Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Madness! Colbey scarcely dared to believe this strategy otherwise. To support the growth of chaos’ power might result in the destruction of everything. Yet to allow law free rein would eventually accomplish the same end. This way, he could maintain the balance until the extremes clashed and destroyed one another. Then it would fall to Colbey to prevent the world from exploding with them. If I can. He only hoped, and doubted, the gods would keep their vows not to interfere. Their intrusion would add astronomically to a task already nearing impossibility.

  The emerald and its setting fell to the ground at Colbey’s feet. Ravn ended his patient silence by pointedly clearing his throat.

  *Bind with me,* the Staff of Chaos insisted, its single conveyance growing into a chant. *Bind with me.* It surged for his inner core.

  Colbey held it at bay with a simple barrier and chose to address his son instead. “Ravn, you did right bringing this to me.”

  “You’re going to wield it?” Concern radiated from what otherwise seemed a simple question. Clearly, Ravn wondered if the staff had corrupted his once-mortal father.

  “No.” Colbey thumped the base of the staff on the ground, maintaining his barricade without need for energy or concentration. “Another will, but only with understanding of the consequences.” He met Ravn’s blue gaze. “Let’s go to Hlidskjalf. There’s someone I need to find.”

  Leaving the gemstone in the dirt, Colbey and Ravn headed for Odin’s Hall.

  * * *

  Charred, shattered timbers lay in awkward piles or clung to damaged walls and ceilings like dark, eerie growths. Ash coated the floor, jumbled with unidentifiable hunks of rubble that tripped the unwary. The acrid stench of old smoke pinched Kevral’s nostrils as she sparred with Ra-khir amid the wreckage of what had once served as Béarn’s castle temple. Tae watched in attentive silence.

  Kevral had chosen the site as much for the uneven terrain as for privacy. No one would have reason to visit the gutted ruin, and it gave her a practice ground different from the usual clearings, rooms, and woodlands. Her torke had taught her to seize such opportunities where she found them. It was not enough to understand her sword and her abilities. A battle could occur anywhere, and the more places a warrior practiced or sparred, the better prepared for any situation.

  The temple had seemed ideal to Kevral. Debris could shift beneath her feet, hidden by a dusky layer of ash. Dust billowed with every movement, hiding feet and sometimes even the all-important hands. Dangling beams posed a hazard for swordsmen too intent on opponents to watch positioning. But Ra-khir’s strategy stole all advantage from the terrain. He chose only defense against Kevral’s blistering attacks, fielding her blade with his or with an enormous shield he kept always in front of him. Simple pivot steps kept him safe from Kevral’s strikes.

  Kevral hammered at Ra-khir’s defense, sword clanging against shield in a musical cadence. Repeatedly, she struck for minuscule openings that proved too tiny even for Renshai twists. The knight-in-training could never win the match without offense, but the length of the spar required a patience Kevral could not spare. Having won back the kingdom without a single blow, Kevral needed an outlet for her battle excitement. Ra-khir, it seemed, offered only tedium. Even as Kevral feinted for Ra-khir’s side then cut for his head, she longed for the Renshai warriors, now headed back to the Fields of Wrath, who could at least give her a challenge. Ra-khir ducked behind his shield, and she lunged in for another attack.

  As Kevral moved, she sensed the presence of another. She jerked aside, whirling to meet this new threat; and a golden-haired warrior appeared beside her. Though not large, his sinewy body revealed decades of training. Short, feathered locks swept back from scarred features most would consider unremarkable. To Kevral, they defined perfection. She recognized Colbey Calistinsson at once. He clutched a staff in his right hand. The sword in his left looped around Ra-khir’s shield in a lightning spiral Kevral memorized. Steel severed the leather thong of its handle. The shield crashed to the floor with a deafening ring. The flat of Colbey’s sword caught Ra-khir a blow to the chest that sent him sprawling. Ash splashed upward, obscuring the Erythanian in a gray cloud.

  Colbey did not pursue his advantage, only stepped back and sheathed his sword. Kevral smiled, returning her blade to its scabbard as well.

