by Phil Stern
Surprisingly, Anson was enjoying his first military foray. After feeling uncomfortably close to the center of royal power in Brenlaw, and then the near-catastrophic encounter with the Demon in the castle, marching off to war felt like a walk in the park. Of course, he sternly reminded himself, that could all change when the first Karden arrow went whistling by his ear. But for now, at least, the current campaign was actually a welcome break from the constant tension of the last several weeks.
The top twenty recruits had been merged with another thirty or so younger soldiers to form a platoon. That evening, Anson found himself sitting around a fire with fifteen other young men, finishing up dinner.
Letting the boisterous conversation flow around him, Anson felt a slight tickle at the edge of his mental perception. Casually looking around the fire, he realized one of the soldiers on the far side, boys a few years older than the recruits, must be a Demon. It could be any one of a dozen young men lounging a short distance away.
So, the Network wasn’t as easily discouraged as he’d hoped, obviously hoping to finish on campaign what had started in the castle.
But now Anson felt more confident of his ability to elude the Demons. Clearly, his own innate sensitivity for power was far keener than anything possessed by those pursuing him. After all, he’d only been detected in the castle after a Demon had actually brushed against him, while the royals themselves seemed blissfully unaware of his presence.
Still, the veil of worry and fear descended once again as Anson laid out his bedroll that night. Sleeping underneath the stars, he fitfully dreamed of the dark-haired royal princess, smiling warmly at him from within endless fields of corn.
***
Three days later the royal army entered the Outlands.
The Kardens let them get a mile into the heavily forested area before striking. After repulsing the initial surge, Anson found himself part of a flanking force sent to attack the Kardens from the side. But the little trolls had anticipated the maneuver. In the midst of their flanking sweep, about half-a-mile from the main force, Anson’s unit was charged by several hundred Karden warriors.
Along the way he’d wondered if he could actually kill the tiny men, but in the heat of battle there was no choice. Anson skewered one through the neck, bashing another with his sword hilt. But now Kardens were swinging through the air on sturdy vines, shooting arrows down onto human heads. His inner clarion sang out, allowing Anson to mentally deflect a deadly projectile at the last moment. Hopefully, with their own hands full, none of his mates had noticed.
Twice more during the next hour Anson was forced to use his power, once to deflect another arrow, and again to reach out and trip a Karden who was about to dispatch one of his fellow soldiers. The man in question, a sturdy, serious corporal named Senter, quickly stood and drove his own sword through the prostrate Karden. Once more Anson’s inner warning signal sounded, but in the heat of battle there was no way to tell exactly why.
Sometime later Anson’s contingent withdrew, suffering fifteen dead and twice as many wounded. Digging trenches into the soft ground, the men prepared to spend the night in hostile country.
Thoughtfully eying Anson shoveling dirt on the far side of the encampment, Senter gingerly touched his slashed cheek, making plans for the next day.
***
That very same evening Lydia and her mother were having a late dinner in their royal apartment. Word had reached the castle by carrier pigeon only an hour before of the day’s clash in the Outlands. Details were still murky, though, leaving everyone on edge.
But Anson’s safety was only one concern for the young princess. Try as she might, Lydia had been unable to banish Prince Tenen’s outlandish warnings from her mind. Gathering her courage, she finally decided to directly address them with Aprina.
“Mother,” Lydia boldly began. “Prince Tenen has made some bizarre allegations about you.”
Pausing only momentarily, Aprina tried to keep her voice level. “And what might those be, dear?”
Briefly Lydia related Tenen’s vague tale of Aprina’s supposed enemies near the King, and the danger her mother could be in. She decided to leave out the prince’s reference to her mother’s “past,” unsure what that could mean.
“He also asked for my hand in marriage,” Lydia concluded, quickly looking downward. “But Mother, I don’t want to marry him!”
“Of course not, dear.” Aprina gave a tense smile. “What else did he say? About these enemies?”
