THE GLASS WARRIOR
Robert E. Vardeman
BOOK I OF
THE DEMON CROWN
TRILOGY
© Robert E. Vardeman 1989
Robert E. Vardeman has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in 1989 by Tom Doherty Associates, Inc.
This edition published in 2017 by Venture Press, an imprint of Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER I
“Betrayed! Lord Dews, we’ve been betrayed! Everywhere! Their soldiers surround us!”
“Calm yourself, Jiskko. They come to join us, not to fight us.” Dews Gaemock leaned back, feeling the bones in his spine separate. Jabs of pain made him think for the hundredth time this day that he had grown too old for insurrection. No matter that the rulers in Porotane were despots and that the royal line had died with King Lamost. Gaemock slowly straightened a war-weary arm. More joints cracked, like corn thrown into a campfire.
“But Lord, look at them! They do not carry the black and gold banner of Ionia’s ruffians. The only war pennants in sight are pure green.”
Gaemock forced himself upright, then got to his feet. It took him only seconds to see that his adviser had spoken the truth. “Whose banners are those?” he demanded. His dark eyes scanned the circle of his silent commanders. They shook their heads and averted their eyes.
Again, his intelligence had failed, perhaps fatally. Gaemock cursed. “This never happened when Efran rode at my side.”
“Lord,” said Jiskko, “your brother is long the traitor,”
“Never say that!” raged Gaemock. His dark eyes burned like coals. Jiskko wilted under the look. “My brother is no traitor. He has chosen to support the royals. That is all.”
“But Lord, we fight the royals. We march on Porotane to take it from Duke Freow and his sycophant dogs.”
Dews Gaemock forced down his seething anger. His younger brother had always acted independently. Sometimes Efran had been independent of good sense, but Gaemock could not fault him for that. Sometimes he acted stupidly.
As he did now. The green banners were not those of Lady Ionia, his temporary ally in this siege of Porotane’s castle. Had she betrayed him already? Ionia was a treacherous bitch, and he had allowed Jiskko and the others to convince him against his instincts that alliance with her would prove the turning point in the civil war. Too long they had battled, faction against faction, brother against brother, Gaemock thought bitterly. If only King Lamost had not died so suddenly. Assassinated some said.
The cause of the king’s death mattered little. The kidnapping of his twin children, Lokenna and Lorens, did. Without a successor to ascend the throne, without a true heir to don the Demon Crown, the entire kingdom had disintegrated over the past twenty sorrow-and-death-filled years. Duke Freow claimed to hunt for the children. Gaemock could not believe it. Even if the duke’s claim that Lorens and lovely little Lokenna had been stolen away by a wizard were true, some trace of them would have been found over twenty years.
“Sire,” called Jiskko. “A runner from the front lines,” Gaemock’s adviser motioned. A youngling, hardly more than eight summers, dashed up and fell to his knees, head bowed.
“What have you seen, son?” asked Gaemock, holding back the tears as he spoke. So young. The boy was so young. His spies had been reduced to children. Not two years ago his intelligence network had been the strongest in all Porotane. Not even Duke Freow matched it. But that had been before Efran left to side with the royals. Gaemock hoped that the duke appreciated his brother’s tactical brilliance and unerringly strategic instincts.
“Lord Dews, they are commanded by a wizard. I was unable to learn his name.”
“That is all right. Wizards are not known for their loquacity when it comes to naming themselves in public.”
“Lord, I was close enough!” the boy cried. “If I had learned his name, I could have slain him!”
“The wizard’s name means little. Another trader in magicks entering the battle does not matter. We have many who chevy our steps for their own gain. What did you see of their battle strength? This is of true importance.”
“Lord, I believe the wizard entered into treacherous alliance with the Lady Ionia. He mentioned her often, laughing as he did so. At his command are a full five hundred armed soldiers. They have fanned out along the valley to our right flank, and move steadily forward to put themselves between Porotane’s castle and our escape route.”
Gaemock nodded. “Continue your report, son.” The boy rattled on but Gaemock did not listen. His mind worked over the tactical considerations of continuing the siege against Duke Freow and the castle of Porotane. He had to consider that Ionia had either been destroyed or had betrayed him. Gaemock’s eyes rose and scanned the two hills his troops occupied — and the valley below. If he ordered the attack on Porotane’s castle, the wizard would be in good position to push through that valley and cut Gaemock’s rebel forces in half.
If he did not advance, Gaemock controlled the high ground and might be able to trap the other’s forces should the wizard prove impatient.
“Lord, we should retreat. Leave Porotane for another day. Without Ionia’s assistance, we stand little chance for success in battle.” Jiskko shifted nervously from foot to foot, his fingers drumming on his sword hilt.
“The River Ty,” said Gaemock. “Have our sappers readied the dams?”
Another commander spoke to this. “Lord, they are ready. The flow can be diverted in less than an hour, leaving the castle without water.” Gaemock brushed this aside. “That is of no consequence now. Freow has cisterns filled with water. He has tuns in the cellars of the castle, enough to supply his defenders for a month or more. When we planned this attack, we saw it as a lengthy siege. We would cut off their water, burn their fields, and force as many to take shelter within the castle walls as possible.”
