Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Ashavir, Kesave, and Bohlseti, ancient students who died when the Northmen annihilated the Renshai with a surprise night attack. He found Rache Kallmirsson, the only survivor of that attack, tossed as an infant into the sea. Once crippled by a gladiator, he now stood solidly, sword dripping blood on the grassy plain. Colbey saw several of the enemies who gave him the greatest battles of his mortal years, and he smiled. He would celebrate, never begrudge, a valiant enemy his time in Valhalla. He discovered others as well, competent warriors who had served as peers or who had impressed him in his youth: Santagithi, a brilliant strategist without whom the West would never have won the Great War; his daughter, Mitrian, the first person of non-Renshai blood accepted into the tribe and from whom those of the tribe of Tannin descended. The array of familiar faces stunned Colbey, and the bridging of time seemed incomprehensible. He wondered how many of his own distant ancestors he looked upon and discovered both of his mortal parents among the others.

  For several moments, no one spoke, as if trying to determine who deserved that honor first. Colbey could tell Kevral had stopped moving behind him, watching the cluster of Einherjar examining Colbey. The din of battle died to the occasional pound of weapon against shield and the scratch of blade down blade. A few of Valhalla’s heroes continued their fight, disinterested or unaware of the gathering near the fence.

  Colbey expected the first words to come from his mother. Ranilda Battlemad had rushed into every challenge, not always bothering to assure need before antagonizing. But another stepped from the cluster to face Colbey directly. Gold hair bound into braids, hawklike nose appearing huge between hard blue eyes, Valr Kirin broke the hush. “Finally, Kyndig, we meet here.” He spoke the name the gods had ascribed Colbey, one also used by the Northern Sorceress Kirin had championed. This man had virtually symbolized goodness. “I’ve waited a long time.” The words demanded an explanation that every gathered Einherjar strained to hear.

  Colbey imagined it must have seemed strange for some to reunite with aged grandchildren before a man older than themselves came among them. Surely they must have believed age or illness claimed him, relegating him to Hel. Yet no one seemed surprised to see him. Valr Kirin clearly questioned only the timing.

  “It’s a very long story.” Colbey glanced at his parents, Calistin the Bold and Ranilda. He would tell them first, in private, that they were not his biological parents. The Renshai woman who had coupled with Thor died shortly after in combat, and Sif had transferred him to Ranilda’s womb. No one else needed to know; and, to Colbey, they would always be his only mother and father. “Someday, I’ll tell it. For now, I have matters to attend.” He looked at Valr Kirin’s predatory face, at the somberness that seemed permanently affixed, and knew Kirin deserved more. He had earned his prefix “Valr,” meaning “Slayer,” as a hero in the war against Renshai. Their final battle had occurred under arranged circumstances, their agreements over single combat changing the course of history. Win or lose, Kirin promised that the Northmen would no longer hunt the last few Renshai. Both promised they would allow the loser to find Valhalla.

  Agony accompanied memory of the battle. Kirin had proved a worthy opponent for a non-Renshai. Inevitably, Colbey had won; but, when the moment came to deal the mercy stroke that would end Kirin’s life, the Slayer’s son had interfered. Protecting himself from a dishonorable attack, Colbey had accidentally severed Valr Kirin’s arm. Kirin never saw his son’s betrayal, knowing only that Colbey had broken his vow. At that time, all Northmen believed that to die with parts missing barred a warrior from Valhalla. For centuries, Renshai had capitalized on this belief, dismembering Northern enemies for the purpose of destroying morale. And Valr Kirin had died cursing Colbey with his last breath.

  Valr Kirin lowered his head. “My men told me of my son’s actions.” He sighed. “Olvaerr never made it here.” He rolled his eyes upward, contemplating Colbey from the extreme edge of peripheral vision as if to read the old Renshai’s reaction to his son’s name. He wished for news of the boy, though Colbey had nothing positive to offer. That story would have to wait like so many others. “I’m sorry I doubted your honor. I saw you fight among the gods at the Ragnarok, and I know my mentor was wrong when she claimed you would betray mankind and your own to serve chaos. Had I known that, things would have gone differently.”

