Rage of a Demon King

by Raymond E. Feist

  “Wasn’t much to see, really,” said Anthony. “The battle’s not yet begun.” Glancing toward the height of the sun, he added, “It will not begin until tomorrow. How far away did you say the Quegans were? Two days?” he asked Calis.

  “Quegans?” asked Margaret.

  “We’ll explain everything inside,” said Calis.

  They mounted the steps to the central keep. For Calis, Crydee had been his second home. His grandparents had lived here, years before, and his father had spent his childhood working in the kitchen and playing in the courtyard of the castle.

  The castle had been gutted in the sacking of the Far Coast, thirty years earlier, when Calis had taken his first trip to the distant continent. Then he had been a simple observer, on behalf of his mother and father, but he had returned since several times, much to his sorrow and regret.

  They moved down the long hall to the dining hall. A table long enough to seat a score of dinner guests formed the top of three sides of a square, in the old court fashion. The Duke and his wife would dine at the center of the top table, while guests and court officials would be seated in descending order of rank from there to the farthest seat.

  Calis glanced around the hall. Brightly colored banners hung where once ancient and faded ones had been displayed. Calis remembered them from his childhood. They had been the war trophies of the first three Dukes of Crydee.

  “It’s never the same, is it?” asked Marcus.

  “No.”

  “How’s Father?” asked Margaret.

  “He’s fine,” said Calis. “At least, he was the last time I saw him, which was more than a year ago. But his life is easy and I expect he’s unchanged. Had anything happened, Mother would have sent you word immediately.”

  “I know,” Margaret said. “It’s just we miss him.”

  Marcus said, “Yes, but it’s better to have him there, happy and living, than here, in the burial vault.”

  Calis said, “Well, when this business is done, you could go visit. Mother and Tomas would certainly welcome you.”

  Marcus smiled and Calis said, “Do that more often; it makes you look like Martin.”

  A corner of the left and head tables had been set, at Marcus’s instructions, so the five of them could gather close. Wine, ale, hot food and cold waited.

  Anthony said, “Ah, a little wine will warm me up.”

  Abigail said, “It’s still early, so not too much, else you’ll be asleep before the festival is half-over.”

  Marcus indicated they should sit. “We need to hurry, for I need to be in the courtyard at high noon to see things started.”

  “There’s not much to tell,” said Calis as he broke off a hunk of bread. “Things are pretty much as we expected, with one change.”

  “What?” asked the Duke.

  “Where the Emerald Queen was supposed to be sitting, in the middle of the biggest ship in the fleet, a very ugly demon squatted. Looked like he had some sort of mystic chain of control around the neck of all the ‘advisers’ who surrounded him . . . or it . . . whatever.”

  “A demon!” Marcus’s face showed surprise.

  “Well, we knew there were some involved, after that last business down in Novindus I told you about.”

  “But we thought they were destroying the Pantathians, not controlling them.”

  Anthony sipped his wine. “Maybe there are different demons.”

  “Maybe so,” said Calis as he took a gulp of wine. “Humans certainly come with enough politics to keep the world at war eternally. Who says demons can’t have politics?”

  “Not I,” said Marcus.

  “Well, I’m off. I’ve got to talk to Mother,” said Calis, rising. “And you have a festival to start. If my sense of timing is right, it’s nearly noon and the populace will not be pleased if you’re late.” He stuck out his hand. “Thanks for the help, Marcus. Can I have the loan of a horse?”

  “Aren’t you going to use that Tsurani transport thing to get to Elvandar?” said Anthony.

  Calis tossed it to him. “You keep it. You know how to use it better than I, magician. And use it you must. Rest tonight, then back to that peak we used first thing in the morning. Take Marcus, and observe the battle. If you need to get word to me in a hurry, send a runner to the banks of the river Crydee. I can be back here in a week.

  “I’ll ride, and if Pug or Miranda is at Elvandar, they can get me back to Krondor. If not, I’ll return this way and use that thing.”