“Nothing specific.” Though trying to appear disinterested, Lydia could tell her mother was concerned. “Just that you may need protection from people in high places.”
“I see.”
“But Mother, that’s ridiculous! You don’t oppose the King! I mean, I know you’re not his biggest fan, but that doesn’t mean anything. Does it?”
“No, dear. There’s nothing to worry about.” Aprina sighed. “Tenen is just teasing you, that’s all.”
“Well, it isn’t very nice.” Stoically, Lydia tried not to fidget with her fork. “He scared me.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” Reaching out, Aprina took her daughter’s hand. “Let’s talk of something else now, all right?”
***
Meanwhile, in the King’s residence, Perno was telling a very different tale to the monarch. Preoccupied with military matters, the King had been unable to see his spymaster until now.
“She plans to poison me?” Incredulous, the King mentally flung a goblet across the room. “Are you sure?”
“Quite, my Lord.” Perno shrugged. “It would appear Aprina’s plans are proceeding more quickly than Your Majesty anticipated.”
“Indeed they are.” The King threw up his arms in frustration. “The battle in the Outlands remains in doubt! If we suffer defeat there, my enemies may be emboldened to act at once!”
“Indeed, my liege.” Perno allowed himself a grim smile. “That they would.”
In truth, Perno knew nothing of any poisoning plot, either by Lydia’s mother or anybody else. As far as he could tell, Aprina was now a loyal member of the royal household.
But that hadn’t always been the case. Years ago, when she was much younger, Aprina had spoken very openly of her opposition to the King’s rule. This was a time when she’d been involved with a group of troublemakers who thought it exciting to stir up trouble.
The monarch had never forgotten, nor forgiven, her impolitic outbursts. It was foolish talk, completely abandoned with the birth of Lydia. Yet this brief, vocal phase had readily allowed Perno’s more recent vilification of Aprina within the monarch’s mind. By this point the unsuspecting King fully accepted Aprina in the role of fervent enemy, bent on his own removal from the Throne.
Such scapegoats were entirely necessary in Perno’s line of work. After all, there was always some sort of treachery at work within the castle walls. Periodic arrests, like the one he was now engineering for Aprina, were essential for keeping everyone on edge, reminding everyone of the King’s ultimate authority.
In fact, Perno had made certain Prince Tenen was aware of the accusations against Aprina. The young upstart was getting too comfortable for Perno’s liking. Better to make sure he, and all the other royals, understood the price of treason, both real and imagined.
Now was just the time for such a lesson. For as the King himself just observed, if the royal army suffered defeat in the Outlands, his own position might become quite tenuous. And if the King was deposed, Perno himself would surely fall as well.
“Arrest Aprina. But do it gently, and quietly, when she’s alone,” the King commanded. “For the good of the Kingdom, I must act!”
“And her daughter?” Perno tried his best to appear troubled. “Do I arrest her as well?”
The King considered. “No,” he finally instructed. “It would look like a vendetta. And Tenen has already asked my permission to marry the girl.”
Perno raised an eyebrow.
“It means nothing,” the King irritably sighed
. “Lydia, is that her name? Well, she’s a pretty girl that would bear him many powerful sons. All the young royals would take her as a wife. So would I, if I was their age.”
“Even after her mother’s arrest for treason?” Perno cautiously asked.
“Tenen can keep her in line.” The King grunted, mentally causing the goblet to drift back over to a table top. “And anyway, she might be a fitting reward for him should the military campaign achieve success.”
This was most troubling. A pairing of Tenen with Aprina’s disaffected daughter could someday prove highly undesirable. Perno certainly hadn’t anticipated such an outcome when conspiring to frame Lydia’s mother for treason
Yet now was not the time to press further. “As you wish, my liege.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE SUN WAS JUST BEGINNING to peek over the eastern horizon. Anson, Senter, and Conger crept silently through the trees, seeking out any potential Karden activity on the army’s left flank.
