Prince of Demons

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Ra-khir glanced toward the others at the table, wishing one would reveal something, anything, to indicate what they wanted from him. “Armsman, I was glad he chose a spar rather than the battle to the death he originally suggested. I truly believe my sword arm could serve Béarn well.” He copied Colbey’s tone, stating compliment with a blandness that sapped it of pride. “If he could best me, Erythane or Béarn could use him, too. It seemed a shame for either of us to die in vain.”

  Edwin started a nod, then caught himself. “When your opponent scored a killing blow but did not notice, did it ever occur to you to continue the fight?”

  Ra-khir did not pause to consider. “Never, sir.”

  “Not for a moment?”

  The question was an insult. “No, sir.”

  “Not even for a bare second?”

  This once, Ra-khir allowed his irritation through. “Armsman, you are coming dangerously close to besmirching my honor. If you persist in this line, you will force me to call you out as well.”

  The two knights thus far silent, widened their eyes. A twitch at the corners of one’s lips gave away his approval. Edwin returned to stony unreadability, looking to either hand to encourage the others to question.

  The knight to Ra-khir’s right, Sir Garvin, spoke next. “Why did you give up your right to choose weapon and time after you called the second challenge?”

  Finally, the intention of the inquisition became clear to Ra-khir. Actions spoke loud, but only he could reveal the intention and thought behind them. Doing the right thing by accident would not suit a knight. “I judged, sir, that the only thing at risk was my own life. Turning to personal honor, I found myself uncomfortable with knowingly forcing the contest into my favor.”

  Edwin turned then from scrutinizing Ra-khir’s motivations on the field to endless questions about kingdom procedure and formality. Hours stretched into a painful tedium that pushed Ra-khir’s exhausted mind to its limit. Never did he allow his answers to grow sloppy or disrespectful. Too much depended upon his responses to let them sour or allow incaution to taint them. One by one, the knights dragged him through scenarios determined to test his honor to its limit. Ethical dilemmas that defied the ages were fired at Ra-khir, demanding answers in the moments such situations would leave him. Superficial replies did not prove enough. The three delved to the core of his decisions, the reasons behind his choices bared to a scrutiny that left him feeling naked and vulnerable.

  Day stretched into hungry night. Ra-khir had managed to stomach little for breakfast, and the knights’ testing had left him not a moment since for eating. Nausea fluttered through his gut, churned by excitement and terror; and he doubted he could handle food even if they offered it. Finally, the barrage of questions stopped, followed by a session of memorization. Edwin and the others kept him standing attentively while they fed him the words to the knight’s oath. The gist came easily: he would pledge his service to the kingdom of Béarn first, then to Erythane, and always to his honor. These things he had known since his training began. Yet flowery wording stretched the whole into pages that he seemed incapable of jamming into a mind so tired it no longer registered emotion.

  The pound of a fist against the door startled a gasp from Ra-khir. Somehow, he managed to maintain a blank mask and his rigid posture despite the interruption. An angry frown cut across Edwin’s features. “Come back later,” he shouted. “I can’t permit interruptions now.”

  Despite his command, the door winched open slightly, and Knight-Captain Kedrin stuck his head through the crack. The handsome features looked as tired as his son’s, and the blue-white eyes radiated pain. He turned Ra-khir an apologetic look before addressing the armsman. “Sir Edwin, you know I wouldn’t interrupt this unless it was of the utmost importance.”

  The anger seeped from Edwin’s face, replaced by worried creases. “I’m sorry, Captain. Come in.” He looked at Ra-khir. “Stand at ease.”

  Ra-khir barely moved. He had never seen his father this rattled, not even when Baltraine had pronounced his execution in the courtroom.

  Kedrin cleared his throat. “I don’t have any way to soften this.” He glanced at Ra-khir. “Son, your mother threatened to kill herself if you complete your testing.”

  Ra-khir’s heart seemed to stop, and the sensation of imminent death washed over him. “What?” he squeaked out.

  “Your mother,” Kedrin repeated dutifully, though they all had clearly heard him. “I don’t know how she found out the testing was today . . .”

