“What of Lord Sutherland?” asked the noble.
“The Duke of the Southern Marches is dead. Gregory as well as the Earl of Landreth died in the fighting. My lords, if this report is accurate, for all intents and purposes the southern reserves no longer exist,” said Greylock.
One of the fancily dressed nobles said, “Perhaps we should consider falling back to Malac’s Cross, Highness?”
The Prince threw the man a withering look, but refused to dignify the suggestion with a comment. Looking at Erik, he said, “Those of you just in, please follow the squires outside to your quarters. You’ll find fresh clothing and a bath waiting. I’ll be pleased to dine with you in an hour’s time.” He rose, and the others followed suit. “We’ll continue this discussion at dawn tomorrow. We will have more intelligence by then.” He turned and left the room.
After the Prince had departed, Manfred motioned to Erik and Owen to move away from the door. “Well, we have an awkward situation, it seems, gentlemen.”
Erik nodded. “I understood what I was in for the moment I crossed the drawbridge.”
Owen said, “We are the Prince’s men, may I remind your lordship.”
Manfred waved away the comment. “Tell that to my mother.” Then he gave a rueful smile. “Better yet, don’t.”
Erik said, “We can’t conduct the business of this war while attempting to avoid your mother, Manfred.”
“Erik has that right,” said Owen.
Manfred sighed. “Very well. Owen, I’ve instructed our current Swordmaster to turn your old quarters back over to you; I thought you might be more comfortable there, and truth to tell, it’s getting a little bit crowded around here.”
Owen smiled. “I bet Percy is not happy.”
“Your former assistant was never a happy man; he was born with a long face.” Turning to Erik, Manfred said, “You’ll stay in a room near mine. The closer you are to me, the less likely Mother is to send someone after you.”
Erik looked dubious. “Duke James tried to reason with her.”
“No one ‘reasons’ with Mother. I suspect you’ll find that out before this night is through. Now, let me show you to your quarters.” Turning to Greylock, he said, “Owen, I’ll see you at supper.”
“My lord,” said Owen. The three left the conference hall, and while Owen went one way, Manfred took Erik another.
“This castle is quite large,” said Manfred. “It’s easy to get lost. If you do, ask any servant where to go.”
“I don’t know how long I’ll stay,” said Erik. “Owen and the Prince haven’t told me what my next position is to be. I replaced Calis in the fallback, but now that phase is over.”
“I suspect something similar,” said Erik’s half brother. “It appears you’ve done quite well.” He glanced around the ancient halls of Darkmoor Castle. “I hope I acquit myself as well when the time comes.”
“You will,” said Erik.
They walked around a corner, and Erik almost stumbled. Coming along the corridor was a stately procession, an older woman in regal raiment, followed by two guards and several lady companions. She stopped for a moment when she saw Manfred, but when she recognized Erik, her eyes grew enormous. “You!” she said with a near-hiss of contempt. “It’s the bastard. The murderous bastard!”
She turned to the nearest guard and said, “Kill him!”
The stunned guard looked from Mathilda, mother of the Baron, to Manfred, who motioned with his hand for the guard to step away. The guard nodded to the Baron and stepped back. Manfred said, “Mother, we’ve been all over that. Erik has a pardon from the King. Whatever has gone before is over.”
“Never!” said the old woman with a hatred that surprised Erik. He had imagined her distaste for him, from the years when his mother demanded Erik’s father acknowledge him to the murder of her son, but never had he experienced anything like this firsthand. Of all the men he had faced in battle, none had regarded him with the pure, naked hatred Mathilda von Darkmoor revealed in her eyes.
“Mother!” said Manfred. “That’s enough. I’m ordering you to desist!”