  Macus said, “Good-bye, Calis. Your visits are far too rare.”

  Margaret and Abigail both kissed him on the cheek, and Anthony shook his hand.

  Marcus signaled for a squire to escort Calis to the stable and give him whichever mount he chose. Then the Duke of Crydee and his family hurried to the main entrance of the castle to begin the Banapis festival for another year.

  At sundown, farmers and citizens who lived outside the walls of the city began to trickle through the gate. The guards stood idly by, watching only with cursory attentiveness. Erik held Kitty in a close embrace, deep in the shadows of a nearby alley.

  “I love you,” Kitty whispered into his chest.

  “I love you, too,” Erik said.

  “Will you come for me?”

  “Always,” said Erik. “No matter what, I’ll find you.”

  As the lamps were lit and those shops still trying to conduct business opened their doors to reveal the light inside, the sound of traffic increased. While the celebration would last long into the night, there were more sober souls who knew that come dawn there would be work to be done, and that to be at their best the next day would require a good night’s sleep.

  Erik held Kitty away from him a moment. A dark wig peeked out from under the plain hood of a farmer’s cloak of homespun. The dress she had selected was equally nondescript. To any who failed to inspect her closely, she looked like nothing more than another common farmer’s daughter on her way home with her family. A small bag was clutched under the cloak, and in it Kitty carried a modest fortune in gold coins, as much of Erik’s personal wealth as he could put his hands on in short order. She also carried a pair of daggers.

  “If something goes wrong, get to my mother in Ravensburg.” He grinned. “Just tell her you’re my wife and stand back.”

  Kitty put her head on his chest again, and said, “Your wife.”

  Neither of them could believe it. They had simply walked into the temple of Sung the Pure and joined a line of other couples who had come to be wed. Impulsive marriages on Banapis were hardly uncommon, and after the priest had asked pointedly if they were intoxicated and how long they had known each other, he had consented to marry them. The ceremony had been brief, less than five minutes, and they had been hustled outside by an acolyte seeking to make room for the next pair.

  Erik said, “You have to be ready.”

  “I know,” said Kitty. She understood that at any instant a group of farmers was likely to come though whom Erik judged appropriate and she would have to act without hesitation. “I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I don’t want you to leave.” Then fiercely he said, “But I don’t want you to die, either.”

  “I don’t want you to die,” she answered, and he could feel her tears fall on his bare arm. “Damn. I hate crying.”

  “Then stop it!” he said lightly.

  She started to say something, but he said, “Now!”

  Without even a kiss good-bye, she turned and walked out of the side street, up to a young woman who was walking next to a hay wagon, upon which rode a half-dozen children. An old man drove the wagon, and behind it walked another three men and a woman.

  Kitty said to the young woman, “Excuse me?”

  As the wagon rolled up to the gate, Kitty was hidden from observation on one side, and had her back turned toward the guard on the other as she appeared lost in conversation with the young woman to whom she spoke.

  Erik listened as she said, “You’re not from Jenkstown, are you?�
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  “No,” said the young stranger. “Our farm is only a few miles from here.”

  “Oh, I thought you might be someone I knew a while back in Jenkstown. You look a great deal like her, but prettier.”

  The girl laughed. “You’re the first to call me that,” she said lightly as the wagon rolled through the gate.

  Erik strained to hear what was said next, but the voices were drowned out in the sounds of celebration. Soon he could tell that Kitty was safely through the gate and beyond the scrutiny of the guards. He waited another full minute, half expecting the sound of alarm to be raised. But all he heard was the city at play, and he forced himself to take a slow, deep breath, then turned back toward the palace. He decided his best course of action was to be seen around, and should anyone ask about Kitty, make up some plausible excuse, that she was in another room, or off visiting the jakes. There would be enough traffic through the palace that he might get through the entire evening without anyone asking after her.

