Rage of a Demon King

by Raymond E. Feist

  Nakor said, “It’s a demonstration of power. It’s to let you know there are seven hundred very angry magicians down there who don’t like the way you honor treaties.”

  “Seven hundred?” said Pug. “I thought there were four hundred.”

  Nakor grinned. “We invited some of your old Tsurani friends to come visit.”

  Pug rolled his eyes and said, “Three hundred Black Robes?”

  “Well, maybe a few less.”

  The General said, “Seven hundred magicians?”

  “Angry magicians,” said Erik.

  “And one very angry Prince, with the Armies of the East camped ten miles from here!” added Patrick. “Come spring, you can expect a two-front war, General. And from the look of that little demonstration, you don’t even want to consider what that means for the Empire.”

  The Keshian General looked around and at last said, “What do you propose, Highness?”

  Patrick said, “We’ll make it simple. You return to the old border, and come spring my father’s diplomats and your Emperor’s can start renegotiating the boundary between our two realms all over again.”

  “The old boundary!”

  “Yes,” said Patrick. “We take back Shamata!” His yell caused his horse to turn completely around. “You think on this as you ride south, and you’d better be moving that way at dawn, else I’ll turn my army south and start marching that way myself, rain or no rain! Do you understand?”

  The General glanced over his shoulder and saw the red light in the sky. “I understand, Highness.”

  “Good!”

  Patrick turned his horse and rode off, Erik and Greylock at his side.

  Pug waited as the Keshians returned the way they had come, and Patrick rode off. When only the two of them remained in the street, Pug on his horse and Nakor at his side, Pug asked, “Nakor, what did you promise Chalmes and the others to get them to pull that stunt?”

  Nakor smiled. “I gave them Stardock.”

  “You what?” asked Pug.

  Nakor said, “Well, you told me to think of something.”

  Pug asked softly, “You gave away my duchy?”

  “I had to. Independence from both the Kingdom and Kesh was the only thing I could think of that they’d fight for. And the Tsurani like having a neutral way into Midkemia, too. Which is why they helped.

  “Either way, though, you lose Stardock, to the magicians or to the Empire. This way is better, I think.”

  “But you gave away a duchy! What am I going to tell the King?”

  Nakor shrugged. “You’ll think of something.” He grinned.

  EPILOGUE

  Consequences

  Fadawah frowned.

  He looked at the maps his aides had provided and said, “What is the situation here, Kahil?”

  “It is the city called Ylith,” said the captain who had been charged with gathering intelligence. “It is a major seaport and the only sea entrance into the province of Yabon. It is relatively untouched, and most of its garrison was already sent south to defend Darkmoor. There is only a small force there as well as a few ships. There is another garrison in Zūn, as well as in Loriél and Yabon.” He indicated the different locations on the map. “However, if we can seize and hold Ylith until spring, those garrisons should be easy to destroy.”

  Outside, his regrouped army was settling in around the town of Questor’s View. They had overrun the town in under a day’s fighting, as it had been defended by less than one company of regular soldiers and a half company of militia.

  Fadawah nodded. “Good. We will take Ylith.”

  Twenty thousand men had made their way up the coast, after Fadawah had judged the situation hopeless at Darkmoor. As soon as he had seen the disposition of the men when he had come out from under the demon’s trance he knew that even if they took Darkmoor, they would possess a useless mountain of stone and dead bodies.

  The reports that had followed him along his retreat, about the sudden snows and the arrival of another army from the east, only made him all the more certain they had been on a fool’s errand, attempting to drive across the mountains, to seize a city reported to be abandoned. He had briefly wondered at the sanity of the demon, but given what had happened since, he said a prayer each night to Kalkin, thanking the god of gamblers for blessing him. How he had survived when so many others had been destroyed by the Emerald Queen or the demon was beyond him.