The woman turned her gaze upon her son, and Erik saw instantly that her hatred wasn’t limited to Erik alone. She stepped forward, and for an instant Erik feared she would strike her son. In a strident whisper she said, “You order me?” She looked her son up and down. “If you were the man your brother was, you’d have killed this murdering bastard before he got away. If you were even half as much a man as your father, you’d have married and had a son by now, and this bastard’s claim would mean nothing. Do you want him to kill you? Do you want to lie in the dirt while this killer takes your title? Do—”
“Mother!” Manfred roared. “Enough!” He turned to the guards and said, “Escort my mother to her quarters.” He told his mother, “If you can compose yourself, dine with us tonight, but if you can’t maintain a shred of dignity before Prince Patrick, do us the courtesy of dining in your room! Now go!”
Manfred turned and began walking, and Erik followed, but he glanced over his shoulder. She never took her eyes from him, and each step of the way Erik knew the old woman wished him dead.
Erik was so intent on the woman he almost knocked Manfred down when he turned the corner. Manfred said, “Sorry about that, Erik.”
“I never imagined. I mean, I thought I understood . . .”
“Understand Mother? You’d be the first.” He waved for Erik to follow and said, “Your room is down here, at the end of the hall.”
When he opened the door and Erik entered, Manfred followed. “I picked this one for two reasons,” said Manfred. He pointed to the window. “It’s a quick exit. And this is one of the few rooms in Darkmoor that doesn’t have a secret passage leading to it.”
“Secret passage?”
“Quite a lot of them, really,” Manfred said. “This castle was enlarged several times since the original Baron built the first tower keep. There had been some quick exits should the castle fall, then some additional rooms added with back passages so the lord could visit his favorite servant in the middle of the night. Some of them serve a useful purpose, so servants can move through the castle without getting underfoot, but for the most part they’re deserted old byways, useful for those who wish to spy on their neighbors or for assassins.”
Erik sat down on a chair in the corner. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” said Manfred. “If I may suggest, a bath and change of clothing. I’ll have the servants fetch you some water straightaway. The clothes in the wardrobe should fit.” He grinned. “They were Father’s.”
Erik said, “Do you delight in upsetting your mother?”
Manfred’s face took on an edge of anger. “More than you’ll ever know.”
Erik sighed. “I thought about some of the things you said about Stefan, when you came to visit me in jail. I guess I never appreciated how hard it must be for you.”
Manfred laughed. “You’ll never know.”
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Why does she hate you? I know why she hates me, but she looked at you the same way.”
Manfred said, “That, brother, is something I may or may not choose to disclose someday, but for the time being, let us just say that Mother has never appreciated the way I choose to live my life. As the second son, who would not inherit, it was only a source of some slight conflict. Since Stefan’s . . . demise, the tension has increased significantly.”
“Sorry to have asked.”
“That’s all right. I can appreciate why you’d be curious.” Manfred turned toward the door. “And sometime I may just tell you. Not because you have any right to know, but because it would make Mother supremely unhappy if I did.”
With what Erik considered an evil smile, Manfred left the room. Erik sat back, waiting for the servants to bring his bath water. He had dozed off when they knocked. Sleepily he rose and opened the door, and a half dozen servants entered, carrying buckets of steaming wate
r and a large metal tub.
He allowed the two men who had carried the tub inside to remove his boots for him, while the others filled it. Sitting in the hot water made Erik feel as if every ache and pain was going to fade away. He lay back a moment, then suddenly sat bolt upright as one of the servants began to wash him.
“Is anything wrong, rn’lord?”
“I’m not a lord. You can call me ‘Captain,’ and I can bathe myself,” said Erik, taking the washing cloth and soap from the man. “That will be all.”
“Shall we lay out clothing before we go?”
“Ah yes, that would be fine,” said Erik, now fully awake. The other servants left, while the one who had spoken selected clothing from the wardrobe. “Shall I fetch boots, Captain?”
“No, I’ll wear my own.”
“I’ll try to clean them before you leave, sir.” He was out the door with them before Erik could object. Erik shrugged and started washing in earnest. He had rarely had the luxury of a hot bath, and as the water cooled, he found himself reviving. He knew that as soon as supper was over, unless the Prince demanded more meetings, he was going to turn in and sleep the sleep of the dead.