  As Erik vanished into the crowd, two figures who had been hiding in the shadows across the street emerged. Dash turned to his brother and said, “I’ll follow the girl.”

  “Why bother? We know she’s heading either for Avery’s estates or to Ravensburg. Those are the only places he’d send her.”

  “Because Grandfather wants to know,” said Dash to Jimmy.

  Jimmy shrugged. “Very well, but you’re going to miss the height of the celebration,”

  Dash said, “It’s not the first time I’ve missed out on some fun because of Grandfather. If Father asks about me, make up some excuse. If the girl’s bound for Ravensburg, I won’t be back for a week.”

  Jimmy nodded and slipped into the crowd. His younger brother turned and made his way through the gate, keeping sight of the distant hay wagon.

  The next day dawned on two fleets locked in combat, skirmishing in the predawn gloom. They had caught sight of each other as the darkness had lightened in the hours before the sun finally climbed into the sky. Now, as the sun lay still hidden behind the distant mountains, yet illumined the morning, the battle was almost decided.

  Nicholas cursed and shouted, “Order Belfors and his three to sail to windward! They’re attempting to hold us into the coast!”

  A signalman high above shouted, “Aye, aye, Admiral!” and began waving signal flags. He soon shouted back, “Orders acknowledged, Admiral!”

  The battle was going badly. If he lost any more ships, Nicholas was going to have to withdraw, and while he had no doubt he could outsail his opponent, the failure of his plan put a sour taste in his mouth.

  Of all his father’s sons, Nicholas was the most like him when it came to achieving a stated goal, and he had intended to maul the Emerald Queen’s fleet. She knew the Far Coast well enough to understand that the risk to her fleet would come down the coast from Tulan. Nicholas’s only belief for some benefit to his Kingdom came from the belief that James’s plan was working and flotillas from Kesh and Queg were hitting the fleet as well.

  It rankled him that he was only engaging warships, without even sighting the troop convoy, and the sole comfort that afforded him was the thought that should either the Quegans or Keshians intercept this fleet, there were that many fewer guardians to protect it.

  Seeing no benefit in dying or taking his command with him, Nicholas shouted, “Word to the fleet! Withdraw!”

  A red banner was run up while the lookout frantically signaled orders. Two ships were engaged in boarding actions and could not withdraw safely.

  Nicholas weighed his options and ordered them left to fend for themselves. Each of his ships was rigged with a dozen barrels of fire oil down below, and if they were taken, the captains were ordered to put them to the torch, in the hope they’d take along an enemy ship grappled alongside as well as deny them a Kingdom prize.

  The fleet off the Far Coast were the best deep-water sailors in the world, and their ships the most nimble. As soon as the order was relayed, like a finely practiced team the ships turned upwind and took a following reach, disengaging themselves from the slower ships of Novindus design. A few of the war galleys could stay with the Kingdom ships for a short burst, but as the slaves below became exhausted, they were no match for the Kingdom warships.

  Nicholas saw his fleet moving away successfully, and said, “Captain Reeves, what’s the count?”

  His second in command, the son of the Baron of Carse and a lifelong sailor, was officially the Captain of the Royal Dragon, though he knew he would never give orders as long as the Admiral was aboard. He said, “Seven of the enemy sunk, three burning, five more severely damaged.” Both men wore the duty uniform of the Kingdom fleet—blue jackets and white trousers, newly instituted by Patrick’s order—but even the Prince of Krondor couldn’t make Nicholas wear the new fore-and-aft hats the Eastern Fleet wore. He instead affected a broad-brimmed black hat with a very faded red plume, a legacy from his first voyage as a boy with the legendary Amos Trask. No man who sailed in the fleet made sport of that hat.

  “And of our own?”

  “We lost six, and five more are limping up the coast to Carse.”

  Nicholas swore. At least sixty-five ships had sailed north against his own sixty, and this had been little more than a sparring match.

  Nicholas looked at the morning sun. “Orders, Captain Reeves.”