“Lord, the wizard’s troops begin to advance,” said Jiskko, his attention focused on a semaphore signaller on a distant hill. Even as he watched, the signalman burst into flame.
“The wizard’s doing,’ Gaemock said tiredly. “I can fight with sword and bow, but not their demon-damned magic! How I hate them all!” Dews Gaemock waved his fist at the sky, cursing all sorcerers.
The earliest battles in the civil war had been feeble when compared with more recent ones. Only a month previous, Gaemock had seen an entire field ripped asunder by a wizard’s lightning bolt. Not only the crops in the field but a score of peasant farmers had perished. The wizard had misdirected his blast and missed the rebel soldiers.
Seldom did such wanton and senseless killing occur when sword was in hand. The warrior’s code held, even among the fighting segments of Porotane, and only those armed and in battle were slain. Surrender might come too slow, but was observed more often than not when soldiers could fight no more. Gaemock had gained his most valued commanders through surrender. Jiskko had roamed the countryside with his own band of mercenaries for over three years before meeting Gaemock’s forces and being
vanquished.
Jiskko had given his solemn oath of allegiance, and Gaemock valued him above all others on his small staff. And never had Jiskko given him reason to doubt that loyalty.
But wizards? Gaemock scoffed at them and openly shouted obscenities when he saw one. They had no honour. Random slaughter meant nothing to them. A field filled with peasant farmers, women, and children? The wizard had no doubt felt only passing scorn for them. Perhaps anger at his intended victims for not being where he directed his magical blast, but remorse for the innocent dead? Never.
How the wizard he now faced had subverted Ionia, he couldn’t say. The woman had given her word, but Gaemock had extracted it from her under less than honourable circumstances. A smile slipped across his lips, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The night in Ionia’s camp had been interesting. Seldom had Gaemock found a bed companion as skilled and exciting. She had vowed her undying love for him. This Gaemock had thought exaggeration generated by the throes of passion, but she had also pledged support for his thrust into Porotane’s belly.
“Damn her, too,” he said.
“Lord?”
“Nothing, Jiskko. You are correct in your appraisal. We cannot attack the castle successfully. Not now, not with a rival force in the field threatening us.”
“We do not believe Freow will sally forth from the castle,” said another commander. “We can deal with this wizard and…”
Gaemock shook his head. The commander’s voice trailed off when he saw the disapproval on his leader’s face. “No,” said Gaemock, “this battle must wait for another day. We seek only escape now, escape with as little damage done to our soldiers as possible.”
“Lord!” protested Jiskko. “We have spent vast sums on this attack. To stop now, why, that would set us back six months or longer. We could not hope to mount another force before autumn, if then.”
“I will not see my brave fighters killed senselessly,” Gaemock said firmly. “There will be more gold.” He laughed harshly. “We have lived as brigands for years. Another few months should do nothing but enhance our cutthroat reputation.”
“I’ll order the sappers to destroy the dikes, Lord,” said the commander of the battle engineers.
“No!”
“But why not? Diverting the River Ty was intended to break the spirit of the castle’s defenders. Why — ”
“No. Bring me a map and I’ll show you what I have in mind.”
The boy dashed away, returning in a few minutes with a large parchment scroll. Gaemock took it and spread out the illuminated map, ignoring the dragons and other wivern frolicking around the borders. Gaemock stared at the map, then thrust his finger onto it.
“Here. This is the point where the sappers have prepared the temporary dams. If they move them less than a hundred paces upstream and place them thusly, the Ty will flow past our position. Otherwise, the river is diverted into the southern swamps past the castle.”
“The valley between our forces will be flooded if they move upstream,” said Jiskko. “But such a move is not possible without an additional week of hard work. The sappers sought only to divert the river from supplying the castle, not bring its course down this valley.”
“A pity, isn’t it?” mused Gaemock. “We need the valley flooded, if we are to rout the other forces.”
“That prevents the wizard from attacking,” said Jiskko. “But even if such a flooding were possible, his purpose is still served. Our strength will be halved. He can choose which side to attack and we shall be unable to reinforce because of the river.”
Gaemock nodded, a lock of lank black hair falling forward to dangle before his eyes. “It would appear so, wouldn’t it?” He smiled broadly. “We shall have a surprise for our backstabbing wizard.”
“And Ionia?” urged Jiskko. He alone had cautioned Gaemock repeatedly against any alliance with the woman.
“We might seek her out at leisure, after our troops are secure. I would have words with her. Curt ones.” Gaemock moved his finger on the map around the sappers’ position, then stabbed down hard. “Abandon the dikes along the Ty. Since the engineers cannot serve us in time, remove them immediately. We will need them in the autumn for our new campaign.”
“As my lord commands,” said Jiskko.
Dews Gaemock dismissed his commanders to begin their new assignments, turning attention from the Porotane castle to the wizard’s forces. He reached out and collared the boy who had acted as messenger.