  Ra-khir believed they would find the answer among the spectators at his ring joust and sparring.

  “. . . but she’s locked herself in her cottage and threatened to kill herself if you don’t come talk to her now.”

  Ra-khir remained locked in place, not even capable of leaving the alert position that had seemed too painful moments before. “Armsman.” He scarcely managed to turn his eyes to Edwin. “May I go?”

  Edwin flinched, and Kedrin turned away. “I’m sorry, Ra-khir. I don’t have the authority to change protocol. As I told you this morning, your testing cannot be interrupted. If you leave, you can no longer become a Knight of Erythane.”

  All of the ethical tests the knights had thrown at Ra-khir had not prepared him for this moment. Myriad ideas flashed through his head at once. My mother’s life against everything that matters. The far-reaching consequences finally struck him. My mother’s life, or my own. He thought of the mother he had not seen in months, not since the day she laid down her ultimatum. The more of her deceit he uncovered, the more he had come to despise her. Yet he had never gone so far as to wish her dead. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he studied his father through the blur they created. “Can’t you . . . reason with her?”

  Kedrin crossed the room and gripped Ra-khir in a strong embrace. “I did everything I could, Ra-khir. I’ve never been good enough for her; you know that. She wants you.”

  She wants me. She still thinks I’m a child. She still wants to control me. Ra-khir wondered where it would end. Would she threaten suicide every time he tried to do anything of which she disapproved? His father’s arms closed tighter around him. Just as when he recovered from the elves’ poison, Kedrin shared his agony.

  Ra-khir closed his eyes, peace settling over him as he made a decision he would rather forgo. “I have to go,” he said simply, reopening his lids. And headed for the door.

  The world seemed to explode around Ra-khir. As he pushed open the panel, winter air slammed his face, cold agony against the tears. Disconnected from his body, he felt himself stride out into windy dampness, shuffling in the right direction from instinct rather than intent. It’s over. All the work, all the learning, all of the pain had gone for nothing. Years of hopes and dreams lay crushed beneath his mother’s threat. He would rescue her because his honor would not allow anything less, yet his disdain and hatred could only grow stronger.

  A figure appeared suddenly in Ra-khir’s path. He tried to step around, but the other moved with him. Slowly, he raised his head and met Kedrin’s pale eyes and worried features. Again, the father enfolded his son into a warm hug. His breath hissed into Ra-khir’s ears in words that took longer than necessary to decipher. “Ra-khir, come back. Your mother is in no danger. It was part of the test.”

  Ra-khir jerked backward. “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kedrin said, and suddenly the origin of his pain became clear, role-playing that felt more like cruel lying. “Come back, and we’ll explain.”

  Bewildered, Ra-khir returned, his breath huffing in clouds against the frigid air. He let Kedrin lead him back into Edwin’s house and return him to his chair at the head of the table. The others sat in their regular places, and Kedrin remained standing at Ra-khir’s right hand.

  “A test,” Ra-khir finally managed.

  Edwin nodded.

  “A cruel test.” Ra-khir could not help judging. His heart still felt as if it hung in tatters, and little thought had moved in to replace the emptiness that had f
ollowed his decision.

  The armsman lowered his head. “Can you explain your decision?”

  Ra-khir blinked, scarcely daring to believe it had not ended even yet. “Why I chose my mother’s life over becoming a Knight of Erythane?”

  “Yes,” Sir Garvin said. “Why?”

  Beneath the table, Kedrin caught Ra-khir’s wrist and gave it an encouraging squeeze. The apprentice suspected the others would not approve of this gesture; at the moment, he did not care. “My honor required it.” Ra-khir’s fogged mind left few words. He sought a long, solid explanation, but it evaded him.

  Edwin reminded gently, “Your pledge is first to Béarn.”

  Ra-khir completed the detail, “And always to my honor.”

  Sir Garvin pressed, “Could you not best serve Béarn as a Knight of Erythane? Is that not worth the life of a single citizen, even that of your own mother?”