  “Yes, m’lord?”

  “Signal the fleet to head west. Let them think we’re running to the Sunsets.” He gripped the railing on the quarterdeck. “At sundown, we turn south. Before dawn tomorrow, we’ll turn east and hit them while they’re outlined against the rising sun and we’re still in darkness.”

  “Understood, sir!”

  Nicholas watched the ponderous ships of the Emerald Queen fall away behind, finally turning southward as they gave up their attempt to overtake the Kingdom ships. Nicholas looked to the east, where he was leaving one of his ships crippled and sinking slowly, while his other boarded ship burned.

  “This one is far from over,” said Nicholas to no one in particular.

  13

  Improvisation

  Calis knelt.

  “How long has he been like this?” he asked, using the subtle speech of his mother’s people.

  “Weeks,” Calin told his half brother.

  Pug lay unconscious in the center of the contemplation glade, at the very spot where he had first been placed, while Spellweavers worked around him to keep him alive. “Tathar?” Calis asked.

  “We think he regains his strength, slowly. The wounds are also healing, slowly.”

  Calis regarded the silent magician. His body was covered with huge scabs and scars, with flakes of dead skin peeling off, as if burned by the sun. Under the flakes, raw pink skin could be seen. Most of his hair, beard, and brows had been burned away, so he looked even younger than usual.

  Acaila said, “We’ve tried mind probes, of the most cautious sort, and no one was able to reach him.”

  Calis stood. “We were counting on his holding back until the end.”

  Calin said, “I think he acted imprudently, but that is judging after the fact. At the time he took the risks, he thought the outcome worth it.”

  Calis nodded. “Sinking the Queen’s fleet in the deepest part of the great ocean would have simplified many of our problems.” He shook his head in regret. “But I would rather have him standing healthy at Sethanon.”

  Calin said, “Tomas will go to Sethanon.”

  “What of the dragons?”

  Calin looked concerned. “They doubt Tomas. Not his word, but they doubt his apprehension of the risk. For all their wisdom, only a few grasp the concepts of magic we know to be at play.”

  Calis looked at his half brother for a long moment, then said, “May I speak to you alone?”

  Calin moved his hand in agreement, indicating the younger man should follow him. When they were away from the others, Calis said, “Miranda?”

  “No word from either Miranda or Macros since th
ey brought Pug back. They went with Tomas to seek information on the demons under the mountains where you last found them.”

  Calis looked off at the trees of Elvandar. He was silent for a long time, and his half brother didn’t say a word. In the fashion of the elves, Calin knew the other would say what was on his mind when he was ready.

  After several minutes of silence, Calis said, “I miss her.”

  Calin put his hand upon his shoulder. “You love her?”

  “In a fashion,” said Calis. “Nothing like among the eledhel; it feels nothing like what I have been told of the recognition. But she found me, back when this all began, and she fills a dark and cold place within me as no one else has.”

  “If it is still dark and cold when she is not with you, it is not truly filled.” Calin sat upon a large rock and said, “When your father first saw your mother I was there; I thought him but a boy smitten by the beauty of one without peer, a boy who had no conception of the feelings between a man and woman.” He sighed. “I certainly had no idea of what the future would hold.”

  Calis had heard the story of his mother’s first visit to Castle Crydee, when the Tsurani had first threatened the Far Coast, and of his father’s first glimpse of the Elf Queen.

  Calin said, “You are still very young, my brother. You have seen much, experienced much, but you’ve not begun to understand yourself. In many ways you are human, but in many others one of us. Patience is required in most things. Your father realized that quickly, when he first came to us, and for a human boy, those years he spent here taught him much.”

  “Father’s unique. He possesses knowledge tens of thousands of years old.”

  “Does he?” said Calin.

  Calis turned to look at his half brother. “Ashen-Shugar?”

  Calin said, “Macros said something to me a few days before he left. He said Tomas had Ashen-Shugar’s memories, but that all memories are suspect.”