“A word with you,” Gaemock said.
The boy dropped again to his knees, head bowed. “I am yours to command, Lord Dews.”
“Rubbish. Stand up straight, proud. Why do you think we fight?”
“To gain power over all Porotane.”
“And then?” Gaemock prompted. “What do we do then, once we have won this war?”
“Why, you become king. I do not understand what you seek of me, Lord.” The confusion on the boy’s face showed that he had no firm knowledge of why Gaemock fought this bloody war. But then, the boy was only eight years of age. How many of Gaemock’s adult advisers understood the purpose? Simple power? To throw Duke Freow out and sit upon the throne in his stead?
“I fight for freedom, son. I do not wish to replace the regent only to rule. I wish to restore order, to give Porotane a sense of security. Without any of royal blood on the throne, without the Demon Crown on the head of the true ruler, upstarts like Baron Theoll will force brutal laws on all our heads. I do not wish to overthrow royal authority, I fight to restore it — with freedom.”
“But there are many others besides the baron,” protested the boy.
“Most roam the countryside, setting up their own fiefdoms, enslaving rather than freeing. Yes, I know, oh, how I know. I fight them, also. That makes the war all the more brutal. Not only do I fight those who have usurped the throne, I fight those who want to usurp it.”
The boy grinned shyly. “I never thought Duke Freow was a bad man.”
“He isn’t. But he is old and infirm and has been unable to restore either Lorens or Lokenna to the throne.”
“Have you worn the Demon Crown?” asked the boy.
“No, and if I should triumph against the duke, I would not. Although royal blood flows in my veins, there is not enough to protect me against the ill effects of its magic. The crown is a symbol; it is also a two-edged weapon. It can be used for good, as King Lamost used it. It can also slay mercilessly, both the wearer and those unfortunate enough to reside within its range.”
“Does the duke wear the Demon Crown?”
Gaemock shook his head. He had no idea what had become of the fabled, demon-given circlet. Duke Freow had never worn it in public. Spies told of Baron Theoll’s attempts to steal it — and his failures to find it. Duke Freow had been a resourceful, if flawed regent. He had not kept order in the kingdom, but neither had he allowed ambitious men such as Theoll of Brandon to take full control.
“When we depose the duke and the baron and the others now in the castle, we will not wear the Demon Crown. That is only for full-blooded royalty. Unlike Freow, we will find the twins and place one on the throne.”
“Which one, Lord Dews?”
“I cannot say. Either will do, if the kingdom can be united.”
Gaemock shook himself free of the daydreaming. His power waxed and waned. He must now retreat and conserve his strength, prepare to again launch a siege of the castle. In the autumn, next spring, sometime. To do that, he must win free this day.
“I am entrusting you with a singular mission, son. You will run as fast as you can and tell the old woman who lives at the edge of the river that I need her immediately.”
“But Lord, there are so many old women living on the River Ty. Which shall I fetch?”
Gaemock laughed. “You go. Which old woman I want will become apparent to you. And you shall not fetch her. You will be polite, do as she says, and make it plain to her that I am in dire need of her skills. If she will not aid me, get her to tell
you outright and return immediately with the message. Do you understand?”
“No,” the boy said slowly. “I might choose the wrong woman. Please, Lord Dews, describe her to me more fully.”
“Trust me in this. You won’t miss her. And I cannot tell you what she looks like, because her appearance changes often. Go now. Be swift of foot. She must respond before the sun sets this evening or half my troops will be lost.”
The child bowed deeply, backed off a pair of steps, then turned and ran, his bare, callused feet pounding hard on the grassy slopes. Gaemock watched the boy leave and wondered if this fight was worth the death and suffering it caused. The boy obeyed so eagerly, not knowing his errand would mean the deaths of dozens or even scores of valiant men. Or perhaps the boy did know and that added speed to his step.
That thought appalled Dews Gaemock. The young learning the ways of death and dying and revelling in it. And why not? For an entire generation, war had been a constant, unvarying companion.
“The war,” he wondered aloud. “Do I seek to overthrow Freow for good reasons or foul?” He shook his head. Gaemock knew he did not want to rule. He wanted only to install a rightful heir on the throne. Let another carry the heavy burden of the Demon Crown. But one of the royal blood would rule! He would see that the duke and his followers were deposed! The fight was worth it, if only to stop the tyranny that had grown, if only to put to rest the Inquisition that Archbishop Nosto fostered in Freow’s name.
“Lord, the signals have been sent, but already the enemy marches on our position.” Jiskko shook him gently, bringing him out of the latest round of endless worry about the righteousness of this war.
“Sorry, Jiskko. You say they have us boxed already?”
“Split, Lord. Each band can flee.”
“Can we lure them into pursuit of one group, then attack their rear?” Even as he spoke, Gaemock saw that this would not be possible. The wizard they opposed might be venal and conniving, but he was no fool. The magical ward spells would alert him to any such plan in time to break off the engagement and retreat up the valley.
The Glass Warrior (Demon Crown Book 1) Page 1