Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Oa’si smiled at the memory, missing the evenings of conversation with Brenna. He tried to construct his own story in the pattern of hers, most of which featured the swordmaster, Colbey Calistinsson. Oa’si pictured the old Renshai as Brenna described him: a wild swirl of golden hair and clothing, his swords silver blurs around a torso never still.

  *Oa’si Brahirinth Yozwaran Tril’frawn Ren-whar!* The khohlar slapped his mind with a suddenness and strength that sent him lurching backward with a gasp. *Pay attention to your leader.* The final word seemed steeped in concept, suggesting divinity rather than simple command.

  The elf who had held Oa’si’s hand looked down to attend to the youngster.

  Oa’si felt tears sting his eyes, and shame settled over him like a suffocating blanket. He knelt, unable to comprehend the terror that blossomed inside him, one that simultaneously drove him to run from and to Dh’arlo’mé. He could not help recalling Brenna’s descriptions of human worship, strange blendings of unconditional love and respect with the panic of facing the gods’ colossal might. He believed he finally understood, and he hurled himself to the ground to escape the discomfort, torn between curling into a groveling ball and crawling to Dh’arlo’mé to pledge himself to the leader’s every cause.

  Another voice touched Oa’si’s mind, this one soft and gentle in the wake of the previous power. *Are you all right, little one?*

  Oa’si nodded, trusting neither his voice nor his khohlar. As the initial impact of the previous encounter faded, he dared to wonder how Dh’arlo’mé had known his thoughts were wandering. Elfin mental contact allowed only communication, never probing, yet he now believed he understood another human concept. He felt deeply violated and terribly afraid.

  The elf’s violet eyes remained trained on Oa’si, expressing concern.

  *I’m all right.* Oa’si finally managed. He rose, bowed his head until the dark, regular bangs fell into his moist eyes, and concentrated on Dh’arlo’mé’s words.

  * * *

  Kevral set out the following day, euphoria from the previous night dampened by her parting from Ra-khir. Maneuvers kept the knight-in-training from seeing her off, but the image of his red-blond hair, aristocratic features, and gentle green eyes remained locked in her memory long after trees, brush, and the dark mane of her mount replaced the vision. The warm, human smell of him became lost beneath the all too real dampness and the sweet, musky odor of her horse.

  Tae proved poor company, constantly riding or running ahead, then returning to lead Kevral quietly in another direction. They broke trail, avoiding not only the open road but the deer paths and temporary trails created by camping humans. Branches whipped, until her face felt like a mass of scratches and bruises. Even tucked tightly to the horse’s neck, Kevral could not fully escape some of the massive limbs blocking their route. These abraded her back as she passed beneath them. More than once, she found herself trapped between trunks too close to allow her horse passage or felled trees with branches too dense for the gelding to jump. Turning, she would retrace her steps, swear words burning her lips.

  Still, Tae returned at irregular intervals, to point out a new direction. His dark eyes seemed eternally restless, and his black hair lay in a hopeless tangle speckled with twigs and leaves. The paths he chose became an irritation that wholly banished the joy of Kevral’s night with Ra-khir. Tae held them to the darkest, unexplored regions of the forest. Time disappeared beneath the interweave of branches that blocked the sun, and only the growling and gnawing of her stomach confirmed the hours spent wrestling foliage.

  Evening also brought the cold, and Kevral drew a cloak from her pack that initially sufficed, then grew less comforting over time. Boxed into another stand of crowded trees, she kicked her horse through a dangerously small opening. The gelding slid through obediently, smashing Kevral’s left knee against a trunk. Pain screamed through her leg as tree, flesh, and horse all refused to yield. Bark shredded her britches. She jerked the horse into a careful backward motion, and her knee came free. Agony died to a dull throb, and anger flared to replace it. Drawing both legs up to the horse’s neck, she urged it forward again, this time managing to squeeze through the hole.

  Tae met her on the opposite side, taking no notice of the ordeal. He pointed right, a direction that Kevral worried would complete a circle.

  “I’m sick to death of this infernal zigzagging,” Kevral announced, meeting his soft, dark gaze with her glaring blue. She read exhaustion in his stance, but pain disrupted any chance for sympathy. “Where’s the road?”