  Colbey knew Valr Kirin spoke truth. Under other circumstances, they would have become powerful allies. “Your death taught me much, too. I knew you found Valhalla, and I questioned every tenet of my faith when you did so missing a part.” That reminded him of a question Kirin would expect him to ask. “Your brother?” Despite having lost a hand in battle, Kirin’s brother had served as a general in the Great War, leading other than Northmen. The latter refused to follow one who could not lead them to Valhalla.

  Kirin smiled, raising his head. “He was here. He died with most of the others at the Ragnarok.” He added, with emphasis, “Bravely.”

  Colbey nodded stiffly, glad for an explanation for the absence of others he expected to see here. The conversation had come to a natural conclusion. Colbey knew he still had much to explain and discuss, with Kirin and others; but the balance had to take priority now. He started to turn.

  Kirin would not let Colbey leave that easily. “Wait.”

  The other Einherjar pushed forward. They all deserved time and explanations as well.

  “I never got that fair fight you promised me.” Without awaiting a response from Colbey, Valr Kirin drew his sword and leaped toward the Renshai.

  The air filled with emotions, ranging from euphoria to great envy. In the fractions of a second between Kirin’s attack and his own need to defend, Colbey realized every Einherjar longed for a chance at him. He could not help laughing with wild abandon as he drew his sword and blocked in a single, fluid motion, the strength of Kirin’s assault like a runaway cart against his forearm. He hissed in pain, riposting only once before Kirin lunged for his gut.

  This time, Colbey dodged. Cutting beneath Kirin’s sword, he slashed for an armpit that disappeared in an instant. His second attack gashed Kirin’s shoulder, missing the neck by a whisper. A line of blood beaded the injury, but Kirin only laughed. His rabid battle joy seemed to merge with Colbey’s. Frenzied excitement suffused Colbey, and he became giddy as a child at the discovery. He had finally found eternally eager partners for his sparring. Always before, he had had to pull his strokes, fearing to slaughter students. Now he could strike with abandon, without fear of causing injury. He could not harm men already dead. The bravest of the brave, the most committed of swordsmen, had become his to battle at will.

  Colbey howled, his joy too strong to contain; and Kirin whipped in with a savage blur of attack that challenged Colbey’s abilities for the first time in centuries. He fended every stroke, refusing to allow luck to handle even one, returning attacks at least one for one. Then a lightning Renshai maneuver caught Valr Kirin too slow to defend. Colbey’s sword tore flesh, disemboweling the Northman. Colbey’s follow-through opened Kirin’s throat, killing him before he hit the ground. He would not leave a worthy opponent to the slow torture of an intestinal wound.

  The world seemed to converge on Colbey at once, friends, family, and followers all eager to pit their new skills against his. Colbey back-stepped, war rage like a bonfire in his veins. He could have battled through days and never noticed the passage of time; yet pressing matters would not allow it. He had not forced Kevral from the fray just to join it himself.

  Colbey made a brisk gesture behind him, indicating Kevral should climb if she had not done so already. He wanted the battles confronting him now to the point of rationalizing need. The Einherjar, too, hungered to test the skills they had honed over centuries against a man they considered the consummate warrior. Many sought information only Colbey could deliver. Misconceptions and misjudgments needed fixing, and mistakes required tallying. The idea of an endless parade of ultimate battles enticed, but the emotional baggage that accompanied facing ever
y moment of his past seemed overwhelming. Colbey would handle all of that and see it as the ultimate reward, but he could not do so now—not because of weakness but because of time constraints.

  Colbey retreated slowly as the Einherjar advanced, measuring the location of the fence by memory. He hoped Kevral had obeyed his gesture. For the moment, he could not spare the distraction of checking.

  Several warriors charged Colbey suddenly. Forcing down the instinct to wade into battle, Colbey leaped for Valhalla’s fence. Catching two of the wrought iron bars, he scampered beyond reach, then paused to explain an action that could pass for cowardice. “You’ll all get your chance, I promise. I’ll be back.” He singled Rache Kallmirsson from the group for a special nod and wave. Dodging a prophecy that implied their meeting would kill Rache, Colbey had avoided the young warrior. Rache had internalized the evasion, pained by the belief that the torke he admired despised him as a coward. Colbey had often wished for the chance to explain his actions to Rache. “Nothing could keep me away.”

