James asked, “It’s been what, thirty years?”
“Closer to forty.” They embraced.
When they separated, James said, “I only regret you never found anyone, William.”
William said, “I did, once.”
James said nothing, for he remembered the Keshian magician William had loved as a young man, and her untimely death.
William said, “I do envy you Arutha and the boys.”
James said, “I must go.”
William said, “If we do somehow manage to get out of this, I promise I’ll give some thought to finding a good woman and settling down.”
James laughed. He again embraced his brother-in-law and said, “See you in Darkmoor or see you in hell.”
“One is as good as the other,” said William, giving James a gentle push toward the door.
The Duke turned and hurried as fast as his old legs would permit. Outside, a squad of special soldiers, dressed in black tunics, leggings, and black-painted iron coifs, waited. They wore no markings, and they said nothing as they followed James down to his office. There he stripped off the marks of his rank, the golden chain holding the Duke of Krondor’s seal, used to identify official decrees of the Principality. He removed his ducal ring, and set it next to the seal. After a moment he turned to one of the soldiers and said, “In the Prince’s audience hall there’s a sword hanging over the fireplace. Fetch it for me.”
The soldier ran off while James removed his clothing and donned garb like that worn by the soldiers. He was dressed when the soldier returned carrying the sword. An old rapier, it bore an odd device, a tiny war hammer, which had been fused into the sword’s forte.
He added this to the bundle and wrapped up the sword, ring, chain and seal, and a letter he had written the night before, and handed it to a soldier wearing the garb of the Prince’s Household Guards. “Take this to Lord Vencar, in Darkmoor.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the guard and hurried away.
To the soldiers who were remaining, the silent men in black, James said, “It’s time.”
They left his office and hurried down into the bowels of the palace, down winding stairs that led to the dungeon. Past the cells, they moved to a seemingly blank wall. James said, “Put your hands here, and here”—he pointed—“and push up.” Two soldiers did as bidden, and the wall slid almost effortlessly upward into the ceiling, revealing a door hidden behind the false wall. James pointed. Two soldiers moved to open the door; it protested at being disturbed after years of peace. But move it did, to reveal an opening, and a flight of stairs leading down. Lanterns were lit, two soldiers entered, and James followed. As the last of the eight guards passed through the door, it was drawn shut behind them, causing the false wall to return to its position.
Down the stairs the men hurried, until at last they came to another closed wooden door. One of the men listened and said, “It’s silent, my lord.”
James nodded. “Open it.”
The man did so, and the door opened to the sound of lapping water. At a landing beneath the old citadel, the central part of the palace of Krondor, an underground waterway wended from the city into the bay. The stench of the place told every man what he already knew: this was a section of the great sewers of the city, which emptied into the bay a mile or more away.
A new longboat waited, tethered to an iron ring in the stone dock, and the eight soldiers entered, leaving a place in the middle for the Duke. James stepped into the boat. “Let’s go,” he said.
The boat was pushed off from the dock, and the men began to row, but rather than head for the bay, they swung the boat around and headed against the flow of the water, into the sewers of the city.
As they came to the entrance of a large culvert, one twice the height of a man, James whispered to himself, “Jimmy the Hand goes home.”
16
Battles
Erik signaled.
“Over there!” he shouted.
Men turned their horses and charged. The battle for the city had been raging outside the northernmost gate in the east wall since the day before. The invaders were disorganized and as they came ashore.
Erik’s detachments had been struck twice, once at sundown, and again in the morning by a large detachment of Saaur horsemen. Erik had been pleased to discover that, despite their size, the Saaur horses were just as subject to the travail of travel as were the smaller animals humans rode. Also, for the first time in their memory, the Saaur weren’t facing mercenaries but true soldiers, Kingdom heavy lancers, and the impact of a disciplined foe with twelve-foot-long, iron-shod lances and a willingness to conduct an orderly charge and routed the Saaur. Erik had no idea what good this would do for the overall campaign, but the lift it gave his men to best the huge lizardmen in their first confrontation was incalculable.
Now they were engaged with a company of mercenary humans who, while not as individually threatening as the Saaur, were proving more difficult for their sheer numbers, and because they were relatively fresh, while Erik’s men had fought two engagements in the last twelve hours.
But as fresh Kingdom riders approached from the south, Erik found his units able to roll back the invaders, who fled at last into the woodlands to the north. Erik turned and looked for his second in command, a Lieutenant named Gifford. He signaled the man and said, “Ride after, but halt a bowshot from the tree line. I don’t want you riding into traps. Then bring the men back and re-form. I’m heading to the gate to see if there are any more orders.” The Lieutenant saluted and rode off to carry out his orders.
Erik hurried his tired horse down the road toward the gate, past boarded up houses as if the owners expected to return to find them intact, as if this were only a storm striking Krondor. Other homes were obviously abandoned, with doors left open. A steady stream of refugees hurried along the road, moving in the direction from which Erik came, and he had to shout several times to get people to let him pass.
Already the tone of the flight was edging toward panic, and Erik knew that this would be his last trip to get any new orders. It took him nearly a half hour to ride a distance he could normally travel in a third that time, and when he reached the gate he saw the activity was up to a frantic pace.