  Tae resisted playing coy and went right to the intention behind the question. “We’re not taking it.”

  “I am. Whether you come with me or not.”

  “I get it.” Tae’s expression turned hard. He was in no mood for games. “When you said we’d travel together, you meant we’d go the same general way until you tired of my company.”

  “Company?” The words seemed nonsensical. “Do you consider the six seconds you spent with me traveling together?”

  Tae slumped on his black’s withers. “Would you rather confront the eighty-two Easterners I managed to sneak us around?” He groaned at his own question, anticipating the answer.

  Kevral did not disappoint him. The image of hacking through an endless tide of enemies usurped pain, and even irritation. Her hand fell to one hilt. “Yes. I would. Death in—”

  “—glory. A place in Valhalla,” Tae finished for Kevral. “I’ve heard it. A thousand times was enough.”

  A hot flush of anger swept Kevral. Her eyes narrowed, and her fist tightened on her hilt. “Are you ridiculing Renshai honor?”

  “No,” Tae returned with the enunciation of an adult calming a screaming child. “Quoting it.” He added carefully, “I understand your need to die in battle, so much more so since looking upon Valhalla. I just don’t see the purpose in wasting your life on a gang of low-life, mustered criminals.”

  Kevral shrugged, seeing the point yet unwilling to admit it. “Battle is battle.” She slid naturally into citation, “The glory comes of clinging to one’s own honor even as the enemy abandons his. So long as a Renshai dies giving his all to the battle, the name and face of the enemy bears no significance.”

  “Still borrowing Colbey’s words?”

  Kevral took no offense. “He’s the greatest swordsman who ever lived, and the hero of my people. He also happens to be right.”

  Tae smiled. “No longer will Renshai fight just for the joy of combat. We will remain the fiercest of warriors, savage swordsmen who shun fear, but only when the cause is right. For now, the Renshai need allies more than battles.”

  Kevral stared, brow slowly crinkling. “Who said that?”

  Tae’s grin broadened. “Colbey.”

  The surprise of Tae knowing a Colbey quotation she did not erased Kevral’s anger. “How do you know that?”

  Tae plucked a familiar book from his pocket, one he had given to Kevral as a gift, along with a figurine of Colbey. It chronicled Colbey’s days as the general of Pudar’s army during the Great War centuries past. That Tae had it after she had packed it into her belongings only two days earlier surprised her only half as much as his decision to read it. “What are you doing with that?”

  “Preparing myself for this precise moment.” Tae looked away, revealing another motive that the need for strong appearances would not allow him to confess.

  Kevral guessed at the answer Tae would never speak. He wanted to understand her in detail, even the philosophies that had shaped her life since birth. Recognition of his dedication dispelled the last of her clinging annoyance. Rather than apologize for her mood and behavior, a gesture that would surely embarrass them both, she resorted to humor. “Now I’ve got you figured out, Tae. If you keep stealing back presents, you can keep giving the same one to all your friends.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tae’s chuckle ruined his apology. “You know I always planned to return it.”

  Kevral checked her pockets, ascer
taining that the gemstone eye Tae had given her, and the figurine, remained in place. She took the book from him, sliding it back into her pack. “All right, point made. We’ll keep avoiding the scum, so long as we’re still headed toward Pudar.”

  “We are,” Tae assured unnecessarily.

  The darkness thickened around them, and Kevral’s vision disappeared as the sun fell below the horizon. Until that moment, she had not realized just how much light muddled through the forest canopy. She shivered beneath inadequate clothing. “I might have difficulty with eighty-two soldiers. They’d crush you. If you’re going to keep wandering ahead, we’ll have to work out some signals in case you blunder into trouble.”

  Blackness swallowed Tae’s responding nod. “Let’s make camp. I’m half-starved, and it’s getting late.”

  No suggestion could have pleased Kevral more. She lost control of her jaw to the fluttering need for warmth, and her teeth made rapid clicking sounds. Nevertheless, she sacrificed desire for need. “Isn’t it safer to travel at night?”

  “Not this tired.” Tae’s voice came from below. Apparently, he had dismounted. “Nor against this crowd. They’re more accustomed to working during the night. Better to find a secure spot and hole up now.”

