path. He asked the obvious question of Kedrin. “Why, Captain?”

  Kedrin explained the situation for what seemed to Kevral the millionth time. She concentrated on the sights and sounds around them: the trickle of water through manmade streams and gutters, the creak of the lowering drawbridge, the glittering colors of the gardens, and the brackish water of the moat. Sentries on watch tossed the contingent suspicious stares as they passed. The halberdier led them directly to the front of the castle, then paused, listening to Kedrin in silence, while the drawbridge fell. Once it did, he wasted less than a second leading them inside.