Then he reconsidered that image and decided he’d sleep lightly, even with the door barred. Erik had no idea of the time, but decided he didn’t want to be late for dinner with the Prince of Krondor. He dried himself off and inspected the clothing chosen for him by the servant. The man had laid out a pair of pale yellow leggings, a light blue tunic, and a stylish cloak of very light grey, almost white. Erik decided to leave aside the cloak, and donned the hose and tunic. Just as he was finishing, the servant opened the door and said, “Your boots, Captain.”
Erik was astonished. In a few minutes the man had managed to get all the blood and filth off, and return the leather to a passable shine. “Thank you,” said Erik as he took the boots.
The servant said, “Shall I have the bathtub removed while you dine?”
“Yes,” said Erik as he donned his boots. The servant departed, and Erik ran his hand over his chin. He wished for a razor and some soap and supposed that had he asked for them, they would have been provided, but he hadn’t, so he decided some whiskers were preferable to keeping the Prince of Krondor waiting.
He went out into the hall and went around the corner, to where he had left the council room, and found a pair of guards standing at the door to that chamber. He asked directions to the dining hall and the guard saluted and said, “Follow me, Captain.”
He did so and the man led him through a series of passages, to what Erik expected was part of the original keep, or a series of rooms added soon after, for the dining hall was surprisingly intimate. There was a square table, with room for a dozen diners aside, but the walls were only a few feet behind each of them, so if too many people attempted to move at the same time, things could become quite tangled. Erik nodded to several of the nobles he had met at Krondor and was pointedly ignored by several others who were deep in private conversations. Owen was already there and indicated he should come and sit next to him.
Erik moved around the table and saw the three seats on the right next to Greylock were empty. Greylock said, “Take this one,” indicating the seat on his left. He patted the seat on his right and said, “This is the Prince’s.”
Then Erik noticed every noble at the table was watching him and suddenly he felt embarrassed. Dukes and Earls, Barons and Squires, all were seated below him at the table. He knew that where one sat in relationship to the Prince had serious implications in matters of court intrigue, and he suddenly wished he had thought to take the chair opposite the Prince, at the farthest table on the other side of the room.
A few minutes later, the door behind them opened, and Erik turned to see Prince Patrick enter. He rose, as did the other nobles, and they all bowed their heads.
Then came Baron Manfred, their host, followed by his mother.
The Prince took his place at the center of the head table, and Manfred moved to his right hand. Mathilda moved to her chair, but when she saw Erik she said, “I will not sit at the same table as my son’s murderer!”
Manfred said, “Then, madam, you shall dine alone.” With a nod of his head, he ordered the guards to escort his mother from the hall. She turned and silently left with her escort.
Several of the nobles in attendance spoke softly to one another until the Prince pointedly cleared his throat. “Shall we begin?” he asked.
Manfred bowed his head and the Prince sat. The others followed suit.
The food was splendid and the wine was the best Erik had ever tasted, but fatigue made it hard for him to keep alert. Still, the discussions around him were all-important, for men spoke about the coming fight.
At one point someone observed that the northern flank was holding so well it might prove wise to send for some of their soldiers to reinforce Darkmoor. The Prince overheard the remark and said, “That wouldn’t be wise. We can’t assume they won’t return there in force the next day.”
Discussion around the table turned to speculation about the coming fight, and after a while, Prince Patrick said, “Captain von Darkmoor, you more than any man here have fought the enemy. What can we expect?”
Every eye in the room turned toward Erik. He glanced at Greylock, who gave him a slight nod.
Erik cleared his throat and said, “We can expect between a hundred and fifty and a hundred and seventy-five thousand soldiers to arrive outside the city walls and along the entire length of Nightmare Ridge.”
“When?” asked one richly dressed court dandy.
“Anytime,” answered Erik. “As early as tomorrow.”