A tall, strong youth only a few years older than Anson and Conger, Corporal Senter carried himself with veteran assurance. This was the same soldier Anson had surreptitiously saved the day before, a move he was now amply regretting.
Before even reaching the Outlands, of course, he’d sensed an unknown Demon accompanying the royal army. But now that he was in close proximity to Senter, the empowered youth from Hylen had no doubt who that Demon was, or why the regular army corporal had chosen him and only one other recruit for the morning patrol.
Clearly this was a predator of the highest order, one who personally exalted in stalking and killing others like himself. For intertwined within Senter’s mental emanations was a seething malevolence he’d never before encountered. The corporal’s depraved soul pulsed outward, saturating Anson in its sickly aura, eagerly waiting to inflict pain and death.
As of yet, Anson had no idea what specific ability Senter might possess. But given his potent mind and obvious speciality in hunting other telepaths, it must be powerful indeed. In any event, Anson was unable to quell his inner clarion, which had been shrieking continually since the beginning of the patrol a half-hour before.
The forest here was very thick, with heavy vines and low-lying branches brushing nearly against his head and shoulders. Experts at ambush and close-in fighting, conditions were tailor-made for a Karden assault.
“At least they won’t be able to use their archers,” Conger muttered. Bringing up the rear, behind first Senter and then Anson, the recruit nervously glanced behind him every half-minute.
They all froze at the snap of a stick. A large northern deer burst from the woods twenty feet ahead, charging back into the forest to their right. Anson and Conger, terrified by the sudden outburst of sound and movement, swung their swords up to the ready.
“Steady now.” For his part, Senter barely reacted. “Save your energy for when it counts.”
Grimly they proceeded on, Anson trying to block Senter’s twisted mental energy as best he could.
The far point for their patrol had been marked on a crude map, a small clearing near a cliff and waterfall plunging down into a rocky pool below. Some twenty minutes after the scare with the deer, they heard the rush of water off to the right.
“That’s the stream,” Senter observed, consulting the map. To those without power, the corporal appeared nothing more than an able, professional soldier. “Come on, we’re almost there. This is no time to lag behind schedule.”
“Friendly chap, huh?” Conger whispered in Anson’s ear.
“Yeah, well, you don’t know the half of it,” he replied. With both the stress of the patrol and constant sounding of his secondary power, Anson was feeling exhausted.
“Did you say something, recruit?” Senter demanded. Turning back to the two youths, the patrol leader’s sword was pointing casually at Anson’s chest. “I’m not sure I heard you.”
“It was nothing, sir.”
“Really? Well, isn’t that nice.” Senter gave a thin, hard smile. “You don’t want to chatter too much out here. It puts us all in danger.”
Deliberately, Anson matched his gaze. “I certainly wouldn’t want that, sir.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Holding Anson’s eye a moment longer, Senter then clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on.” Abruptly turning around, he proceeded down the rough trail. Taking a deep breath Anson followed, almost immediately stumbling over a root.
As was often the case in the Outlands, the forest thinned and ended within twenty feet, opening up into a small grassy glade. The stream they’d been roughly tracking through the forest now fully came into view to their right, rushing over a cliff about a hundred feet before them. The glade was broken only by a few large rocks and trees, ending with the rounded rim of the cliffs plunging down into the chasm below.
“Pretty, ain’t it?” Conger whispered.
“Yeah, except for all those lighting strikes.” Anson pointed at the black scars marring the cliff face to either side.
“Well, that’s how you know you’re in the Outlands,” Conger observed. “That and all the little men trying to kill you.”
“All right.” Looking to his right and left, Senter prepared to leave the relative safety of the wood line. “Let’s sweep this glade, then return.”
After killing me, Anson silently added. Tightly grasping his own sword, he kept most of his attention on the tall corporal.
“Form up on either side of me.” Now Senter began moving forward. “Let’s go.”