He saw two other wagons pushed off the road, one into the small river that ran along the road into the city, through the sewers, and into the bay. Erik absently wondered if it might be one of Roo’s. He suspected most of Roo’s wagons had gotten clear of the city before the fighting at sundown, and were now safely on their way to Darkmoor.
Getting within hailing distance of the gate, Erik shouted, “Sergeant Macky!”
The sergeant in command of the gate turned to see who called, and when he spied Erik, he shouted, “Sir?”
“Any orders?”
“No, sir. As before” was all he said before turning back to hurry along those trying to crowd through the gate, while maintaining order.
Erik shouted, “Good luck to you, then, Sergeant!”
The soldier, an old man who had shared a drink or two with Erik and the other members of the Crimson Eagles, turned and said, “And to you, sir. Good luck to us all.” Then he went back to his tasks.
Erik wished for a fresh mount, but he couldn’t risk heading into the city. He would ride back to his command position and see if there was time to secure a remount. He had ordered the fresh horses kept far enough from the most likely points of combat that they were safe—but not convenient.
He forced his way back through the mob fleeing the city. He knew what the plan was, yet this frantic sea of humanity made him wonder if he could be as cruel as the Prince and Duke, for many of those he passed would be hunted down and killed by the Emerald Queen’s raiders as they fanned out along the highway. Erik couldn’t protect them all.
Erik reached the edge of the foulburg and found a few of his men resting in the shade of a tree. “Report!” he ordered one of them, and the soldier stood up. “We just got hit by another patrol, Captain. They cam
e out of the trees and looked surprised when we filled them with arrows.” He pointed toward the distant trees. “Lieutenant Jeffrey is over there somewhere.”
It took Erik a moment to put a face to the name Jeffrey, and he realized suddenly how big his command had become. He had met every man in his unit for the first half year, but in the last two months the army of the Prince had doubled in size as units of troops sent from the Far Coast and down from Yabon arrived, along with detachments from the East. Many of the men who were now looking to him to survive were strangers, while most of the men he had trained were already up in the mountains to the east.
He rode on and found the lieutenant a short time later. The soldier, who wore the tabard of LaMut, a wolf’s head on a field of blue, turned and saluted. “Captain, we had a patrol blunder right into us. They didn’t know we were here.”
Erik looked at the bodies littering the open ground south of the trees. “They’re sending companies out without any coordination,” he said. “The Saaur and the other companies we fought today haven’t spread the word we’re waiting.”
“Can we expect this to last long?”
Erik remembered his own experience with the Queen’s army in Novindus and said, “To a point. They’ll never have the internal communication and discipline we do, but they have numbers, and when they come at us, they’ll all come at once.”
Looking at the afternoon light, he said, “Send a messenger down to where our reserves are and bring back two companies to relieve the men here, and”—he pointed to where the standard of the heavy lancers could be seen flapping in the breeze—“tell the lancers to stand down for a few hours.”
“You think we’ve beat them back?”
Erik smiled. The older Lieutenant from LaMut knew better than that. He just wanted to see what kind of young captain he was taking orders from. “Hardly,” said Erik. “We’re just catching a little calm before the storm. I mean to take advantage of it.”
Before the Lieutenant left, he said, “What about those serpent priests?”
Erik said, “I don’t know, Lieutenant. We will certainly know when they arrive.”
Jeffrey saluted, and as he departed, Erik called after, “And bring me a fresh horse!”
Miranda said, “Something’s ahead.” She spoke at a bare whisper.
Her father stood behind her, sweat beading his brow as he labored to keep a spell of invisibility around them. They had found the rift entrance that led into the world of Shila, and Miranda was attempting to probe it, to see what they could expect on the other side. From what Hanam had told them, they were likely to walk into the arms of some very angry demons if they just walked through.
They moved within sight of the rift gate, which to the normal eye appeared a blank wall. To Macros and his daughter the area was alive with mystic energy, and Macros said, “Something has tried to seal it from this side.”
Miranda probed the rift. There were presences on the other side, and Miranda backed into the dark. “You can let the spell down. There’s no one around.”
Macros did.
“What do we do now?” asked Miranda.
Sitting down heavily, her father said, “We try to get through that rift with stealth, we try to fight our way through, or we search for a third way to get to Shila.”
“The first two don’t sound likely, and I especially don’t find the second choice attractive,” said Miranda. “What do you think of the third?”
Macros said, “If there’s a way to Shila via the Hall of Worlds, Mustafa the fortune-teller would know.”
“Tabert’s?” asked Miranda.
“That’s as good a place as any,” said Macros. “I’m tired. Can you get us there?”
Miranda’s brow furrowed in concern. “You, tired?”
“I would never tell Pug,” said Macros, “but I suspect when he pulled me asunder from Sarig, I became fully mortal again. Most of my power came from the dead God of Magic, and with that link sundered . . .” He shrugged.
“Now is a hell of a time to tell us!” said Miranda. “We’re about to face a demon king and you’re suddenly not at your best because of old age?”