  Those who had rushed Colbey glanced at one another, returning to their places. None had anticipated the others; each had sought single combat. The longing radiating from them became a nearly collective anticipation. Several shouted good-byes or challenges saved for future combat. Colbey gave them a brisk salute before clambering over the upper spikes and shinnying back to the outside ground. Kevral had done as he bade, and was again staring between bars at the combats that resumed before Colbey’s feet reached the ground. Only then did he bother to wonder about the consequences of himself dying locked in combat with Einherjar. He suspected Freya would know the answer, yet he decided not to ask her. If he discovered he could join them, that nothing lay at risk, it would take some of the excitement from his battles.

  That thought spurred others, and the simple truth behind Odin’s claim became obvious. When he said I would never reach Valhalla, he didn’t mean that I would never come here. He meant I would never come as a warrior plucked from a battlefield. In that new context, his previous fear seemed childish. Once again, concern for Odin’s prediction caused me to fulfill it. He thought of Rache again, how his own concern for the young warrior’s life had kept them apart until Rache’s death call in battle drew him. Rache had died at their meeting, but not as a result of it. Colbey had lost the last months of Rache’s life, the time the only survivors of the Renshai massacre could have spent together, to meaningless words. Three centuries without the best sparring partners the gods created had resulted, once again, from trusting Odin. Never again.

  A gentle clearing of Ra-khir’s throat redirected Colbey’s attention. He glanced at the redheaded knight-in-training, already grown into his warrior musculature.

  Ra-khir moved nearer, keeping his words too soft for Kevral to hear. “Lord.” He made a formal gesture of respect, as if to a prince in Béarn’s court. “I would like to wield the staff.”

  Colbey stared, struck dumb. The image of a Knight of Erythane championing chaos floored him. “You want to wield the Staff of Chaos?”

  “Yes, Lord.” Ra-khir’s eyes remained fixed on Colbey’s face, stalwart. His tone betrayed nothing of the discomfort and hesitation that Colbey’s mental gift brought to him.

  “A Knight of Erythane?”

  “Apprentice knight,” Ra-khir corrected doggedly.

  Colbey shook his head. The knights pledged themselves to a code of honor so rigid they could wield it as a weapon. Ra-khir seemed unlikely to carry through on this task, and Colbey doubted the world would appreciate the results. Ra-khir could serve mankind better in his role as a knight. “No,” Colbey said. “I’m sorry.”

  Ra-khir turned his gaze to Kevral, but not before Colbey caught a glimpse of welling tears. The Erythanian’s love for Kevral struck Colbey as a yearning wave of passion. He would do anything for her, even destroy himself. “Please, Lord. Please.”

  Tae seized the Staff of Chaos where it lay propped against the solid fencing. “Of course you can’t have it. It’s mine!” He danced beyond sword range, hovering over the staff with an animal glare of paranoia. “I’m going to wield it.”

  Only the strength of Tae’s radiating concern revealed his greed as a hoax. Though his reaction to the staff patterned those of others in the past, altruism drove his actions. Like Ra-khir, he sought to rescue Kevral from the task.

  Touched despite himself, Colbey sucked in a deep breath. He looked at Kevral, who studied the battling Einherjar with unabashed awe. His glance strayed to Ra-khir, pleading desperately for her life, willing to sacrifice his own sanctity and sanity for the woman he loved. Though he chose methods more apparently selfish, Tae’s intentions proved equally pure and innocent. They were humans, mortals whose lives spanned too little time to place their needs over those of the timeless universe. Yet Colbey dismissed that concept as belonging in the mind of a god. A conversation returned to him, and where he sought the solution to a situation without winners, he found solace in the least likely place—the words of his own young son: I was born less mortal than you’ll ever become. Grammatically, the claim made little sense now, but the concept it embodied stuck with Colbey. I tried to pass my charge to Ravn when even he realized I could wield it better. Why?