  Kevral clambered from her bay gelding, mourning the fire they dared not kindle.

  “You practice.” Tae knew, as did all Kevral’s companions, that nothing could keep her from her evening svergelse. “I’ll make camp.”

  Kevral surrendered her horse to Tae’s care, then practiced sword forms in the close, dark clearing. Exertion chased away night’s chill, and the excitement of a new situation in which to practice warmed her insides as well. For more than an hour she capered and slashed among the trunks and vines, while Tae patiently moved from preparing camp to quietly securing the area from prying eyes and ears. When Kevral finally quit, limbs bathed in a sweat that swiftly grew icy, Tae offered her food and drink. Hunger drove her to bolt it, so it took several moments to realize the randomness of the fare. In the dark, Tae had pulled out whatever fell into easy reach, not bothering to sort a logical and balanced combination. Cold and famished, Kevral did not complain. Exhaustion caught her as the last bit of food passed her lips. She curled up on the ground, huddled into herself, and fell asleep before she thought to close her eyes.

  * * *

  Kevral awakened to the soft warmth of a blanket being drawn into place around her. She snuggled into it, then opened her eyes at the oddity. Moonlight fought through the leaves and branches, managing only a thin glaze barely differentiable from the surrounding darkness. A shadow lay etched against the contrast, barely discernible as human. She grabbed for the other, opposite hand straying naturally to the sword at her side.

  Tae instinctively scurried out of reach. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Kevral smiled, appreciation for the cover’s warmth folding into guilt at the realization that Tae had sacrificed his own comfort for hers. She had traveled only in the late spring and summer, and her lighter blanket had served her well. Against autumn night, it proved insubstantial. “No reason you should suffer for my poor packing.”

  “It’s my fault,” Tae returned. “I’m the only one with travel experience. I should have helped you pack. I just didn’t want to interrupt . . .” He trailed off. His swarthy skin and dark cloak blended into the background, but Kevral still thought she detected a blush. “Ra-khir was helping, and it was the last time he’d see you in a long time.”

  Kevral nodded, raking short locks back into place with her fingers, then cringing at the massive snarl Tae could never comb out of his own hair. Fatigue still weighted her, but the realization that she had left security fully to Tae niggled at her conscience. Sensing his need for conversation, she sat up and raised a corner of the blanket. “We can share. Two blankets and combined body heat ought to handle the chill.” She hooked her pack with a finger and drew it closer. As Tae settled in beside her, she rummaged through her belongings, withdrawing the comb and brush. “If you don’t get those knots out, you’ll have to cut it all off.”

  Tae shrugged, drawing his corner of the blankets around him. “Short hair doesn’t seem to bother you any.”

  “But I like yours long.” Kevral knelt behind Tae, reorganizing the blankets around them both. She set to work with the comb on a task that seemed hopeless but would keep her busy while they talked. She started at the top where the hair remained silky, enjoying the feel of it through her fingers. A sudden rush of emotion caught her unexpectedly, and all of the love she had shoved aside returned in an instant. Its presence surprised her, leaving a wake of frustration mingled inseparably with relief. She wavered between mourning lost certainty and blessing the moment with Tae that might have saved her from a lifelong mistake.

  “It is still you and Ra-khir.” Tae spoke casually, but hope tinged his tone.

  Kevral avoided a statement rightfully intended as a question. “He asked me to marry him.”

  “Of course,” Tae said, voice still cautiously monotonic. “He’d have to.”

  Though true, the suggestion seemed unfair. Ra-khir would have proposed regardless of the act that, to his honor-driven mind, made her unweddable by anyone else. She tugged at the tangle, drawing several strands free and working on those until the comb passed easily through them. She pried loose another bunch.

  “And you accepted?” Tae guessed.

  “No.”

  “No?” Excitement touched Tae’s voice despite his best efforts. “Because of . . . me?” he tried, somehow managing to keep the query modest.