  Ra-khir rose, brushing dirt from his silks with brisk strokes. He executed a deep, formal bow to Colbey, then turned to Kevral. “I believe, m’lady, that you cheated.”

  Colbey smiled. “How pleasantly unusual. A Knight of Erythane with a sense of humor.”

  Ra-khir made an abbreviated bow, lacking the previous flourishes but still conveying respect. “Apprentice knight, Lord,” he corrected.

  Kevral feigned offense. “Oh, like there’s a rule against having a god take my place.”

  “Apprentice god,” Colbey could not help adding.

  The three laughed, though Kevral felt nearly as strained as Ra-khir sounded. The idea of joking with one she had emulated all her life seemed disrespectful at the least, more likely a sacrilege. Colbey addressed Kevral, though he surely spoke as much for Ra-khir’s benefit. “The thing to remember is that an enemy with a shield will always block his own vision. The moment he does, that’s your opening. If Ra-khir hadn’t stuck that sheet of metal over his eyes, he would have seen me coming and at least tried to guard against the attack.”

  Kevral doubted Ra-khir had the necessary speed to dodge Colbey’s blitz, but the point remained the same.

  “Give him a few repetitive maneuvers to draw him off guard, then feint to the head. Works almost every time. He blinds himself, and he’s done your job for you. He might as well plunge his own sword into his chest.”

  “Thank you,” Kevral said, awed more by receiving a lesson from Colbey than the content of the speech. Each word seemed to resonate in her head, and she doubted she could tear her eyes from him. Drawn with the fatal fascination of a moth to a flame, she wanted, more than anything in the world, to become a part of him. The intensity of the desire surprised her, though she had experienced it before in his presence. Since discovering he still existed and turning her intimacy toward mortal men, she had stopped constantly mimicking his dress, manner, and speech. She believed she had passed the phase of infatuation, but the fire that burned within her now spoke otherwise.

  As if sensing her emotions, Colbey stiffened. He set the base of the staff on the floor and slanted the shaft toward Kevral. “I’d like you to do something, Kevral.” He glanced at Tae, who watched quietly from a far wall, his dark clothes merging him with the shadows. Having acknowledged the Easterner’s presence, Colbey paid him no further heed but returned his gaze to Kevral.

  “Anything,” Kevral said and meant it. She gazed into the blue-gray eyes, and even their coldness could not keep her from becoming lost in them.

  Ra-khir moved up beside Kevral, his protectiveness surely more habit and instinct than intention. “With all respect to the divinity of our guest, shouldn’t you hear his proposal first?”

  The words seemed ludicrous to Kevral. “Would you refuse any request of a god?”

  “Kevral . . .” Ra-khir placed a warm hand on Kevral’s arm. “. . . if it went against my honor, I’d fight it to my last breath. I expected no less from you.”

  The interruption seemed inappropriately rude. “Ra-khir, Colbey isn’t deaf.”

  “Of course not.” Ra-khir nodded deferentially toward the elder Renshai. “At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I believe he would understand my concern.”

  Colbey nodded back politely. “And agree with your point.” He looked around the room again, gaze pinning each of the other three occupants in turn and ending on Kevral. “The favor I ask is enormous, and you have the right to refuse it.” He exhaled sharply, then drew in a great breath. “I want you to wield the Staff of Chaos.” He spoke as if the task outweighed all others and as though they should understand the significance.

  Recalling history and Captain’s story on board the Sea Ser
aph, Kevral tried to put the pieces together. “The Staff of Chaos. As in the Staves of Law and Chaos?”

  “Correct.”

  “The staff you turned over to the Wizards and they believed they carried law and . . .” Kevral’s eyes widened as her own words emerged. “. . . caused the Ragnarok?”

  “Correct again,” Colbey confirmed.

  “You championed law . . .” Kevral started slowly, trying to elicit whether or not she would have to stand in opposition to her idol.

  Colbey corrected, “Balance. I championed balance. I merely carried the Staff of Law.”

  “And had you carried chaos?”