  But now he had more immediate needs. His army was a long way from home and hungry. The good news was that as he traveled north the lands were more abundant, and his men were starting to eat well again. He said to Kahil, “Word is to be sent south that any of those who managed to get away from Darkmoor could come to Ylith, to winter there.”

  “Very well, General,” said the intelligence officer, who saluted and left the tent.

  Fadawah also knew the Saaur were out there somewhere, and he was concerned. If he could speak to Jatuk he might convince the leader of the lizard people that he was also a dupe, a tool used and almost discarded, but if he failed that, the angry lizard would seek someone upon whom to vent his rage. As the highest remaining officer of the Emerald Queen’s army, Fadawah was a logical choice.

  Fadawah sat back on the small stool in his tent. He had been cast upon a distant shore by a capricious fate, but it was his nature to turn an advantage wherever he might. That was why he had become the most successful general in Novindus, rising from mercenary captain in the Eastlands, to Military Overlord of the Emerald Queen.

  His senior captain, Nordan, said, “What will we do once we’ve taken this Ylith, General?”

  Fadawah said, “We’ve paid in blood for other people’s greed and ambition, my old friend.” He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “Now we serve our own.” He smiled at his old companion. His thin face looked especially sinister in the faint light from the small lantern that hung from the tent pole. “How would you like to be General of our armies?”

  Nordan said, “But if I become General, what about you?”

  Fadawah said, “I become King.”

  His finger outlined the coast between Krondor and Ylith.

  “The Kingdom’s Western Capital is in ruins, and no law exists between it and Ylith.” He considered his options.

  “Yes, King of the Bitter Sea. How does that sound?”

  Nordan bowed. “It sounds . . . appropriate. Your Majesty.”

  Fadawah laughed as the cool fall wind blew outside the tent.

  The Following is a Selection from

  SHARDS OF A BROKEN CROWN

  Volume IV of The Serpentwar Saga

  by Raymond E. Feist

  Available Now from Avon Eos

  at Bookstores Everywhere

  Dash signaled.

  Jimmy took out his sword and ducked behind the boulder. Dash left his own position on the south side of the King’s Highway and dropped into a ditch that ran parallel to the road for several hundred feet.

  The brothers had been riding for two days. The thaw had begun and there was actually some warmth in the sunlight when it came out from behind the seemingly constant cloud cover. But the temperature didn’t fall below freezing any more, and the rain helped melt the snow. As Dash lay in the cold mud he wished for the ice again. The ooze slowed travel and he didn’t seem able to get dry, even when staying close to a fire at night.

  They had heard voices in the woods ahead a few minutes ago, had dismounted, tied their horses and advanced on foot. As the sound of approaching feet grew louder, Dash chanced a glance over the edge of the berm, and saw a ragged band of travelers looking about in fearful manner as they moved eastward along the King’s Highway. There was a man and woman, and children, three of them, though one—Dash couldn’t tell if it was a girl or boy under the heavy hood—seemed almost of adult height.

  Dash stood as Jimmy came from behind the boulder. The man in the van of the small party of refugees pulled a wicked-looking hand scythe from under his ragged cloak and held it in me
nacing fashion as the others turned as if to flee.

  “Hold!” Jimmy shouted, “We’ll not harm you.”

  The man looked dubious, the others fearful, but they halted their movement. Jimmy and Dash both put away weapons and slowly approached.

  The man didn’t lower his scythe. “Who be you?” he said, his words heavily accented.

  Jimmy and Dash exchanged glances, for the man spoke with the accent of one who had come from Novindus. This man at one time had been a soldier with the invading army of the Emerald Queen.

  Dash held up his hands to show he was not holding any weapon, and Jimmy stopped moving. Jimmy said, “We’re travelers. Who are you?”