Without comment, Anson and Conger spread out some twenty feet to Senter’s left and right, respectively, stepping out of the woods and across the grass, heading slowly toward the cliff face.
Anson heard it first, a soft rustling to their rear. Whipping about, he was barely able to deflect two Karden arrows heading toward his back. A third missile buried itself in the ground a foot to one side.
It was a single archer, perched two-thirds of the way up a stout tree on the wood line. Without thinking, Anson mentally grabbed the Karden as he was notching another arrow, flinging him high into the air and over the cliff.
Only now did he become aware of Conger’s anguished cries, his fellow recruit lying prostrate on the grass, arrows sticking out of his shoulder and leg. A second archer, in a tree nest on the other side of the clearing, was once more taking aim. Again, Anson grabbed the little man in filthy rags, his bow clattering to the ground as he flew straight out in the air, crashing down somewhere in the ravine below.
Instead of moving to Conger’s aid, however, Senter stared intently at the woods from which they’d just emerged, sword held at the ready. Puzzled, Anson followed his gaze. Sure enough, three more Kardens jogged into view, swinging short blades around their heads.
His mind racing, Anson instantly realized the Karden patrol had tracked them through the forest. Determining the humans were heading for the glade by the cliff, they’d rushed ahead, positioning their two archers to take them unawares. If not for Anson’s power, they’d all be dead.
But if the remaining Kardens were surprised at the sight of their brethren sailing over the cliff face, they didn’t show it. Instead, two of the little trolls charged at Senter with high-pitched shrieks, while the third split off to head straight for Anson.
There was no further point in trying to hide who his was, yet Anson still tried to be subtle. He merely tripped the maniacal little bearded man, causing him to fall straight down onto his own upturned sword. With a final screech, the Karden was dead.
Looking over, Anson saw the last two warriors circling Senter, brandishing their small swords and screaming. Whatever the Demon’s power was, it didn’t seem to be of any use dealing with his Karden assailants. Doing nothing of a supernatural nature, he merely took a swordsman’s stance, carefully eyeing both little men.
Yet, even as Anson debated whether or not to help the Demon, the contest was over. Seizing the initiative, Senter energetically engaged one of the trolls, exchanging several sword blows before lopping o
ff an arm and smashing him in the head. Barely dogging a strike from the other at his exposed back, Senter then kicked out the second Karden’s legs, driving his sword down through the native warrior’s back.
Warily, Anson stared at the army corporal, now about thirty feet away. Rather than pride at a job well done, or relief at the cessation of danger, pure hatred pulsed unabated from the Demon’s mind. Looking around, Senter smiled at Anson.
“Well done, my friend!” The patrol leader yanked his blade out of the now-dead Karden. “Although fighting Kardens must be easy when you can just throw them over cliffs and trip them onto their own weapons, now isn’t it?”
His heart racing, Anson girded himself for some kind of attack. But Senter merely laughed, turning about and casually walking in the other direction, toward the still moaning Conger.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Though there was no doubt Senter knew his secret, perhaps Conger might still be confused. “I think...I think they just fell from the trees!”
“Sure they did. Things like that must happen all the time around you, don’t they?” Now reaching their wounded comrade, Senter drove his blade into Conger’s chest. Gasping, the young recruit thrashed feebly, then laid still.
“No!” Hardly believing his eyes, Anson charged forward several steps, lurching to an uncertain stop. “We could have saved him!”
“Maybe.” Senter shrugged. “Maybe not.”
Clearly, there was no further need for pretense. Letting his own rage surge to the fore, Anson mentally flung a handy stone. “You’re a Demon and a murderer!”
Senter smiled, casually deflecting the stone with his blade. “Just figured that out, did you?”
“Why did Conger have to die?” Trying not to retch, Anson endured another wave of Senter’s venomous, depraved energy. Obviously, the army corporal used base emotions to bolster his power, whatever it was. “He has nothing to do with this!”