  “I still would have championed balance.”

  The greatness of the favor finally penetrated as myriad possibilities paraded through Kevral’s mind. “Do you still have the Staff of Law?”

  “Dh’arlo’mé has it.”

  The name alone sparked hatred. Was that the staff we passed around the parley? It seemed so convincingly harmless.

  Colbey responded to the thought. “A masquerade. The staff’s magic. When circumstances without definitive answer seem certain, that is when you should most doubt.”

  “Oh,” Kevral merely said, feeling foolish. When nothing else followed, she questioned further. “Surely, you don’t want me to cause another Ragnarok?”

  Colbey resisted the urge to continue answering with as little information as possible. “I want you to use your own judgment.”

  Kevral stared.

  Colbey added, “No one wants another Ragnarok. No one would survive it. But if law acts unopposed, we may get something just as bad. The world could stagnate into oblivion.” Colbey’s gaze went distant as he contemplated memories Kevral could not begin to guess. “By using your own judgment, I mean in general, not just in regard to the Ragnarok.”

  Kevral still did not understand. “So all I have to do is carry this thing?” She pointed at the staff.

  “It’s not that simple.” Colbey straightened the staff so that it stood as tall as Ra-khir. “Chaos is an entity, bound inside the staff. It will offer you power that may well prove irresistible. Even if you chose to refuse it, chaos would give it to you insidiously. Likely, you will become a single entity.”

  “Likely?” Ra-khir prodded, with concern.

  “Very likely,” Colbey affirmed, which Kevral took to mean “definitely,” tempered by his own experience. Law had not managed to assimilate with him. Apparently reading her thought, Colbey explained. “Law must keep promises. Chaos, never. There were times when the vows I made the staff take were all that kept it from binding. Also, my mind powers far exceed yours.”

  Ra-khir’s face darkened, and his lids rose in increments. “If Kevral became random and lacking honor, she would no longer be Kevral.”

  “Yes,” Colbey said, returning to minimal answers and letting Ra-khir speak the obvious consequence.

  “This task will destroy Kevral.”

  “Almost certainly.”

  Dense silence followed Colbey’s words. Ra-khir and Tae stared anxiously at Kevral, both surely knowing that to advise her one way would almost guarantee the opposite decision. No matter how awful, the choice belonged to Kevral. She had sat in this same position once before, when the laws of Pudar allowed her to imprison herself in Tae’s place after his jailbreak, bound by his order of execution. Then the choice had proved none at all. She had believed Matrinka would volunteer if she did not, and Ra-khir surely would have done so had he guessed the intentions of either woman. Then, too, she had trusted Tae to return rather than allow her to die for his crime. In the end, the only thing that mattered was that she had not faltered in her decision. The king had chosen to bargain: Kevral would train his soldiers for a year in exchange for her freedom and, ultimately, Tae’s.

  Ra-khir sought a loophole. “But, Lord, if you’re seeking balance and an elf carries the Staff of Law, shouldn’t an elf also champion chaos?”

  Colbey shook his head, his expression tolerant. “The nature of elves does not allow them to oppose their own. No one would stand against Dh’arlo’mé.”

  “Captain did,” Tae inserted. “Have you asked him?”

  Kevral jerked her head toward Colbey, worried for Tae’s insolence and implication that the ultimate Renshai had made a mistake.

  Colbey took the verbal challenge in stride. “Captain pledged himself to the balance millennia ago, even while serving the Northern Sorceress, the last champion of goodness. He could never accept charge of chaos.” Colbey sighed deeply, dredging patience for details he had, apparently, already considered and discarded. He did not have to explain himself to Tae, yet he did so without complaint. “Captain and his few followers are vital to other aspects of the balance. If one of them wielded chaos, elves and mankind would lose any chance for peace. Even were none of that the case, I do not command elves. The one who does would never agree to place one in a situation of sure destruction.”