  Ra-khir saw the point. He drew a deep breath, hoping the bitterness that followed would not outrage his father’s peers. “If I was so shallow as to place different values on human lives, my mother’s would register less, not more, than that of others.” He glanced at his father and hoped Kedrin could read the apology in his expression. The knight-captain had always taught his son to see the good in everyone. “Knighthood means everything to me, but I could not accept a life, any life, as the price for fulfilling my dreams. The vow stands, but I had not taken it yet. I could serve Béarn in other guise, as a common soldier, perhaps.”

  “Very well, Ra-khir,” Edwin said. “Retire through that door.” He pointed to an entryway into another room. “When we have finished deliberating, we will call you back.”

  Ra-khir did as Edwin bade, heading into a small neat room that Edwin clearly used as sleeping quarters. Finding no chairs, and thinking it rude to sit on another’s bed, Ra-khir flopped to the floor in a quiet corner. The murmurs of the knights in the other room made the walls seem to hum, but he deliberately avoided picking out individual words. Excitement still hounded him, risen from the ashes of despair; but now rest seemed nearly as welcome. He let his eyes fall closed.

  Even then, Ra-khir received no reprieve. Sir Garvin poked his head through the doorway before sleep found the exhausted knight-in-training. “Ra-khir?”

  Ra-khir opened his eyes and rose to his feet. He bowed politely.

  Garvin’s face gave him nothing. “Return, please.”

  Ra-khir followed in silence, the jarring of each step necessary to keep his mind from lapsing into the rest stolen from him by combat, questions, and now the decision of his life. Each of the four knights kept his face frozen in an unrevealing mask. Ra-khir studied his father’s features. The set of mouth and cheeks told him nothing, but a light dancing in the familiar milk-blue eyes gave him away.

  Armsman Edwin spoke the words Ra-khir anticipated. “Congratulations, Sir Ra-khir. Report to King Humfreet’s court tomorrow to recite your vows and to claim your steed and your assignment.”

  Once again, father and son embraced, but this time they wept tears of joy.

  CHAPTER 26

  Betrayals

  I know my swords better than most men know their children.

  —Colbey Calistinsson

  Colbey Calistinsson blinked in Asgard’s brightness, the constant light a torment to eyes accustomed to the dark flurry of chaos’ world. The solidity of trees rooted in place, the riffle of the pond in wind, the lazy paddle of ducks, once right and proper, now seemed a slow and monotonous torture. Looping patternlessly and exploring lesser known tracts of land suited him far better now. His senses remained sharply tuned, as they once had for the flash of a demon through the chaos ether. Now the shapeless dwellers of chaos’ world ran from him or delivered strange gestures of obeisance to their prince. As individuals, they followed and feared him, unable to bond in a cause. The loneliness that once haunted Colbey became a treasured sanctuary. He had no interest in the demons’ fealty. Their terror pleased him more.

  Colbey traipsed toward home with only a glance at the scenery that had once held him daily spellbound. He left the Staff of Chaos in the sword-form his mind bent it into on chaos’ world. It hung on his left hip, his lesser weapon looking no different at his other side. This constant companion tapped at the barriers to Colbey’s mind, its strength tangibly increased over the months he had wielded it. Cautiously, alert to tricks, Colbey opened his superficial thoughts to its opinion.

  *You don’t belong here anymore.*

  Colbey frowned, the warning unnecessary. *I go where I please.*

  The staff in sword-form accepted the answer with a faint tingle of pleasure. *True enough, but there’s still work to be done down below. You have yet to defeat the kraell.*

  Colbey dismissed the words with an internal shrug. The largest, most powerful demons could wait. *The kraell will have their battle. I have matters to attend here.* Without awaiting a reply, he shut off the contact. The staff-sword told him nothing he did not already know. He continued toward home until the faint chime of steel touched his ears. He raised his head and stopped, listening.

  The music of swordplay filled his head with a gladness even months among demons could not disperse. For a moment, he felt right amid Asgard’s changeless tedium, and the urge to charge into battle with Modi’s name on his lips became an obsession he could scarcely deny. The sounds came from the field on which he had once daily practiced before a new world gave him constant battles and unfamiliar places to perfect his swordarm. He rushed toward it.