Macros grimaced as he stood. “I’m not quite ready for gruel and a shawl, daughter. I could still tear down this mountain if I had to!”
Miranda smiled as she took his hand and willed them to an inn in LaMut. The inhabitants of Tabert’s were a mixed lot, but to the last, they rose and stepped back when the sorcerer and his daughter winked into existence a few feet before the bar.
Tabert was standing behind the bar, and he merely raised an eyebrow as Miranda said, “We need to use your storage room.”
The barman sighed, as if to say, “What sort of story am I going to have to concoct to explain away this mystery?” but he nodded. “Good luck,” he said.
They hurried behind the bar and through the door into the back room. Miranda led Macros down a flight of stairs and along a narrow hall. At the end of the hall was an alcove, separated from the rest of the hall by a plain curtain hanging from a metal rod. It was the portal Miranda had used when she had first entered the Hall of Worlds. They pushed aside the curtain that set apart the alcove, and as they stepped across the threshold, they were in the Hall of Worlds.
“I know the long way to Honest John’s,” said Miranda, pointing to the left. “Do you know a faster way?”
Macros nodded. “Over there,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction.
They hurried on.
William watched as the battle raged below his vantage point. The defenders at the docks had started firing upon the ships that were moving toward the docks. Cleverly concealed ballistas and catapults had sunk three ships that had approached too close, but the fleet still came on.
One of William’s most prized possessions was a spyglass, given him as a gift years before by Duke James. It had the usual properties of any good telescope, magnifying things to about a dozen times their normal size, but it also possessed an unusual attribute: it could pierce illusions. James, seemingly reticent to discuss its origins, had never revealed how he had come by the item.
He studied the approaching command ship and saw the hideous demon crouching amidships. Despite his revulsion, he studied the creature. All those nearby were being controlled by mystical chains and collars.
The expression on the demon’s face was difficult to read, for it possessed nothing remotely like human features. Pug had warned Prince Patrick, James, and William of what had occurred regarding the death of the Emerald Queen and her replacement by a demon, but that information was being kept from all but a handful of officers. William and James had decided that there was enough for the men to worry about without having them fear the might of a demon lord.
William turned the glass ninety degrees, and the demon vanished from view. The illusionary woman who sat there was regal and beautiful and in an odd way even more frightening in aspect than the demon, who wore his rage and hate naked on his face for the world to see.
William returned the glass to the position that let him see through illusion and the demon popped back into view. William put down the glass.
“Orders,” he said calmly, and one of the palace pages stepped forward. The squires were serving with the defenders along the wall, as aides to the various officers, and the pages were serving as runners. For a brief second William looked at the eager face of the boy who was ready to carry his orders wherever he was bidden. The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years of age.
For a brief instant, William was tempted to tell the boy to run, to leave the city as fast as his young legs could carry him; then he said, “Tell the dock command to wait until they’ve gotten close, then I want everything fired at that large ship with the green hull; that’s their command ship, and I want it sunk.”
The boy ran off and William turned to look. It was probably a futile gesture; the demon’s ship was almost certainly afforded the most protection of any in the fleet.
; Reports came in quickly that the enemy fleet had landed all up and down the coast, and units of cavalry had harried the northmost eastern gate. William considered his options and called for another messenger. When the boy voiced he was ready, William said, “Run down to the courtyard and tell one of the riders there to carry orders to the eastern gate. Seal the city.”
As the boy turned, William said, “Page.”
“Sir?”
“Take a horse and go with the rider; leave the city and tell Captain von Darkmoor it’s time to head east. You stay with him.”
The boy looked confused at being told to leave, but he simply said, “Sir,” and ran off.
A captain of the royal guards glanced at the Knight-Marshal, who shook his head. “I might spare one of them at least,” said William.
The Captain nodded grimly. The enemy fleet was attempting to dock. Lines snaked out from the ships as those on the railings attempted to throw loops around the cleats on the dockside. Arrows rained down on any who did not shield themselves, and men of the invading army fell into the water, their bodies pierced by multiple shafts.
But the first ship, then the second one, got a rope ashore, and they were slowly hauled in close to the docks. The only place they were unable to close was where the earlier three ships had sunk. Ships beyond were tossed lines, and William saw their plan. Originally they had thought they’d see a slow siege, with an orderly docking once this portion of the city was secured. But now he saw there would be no attempt to move empty ships away from the docks.
Only a few ships would actually tie to the docks, but they would act as shields for those farther out. They would be tossed grapples, and soon the ships would be tied off. A raft of ships would extend out into the bay, a platform that would let thousands of invaders race from deck to deck, to land on the docks of Krondor, across the breadth of the waterfront. It was a dangerous ploy, for if the defenders were successful in starting fires on any of the ships, all were at risk.
When the Queen’s ship was close enough, every war engine within range launched an attack. A hundred heavy boulders flew through the air, accompanied by a dozen flaming bales of fire-oil-soaked hay. As William had suspected, all met an invisible barrier and bounced or slid off. He was pleased to notice that one large boulder crashed back onto another ship, which wasn’t protected, doing significant damage to the soldiers packed tightly on the decks.
Rage of a Demon King Page 34