  Kevral looked at Colbey, the harsh sentence he passed over her never dulling the perfect grace of his slightest movement. Desperately, she yearned for his skill, had done so since infancy. She would do anything for the Renshai turned immortal, but she would not abandon a vow without at least asking about options. “Can this wait a year? Once Griff is coronated, I’m pledged to Pudar’s service that long.”

  Colbey continued to look directly at Kevral, as if loath to weather the glares of her companions. “No, Kevral. Pudar will have to be happy with the sacrifice you make for all: gods, men, even elves. If you wish, once you start carrying the staff, you may go to Pudar. It’s unlikely, however, that your vow will mean much to you then.”

  Kevral asked the most important question. “And when I die? It will be in battle?”

  The soft sough of breath drawn in and held followed Kevral’s words that sounded so much like a commitment. She did not try to guess whether it came from Tae or Ra-khir. Both would despise her cooperation with the task Colbey offered.

  Colbey shrugged, strong shoulders rising and falling symmetrically. “No one can know that. It seems likely you’ll die locked in battle with law’s champion, but once you’re chaos-linked, you’re unlikely to fight your battles physically.”

  Alarm seized Kevral in a grip so tight, it took several seconds just to manage breathing.

  “Magic is chaos,” Colbey reminded. He did not bother adding the obvious: Kevral would be chaos, too.

  The world narrowed to a single need, the reply to a question Kevral could not gather the air to ask yet.

  Tae broke in with one that should have seemed obvious; yet it, like anything besides Valhalla, seemed insignificant to Kevral now. Her goal since birth was fading, and she clung desperately to all that mattered. “So Dh’arlo’mé will have no magic?”

  Colbey glanced at the Easterner. “Dh’arlo’mé already knows magic. Law is control, and it will greatly enhance his existing power. Conversely, Kevral would add the control to chaos needed to channel magic. Should she take the assignment . . .” Colbey left the option clearly open. “. . . her magical power would exceed Dh’arlo’mé’s, yet her spells would have many more unintended consequences. Dh’arlo’mé’s power would stem from his control.” An upward pitch at the end of his speech left the understanding that he was guessing.

  Finally, Kevral’s pinched throat admitted sound. “Then it’s unlikely I’ll reach Valhalla.”

  “Not impossible,” Colbey started, obviously trying to be reassuring. He glanced away, too committed to the Renshai not to specify. “But highly unlikely.”

  Kevral read the latter as nearly impossible. The burden ached through her, a desperate decision that one of her age should never have to make. Dying never frightened her, only the means of that end and her final resting place. She had tried to mold herself in Colbey’s image, only recently realizing she could never become what he had been. Now he offered her that opportunity. She could not resist it, though it required paying the ultimate cost. “All right,” she finally said, ignoring Ra-khir�
�s stricken look. “I’ll do as you ask, with a condition.” She met Colbey’s blue-gray eyes with a directness that evoked a slight smile. She never doubted her boldness, rather than her concession, was the thing that pleased him. The coldness of his eyes stung, yet Kevral refused to glance away. “You let me look upon Valhalla once before I take up this cause.”

  Colbey recoiled, visibly startled. He broke the eye contact, a contest he seemed unused to losing.

  The reaction surprised Kevral at least as much as her request seemed to bother Colbey. He should certainly have anticipated it. Renshai had dedicated themselves to dying in glorious combat, to taking their place among Valhalla’s heroes, the Einherjar, since millennia before his birth. He had given his all to the same goal.

  Unable to comprehend the change in Colbey, Kevral pressed. “Surely, you could grant that request.”

  “I imagine I could.” Colbey’s voice seemed vacant, inappropriately dispassionate for the topic of conversation. He tipped his head, as if battling confusion within himself. “Of course. You deserve nothing less.”

  “Please, Lord. I want to go, too,” Ra-khir said, more demand than request.

  “And me,” Tae added.

  “All right,” Colbey said finally. “I have no magic to get us there, but I’ll make the arrangements. Wait here for me.” A moment later, Colbey and the staff faded into the dappled destruction of Béarn’s temple, leaving Kevral to sort the confusion into which her life had collapsed. She never bothered to identify the arms that held her.