  Topping a slight rise, Colbey discovered two figures engaged in spar. Both moved with impressive speed and a grace that held his attention as nothing but his own identity had since taking on the Staff of Chaos. Silver flickered around slender arms and torsos, and the sun glinted from golden tresses. Then, almost as soon as he noticed it, the swordplay ceased. Blades drifted downward, and the two moved closer, one clutching the other from behind to demonstrate a maneuver. Colbey stared, missing the symphony of steel striking steel and caught up in the perfect vision on the field. He scarcely noticed the staff-sword’s clamoring for an attention he did not accord it. Time receded, and he saw himself as a child again, caught up in learning, his torke’s touch an honor he scarcely deserved.

  Colbey drifted toward the figures on the field, recognizing them within a dozen steps: Freya and Ravn. The goddess held an offensive stance that trebled beauty already beyond peer. The slim sword in her small, callused hand added what no cosmetic ever could. Ravn crouched in thoughtful silence. The disheveled yellow hair and adolescent proportions stole nothing from his long-trained dexterity. A moment after Colbey’s observance, both of their heads swung in his direction. He stopped, still the length of six horses from them.

  When Colbey did not move toward Freya and Ravn, they sheathed their swords and approached him. He watched them come, measuring every step, each swing of arm or body. He braced for a flood of emotion that, strangely, escaped him. His mind read the situation, and experience told him how he should feel. His thoughts registered Freya’s beauty, knew Ravn as his son, realized that a meeting should overwhelm him with affection that made thought impossible. Yet, beyond this logic, he felt nothing.

  “Colbey,” Freya said, her tone sounding more confused than excited. She studied him, stiffening as if to do something, but remaining in place. Ravn said nothing, but his expression revealed the excitement wafting from him.

  Colbey delved further. Reading revealed the boy’s desires as well as his hesitation. He wanted to run to his father’s arms, yet something in Colbey’s manner held him back. Turning his attention to Freya’s thoughts, he found much the same, with a taint of bitterness that Ravn had not manifested. Emotions beyond her control held Colbey to blame for choosing to champion chaos over his own family. Or, perhaps, she damned circumstance. Seeking subtleties would have drained Colbey more than he would allow. Though the staff could lend him additional strength, he discarded that possibility. He had relied on himself too long, had disdained protections and ma
gic too severely, to accept its assistance now.

  Colbey tried to break the tension. “Ravn, how about a spar?”

  Excitement danced through the adolescent’s eyes. His hands shifted naturally to his hilts, Harval at his left hand and a scimitar at his right. In contrast, his head rolled slowly back and forth in denial. “No, Father.”

  The words caught Colbey by surprise, and he sought the core of Ravn’s intentions. He read mistrust there. Ravn doubted his father would still pull his deadly strokes.

  The discovery enraged Colbey. His eyes narrowed, and he glared at a boy he no longer felt certain deserved to be his son. “You don’t trust me.”

  Ravn would not deny what his father already knew as truth. “You’re right.” The words emerged strong, yet Colbey read the pain beneath them.

  Though recently accustomed to ruling through intimidation, without loyalty, Colbey quivered from the pain of his son’s betrayal. “How can you treat your own father this way?”

  Ravn pulled himself to his full height; he had outgrown Colbey by half a hand’s breadth. “You’ve linked yourself to chaos and disappeared for four months. Have you forgotten I now champion balance?”

  Having given Ravn that charge, Colbey could not argue the point, other than to deny Ravn’s need to fear. “I am your father. Have I not earned your respect?”

  “Many times over,” Ravn admitted. “But . . .” He glanced at Freya, who returned a warning nod but allowed him to finish his speech without interruption. “. . . you once vowed never to read the thoughts of one you respect. If you do not respect me, how can I trust you?”

  The words took Colbey momentarily aback, draining some of his anger. He was guilty of the crime Ravn described. Worse, he had violated his own honor without a modicum of guilt. Rage turned instantly to terror. What am I turning into? The realization that chaos had penetrated deeper than he expected unbalanced him. Nevertheless, he found himself unable to abandon the fight. Whether or not he mistrusted his father, Ravn should never retreat from a challenge. “I did not raise my son to be a coward.”