  The woman who had been crouching behind ventured to step from behind the man’s protection. She was gaunt and looked weak. Jimmy glanced to the others and saw that the children were equally underfed. The tallest of the three was a girl, perhaps fifteen years of age, though looking older for the deep dark circles under her eyes. Jimmy returned his attention to the woman, who looked at him and said, “We were farmers.” She pointed to the east. “We’re trying to reach Darkmoor. We hear there’s food there.”

  Jimmy nodded. “Some. Where are you from?”

  “Tannerus,” said the woman.

  Dash pointed at the man. “He’s not from Tannerus.”

  The man nodded. He motioned at himself with his free hand and said, “Markin. From City of the Serpent River.” He glanced around. “Long way from here.”

  “You were a soldier of the Emerald Queen?” asked Jimmy.

  The man spat on the ground and it looked as if the gesture was taking most of his strength. “I spit on her!” He started to wobble and the woman put her arms around him.

  “He’s a farmer,” she said. “He told us his story when he came to us.”

  Jimmy looked at Dash then motioned with his head back toward the horses. Dash didn’t need to be told what was on his brother’s mind. He turned and walked back while Jimmy said, “Why don’t you tell us his story.”

  “My man went to fight for the King,” said the woman. “Two years ago.” She glanced back at the three children and said, “My girls are fit to work; Hildi’s almost grown. We did all right for the first year. Then the soldiers came and took the town. Our farm was far enough away we weren’t troubled for a while.”

  Dash returned leading the horses. He handed the reins to Jimmy, then went back and opened a saddlebag. He returned a moment later, unwrapping a bundle. Once opened, he revealed some heavy travel bread, thick with honey and nuts and dried fruit, and some jerked beef. Without hesitation the children passed their mother and grabbed what they could.

  Dash glanced at Jimmy and nodded slightly. He gave the rest of the bundle to the man, who passed it along to the woman and said, “Thank you.”

  “How did an enemy soldier come to be guiding your family to Darkmoor?” asked Dash.

  The woman and man both nearly wept in gratitude as they chewed on the heavy bread. After swallowing, the woman said, “When the soldiers came, we hid in the woods, and they took everything. We had only what we had carried away. Then out of spite they burned the roof off our house and broke down the door. Sticks and thatch was all it was, but it was the only home the girls had known.”

  She glanced about, afraid other threats might appear suddenly from the surrounding woods. “Markin found us when we were trying to rebuild our house. It was never what you’d call fine, but my man had spent years adding to it, making it more than just a hut. But the soldiers had burned it down and the girls and me had no tools.”

  “I find them,” said Markin. “They needed help.”

  “He came and he fought for us. Other men came, many with swords and bows, but he kept them from taking me or the girls.” She glanced at him with obvious affection in her eyes. “He’s my man now, and he’s a fair da’ to the girls.”

  Jimmy sighed. To Dash he said, “We’ll hear stories like this one a hundred times before we’re through.”

  “Why Darkmoor?” asked Jimmy.

  “We hear the King’s there and there’s food for the asking.”

  Jimmy smiled. “No, the King’s not there, though he was last year. But there’s food for work.”

  “I work good,” said the foreign born soldier. “Can we go?” asked the woman.

  “Yes,” said Dash, motioning for them to pass. Markin said, “You soldiers?”

  Jimmy grinned. “Not if we can help it.”

  “But you nobleman. Markin can tell.”

  Dash said dryly. “I’ve known him all my life and can tell you he’s far from noble most of the time.”

  The old soldier studied the two, then said, “If you try to look like common men, you don’t.” He pointed down to Jimmy’s feet. “Dirty, but nobleman’s boots.”

  He motioned for the woman and girls to follow him and moved carefully past, not taking his eyes off the brothers until his small band was passed. Then he turned and hurried along, taking his position in the van, against any other unexpected encounters.

  “First time I regretted having comfortable boots,” said Dash.

  Jimmy looked down and said, “Well, we may be muddy, but he’s right.” Glancing around, he added, “This is a place of little food and even less comfort.”