The man went pale at the news and said, “Perhaps, Highness, we should call up the Army of the East. They are only camped down in the hills to the east.”
Patrick said, “The Army of the East will be called when I decide it’s time.” He glanced at Erik. “What sort of men do we face?”
Erik knew the Prince had read every report sent back by Calis on his three trips to Novindus, during his grandfather Arutha’s reign, during his uncle Nicholas’s reign, and the last time. He had also spoken to the Prince on this very subject no less than five times, so Erik knew he was asking for the benefit of those nobles in the room who were untested in battle.
Erik glanced at Greylock, who again gave him a faint nod and a slight smile. Erik knew Owen well enough to understand what he was being asked to do.
Erik cleared his throat. “Highness, the enemy is composed of what were originally mercenary companies, men who fought for pay under a hard-and-fast code of conduct. They have since been forged by murder, terror, and dark magic into a force unlike any that has waged war on the Kingdom in history.” He looked around the room and said, “Some are soldiers who have been fighting their way across half a world, from the fall of the Westlands in Novindus to the destruction of Krondor. For twenty years they have known nothing but war, plunder, pillage and rape.” He caught the dandy’s eye. “Some of them are cannibals.”
The man went pale and seemed as if he might faint.
Erik continued. “They will come at us because they have no other option. We have destroyed their fleet behind them, and they have no food. They also number some ten to twenty thousand Saaur—we don’t know the exact number.” Some of the eastern nobles looked blank at the name. “For those who haven’t been briefed, the Saaur are lizardmen, something akin to the Pantathians, but nine feet tall. They ride war-horses twenty-five hands at the withers, and the sound of them charging is like thunder across the mountains.”
“Oh, dear gods!” said the dandy and he rose up, holding his hand over his mouth. He dashed from the room, and after a moment of silence, several of the lords in the room exploded into laughter.
The Prince laughed as well. Then after the mirth had subsided, he said, “My lords and gentlemen. Despite the levity, every word Captain von Darkmoor has uttered is true. More: if anything, he underestimates the foe.”
“What are we to d
o?” asked another well-dressed lord who looked as if he had never held a sword in his life.
“My lord, we will fight. Here we stand, at Darkmoor and along Nightmare Ridge. And we will not be budged, for if the enemy passes us, the Kingdom is doomed. It will be victory or death. There is no other choice.”
The room fell silent.
25
Revelations
Drums sounded.
Trumpets blew and men ran along the walls of Darkmoor. Erik was dressed and out the door as fast as he could, racing for the council hall.
He was the third man in the room, after Patrick and Greylock, and was only there for a few moments before a half dozen other nobles came running in. Manfred entered, calmly looked around, and said, “They are here.”
No one had to ask who “they” were.
Patrick wasted no time. “Owen,” he said, “I want you and Earl Montrose to ride to the south, along the eastern ridge. Take a company and see what we have on that flank. If the entire southern reserves are gone, as reported, I need to know what the enemy brings north. Don’t engage unless you’re attacked, and then try to get back here as fast as possible. If you run into any remnants of the southern reserves, bring them back with you.”
At that moment, Arutha, Lord Vencar, and his two sons entered the room. Erik nodded.
“Arutha,” said Patrick. “Your arrival is timely. I want you to oversee the administration of the city. We’re going to lock down the gates, and we’ll need to control the consumption of food and make sure no one compromises our security by leaving or smuggling.” He turned to Manfred. “You’re in charge of the citadel, as is your right, but I will oversee the conduct of the war from these headquarters.”
Manfred nodded. “Highness.”
The Prince turned to Erik. “Erik, I want you to ride north, and oversee the northern defenses. If the south is as weak as I fear, we need to ensure we have no breaches in the north.” He looked Erik in the eyes, and said, “Unless you’re recalled, defend to the last man.”
Erik nodded. “I understand.” He didn’t wait for further orders but hurried out of the room, to the bailey, and asked for his horse, and rode out.
Rage of a Demon King Page 53