  “Because of me.” Kevral worked on the newest handful of hair, debris tumbling to the ground behind Tae. Though it needed washing, she liked the satiny softness of his hair and the dusty odor of his scalp. “I know I promised to make a decision when we finished our job, but I’ve still got Pudar hanging over me. We’re going to be separated for a year. That gives us all a chance to work through our feelings, set priorities, grow a little.” Kevral bullied through a knot. “Ra-khir needs more experience before he settles on one woman.”

  Tae loosed a sharp breath, the only sign that he noticed the punishment Kevral inflicted with her comb. “So I’m still a possibility?” He sounded more surprised than hopeful.

  Kevral realized now that, in the back of her mind, her indecision had proved the deciding factor in choosing to put off Ra-khir’s proposal. All that she had spoken was true. She and Ra-khir, perhaps even Tae, needed more age and experience before making such a commitment. The idea of losing either man rankled, yet she had never expected either to put up with her inability to choose for this long. Time might make the decision for her. She felt unworthy of either man.

  Like Ra-khir, Tae did not seem to share her feelings of unfairness and inadequacy. He spun around before the tangle had become halfway handled and caught Kevral into an embrace. He kissed her, dragging her closer, his boldness an invigorating contrast to Ra-khir’s strong uncertainty.

  This time, Kevral resisted. “Tae, this isn’t the time or place.” Even she detected the hesitation in her voice. Propriety demanded that she wait until marriage to sleep with either man, yet circumstance had already driven her to both. She had given Ra-khir two chances, and it seemed only fair to allow Tae the same. Besides, his exploring hands excited her wildly. After this time, she would bow to decorum before she started to feel as dirty as proper women would name her. She briefly wondered what Matrinka would think of her lapse and doubted the kindhearted princess would judge.

  A moment later, desire consumed Kevral, and she gave herself to Tae in a savage frenzy of ecstasy that left no room for guilt. Then, still warm from lovemaking as exciting as battle, they slept together beneath the blankets.

  CHAPTER 20

  Lord of Chaos

  Law is only the structure.

  Chaos is what lives, grows, and evolves.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Darris hunched over his desk in his quarter
s adjacent to those of Béarn’s king, pressed far past exhaustion yet unable to sleep. Griff had insisted on inviting the entire populace to the celebration, on meeting each of his thousands of citizens and listening raptly to their desires and concerns. Darris had advised against the timeless nightmare, suggesting many alternatives that fell by the wayside. The compromise had landed far into the king’s favor, as it always must. A court ceremony formalized to tedium by the Knights of Erythane resulted in the naming of King Griff’s new ministers, inner guards, and staff. This was followed by an open coronation that stretched Darris’ security to its limit and lasted far into the night.

  Darris rose, working kinks from his legs, and walked to the room’s only window. His feet left indentations in the thick, soft rug. The desk, low bureau with mirror and chair, and the bed remained in the locations he had found them. Rearranging them would leave holes and slashes in the plush carpet where their legs had sat since before his mother’s marriage. By convention, the bard lived in these quarters until family needs drove him or her to a cottage on the grounds.

  Binding half the curtain aside, Darris leaned against the sill and looked out over Béarn’s courtyard. Moonlight glimmered from a pond three stories beneath him. Statues surrounded it, so lifelike he could almost see them moving and hear the splashes of their play. Stone turtles and frogs perched upon granite lily pads. A family of ducks stood, frozen in time, on the bank. The ever-present bear slashed a carved fish from real water. As Darris stared, the image blurred. At first, only the sharp edges of the masons’ craft eluded him. Gradually, as he passed from misting to frank tears, the whole became a gray smudge lost in night’s darkness. Reuniting with his father, the head pastry chef, had given him a companion to share the depths of grief into which losing his mother had plunged him. Though it still plagued him, time had smoothed the raw edges of his sorrow. Another sadness haunted him now.

  With a heavy sigh, Darris left the window. The scene had failed to soothe him, only driving restlessness through him. He paced quietly through the lane between bed and desk, worried about interrupting the king’s sleep. This concern, at least, seemed ludicrous. Griff’s snores shook the wall, fully audible from the next room, and the clink of mail wafted to him at irregular intervals. If the patrolling guards did not awaken the king, it seemed unlikely that Darris’ barefoot ambling could do so. Nevertheless, he kept his step light in contrast to the heavy thoughts that seemed bent on dragging him down.