  The answer appeared along with his final understanding of why he had avoided Valhalla. To defy Odin who decreed it my destiny. Loathing rose in Colbey, directed against himself. What is this hold Odin has over me? He amended, Over all of us that it lasts centuries beyond the grave. Infuriated by the realization, he studied logic that would have defied him days earlier: Just because I choose to do something that Odin told me I would doesn’t mean he caused it to happen. Colbey shook his head at an understanding that seemed staggering. Odin never forced anything on me. Every prophecy that came to fruition did so because of my actions, every mistake because I acted to avoid or defy his word. He followed the understanding with a vow. No more. I’ll do as I believe right, whether it verifies or opposes Odin’s presumption.

  “Give me the staff.” Colbey gestured for Tae to come to him.

  The Easterner remained crouched and still, clutching the Staff of Chaos like a lifeline. “It’s mine.”

  Only Colbey understood the danger of Tae holding the staff too long. Either it would find him worthwhile and bind, or it would despise his intrusion. In the latter case, it might choose to destroy him.

  “Give me the staff,” Colbey repeated.

  Tae raised a foot, as if to come, then drew the staff to his chest and stood defiantly.

  Ra-khir watched in uncertain silence. Kevral finally tore her gaze from the Einherjar to watch the nearer proceedings. “Tae, do as he says.”

  “No. It’s mine. You can’t have it.”

  Colbey chose a course he should have long ago. “Tae, you’re right. She can’t have it. But I can.”

  Tae’s eyes narrowed, and he back-stepped carefully. “You’re playing with me.”

  “No,” Colbey said. “You’re right. Give me back the staff, and I’ll wield it myself.”

  Tae shook back his tangled, black hair and regarded Colbey with dark eyes that seemed more like huge pupils than irises and pupils together. “Kevral’s free to go?”

  “Except for her mortal bindings. She did vow to work a year for the King of Pudar.”

  Relief seemed to flood from Ra-khir. Tae edged forward hesitantly, offering the staff to Colbey who closed his fingers around it. The Renshai exerted no physical pressure, but the staff tapped against his consciousness, demanding entry. Colbey blocked it out.

  Finally, Tae released the staff.

  “That’s it?” Kevral asked uncertainly, hope raging beneath a necessary dampening.

  “That’s it,” Colbey confirmed.

  “I’m not going to wield it?”

  “No.”

  Kevral swallowed, hiding the difficulty of her next words. “You know I will. The needs of the world come before even a promise made to a rash colleague.” She gave Tae a warning look. His attempt to appear greed-dri
ven had not fooled her either.

  “I didn’t change my mind because of Tae.” Colbey spoke matter-of-factly, trying not to belittle the Easterner. “I heeded the words of a wise man whose genius I rarely appreciate.” He gave Tae his direct attention now. “My son. So many believe in me, and I’ve gained so much self-confidence of my own, I sometimes forget that those I teach can teach me, too.”

  The necessary radiations did not come from Tae, so Colbey drove his point home.

  “Do I sound like someone you know?”

  Tae’s brow furrowed as he considered, then the wave of understanding Colbey sought washed through him. “My father?” he guessed.

  “Don’t give up on him, Tae. You’re not wrong. You know it, and I know it. You just have to convince him. And if you never see eye-to-eye, at least make your peace. If either of you dies without doing that, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

  Tae closed his eyes, fighting a war inside himself that Colbey politely ignored. It did not last long. When his lids rose, a look of determination filled the dark eyes. He nodded to Kevral. “You’re traveling northwest, right?”

  “To Pudar,” Kevral confirmed. “I have to go.”

  “May I accompany you?” The formality of the question seemed more suited to Ra-khir.

  Kevral laughed. “Of course.”

  Ra-khir winced, but Colbey did not need to tell him his responsibilities lay in Erythane. He needed to finish his knight’s training, help Kedrin, and serve Griff.

  All four had destinies to face, and no one knew that better than Colbey Calistinsson/Thorsson, the Keeper of the World’s Balance. The chosen of Odin.