  Dash remounted his horse. “I suspect by the time we get to Krondor we won’t look quite so prosperous.”

  Jimmy also mounted and said, “Maybe we should get off this highway.”

  Dash said, “The north road?” He referred to an old road his one-time employer, Rupert Avery, used regularly to move goods, avoiding the tolls charged on the King’s Highway.

  Jimmy shook his head. “No, that’s almost as busy as this one and those woods are going to be full of deserters and bandits.”

  “The south?”

  “Slower going, but there are enough trails along the lakes if we don’t head too far into the southern hills.”

  Dash said, “Since Kesh pulled south to the old border, everything from here to their nearest garrison is going to be wilderness.”

  Jimmy laughed. “What’s the difference if we run into fifty deserters from the Emerald Queen’s army or fifty bandits, or fifty Keshian mercenaries . . .” He shrugged.

  Dash made a show of shivering under his heavy cloak.

  “Let’s hope whoever’s down there is hugging their fires. As any sane man would do.” Dash urged his horse forward and soon the two brothers were riding south at a steady walk. “Why do we do these things?” he asked.

  Jimmy said, “Because our King commands and we obey.”

  Dash let out a theatrical sigh. “I thought it was something like that.”

  Softly, Jimmy began to sing a very old song:

  “To Kesh’s heartland or Queg’s harsh shore

  Our blood, our hearts, our lives and more,

  For honor’s sake do we obey,

  And go over the hills and far away . . .”

  The sound of cracking ice rang through the cold morning air and both brothers pulled up just before entering a clearing. Using hand signals, Jimmy motioned for Dash to move south along the edge of the clearing while he circled north.

  Dash nodded, dismounted and tied his horse to a branch of a small birch tree. Jimmy did likewise and moved silently away.

  Dash moved through the thinning trees, bordering a burned out farm he judged from the appearance of tree stumps nearby. The sound resolved itself into a repeated hammering at ice.

  Dash saw the man in the distance.

  A slender figure, he crouched over the frozen ice on a large pond, perhaps a hundred yards away from where Dash watched, hammering at the ice with a rock. Up and down the rock moved, and Dash couldn’t help but be fascinated with the sight.

  Dash couldn’t get a good look at the man, but his clothing seemed a hodgepodge of rags and ill-matched garments. He might have worn boots, but all Dash could see was a collection of rags tied around each foot for warmth.

  Dash saw movement in
the woods beyond the pond and judged Jimmy was in place. He waited.

  Jimmy walked slowly out of the woods and the man leaped to his feet with astonishing speed. He turned away as Jimmy shouted, “Wait! I won’t hurt you!”

  Dash slowly took out his sword as the tatters-clad man hurried toward him, trying to keep his movement from alerting the ragged man. As the man reached the first line of trees, Dash stepped out, extending his foot, and tripped him.

  The man went down in a tangle of clothes and turned over, scuttling backward as he shouted, “Don’t kill me!”

  Dash moved quickly to put the point of his sword before the man’s face, as Jimmy caught up, out of breath.

  Dash said, “We’re not going to hurt you.” To demonstrate his good intentions, he quickly sheathed his sword. “Get up.”

  The man got up slowly as Jimmy leaned over, hands on knees, and said, “He’s fast.”

  Dash grinned. “You’d have caught him had you had another mile or so to overtake him. You’ve always had endurance, if not speed.” Turning his attention to the figure on the ground, he said, “Who are you and what were you doing?”

  The man slowly rose, as if ready to bolt at the slightest threat, and said, “I am called Malar Enares, young masters.” He was a slender man, with a hawk nose sticking out over a large rag wrapped around his face. His eyes were dark, and they shifted back and forth between the brothers. “I was fishing.”

  Jimmy and Dash exchanged glances, and Dash said, “With a rock?”

  “To break the ice, young sir. Then when the fish come up to sun himself, I would strip bark and make a noose.”

  Jimmy said, “You were going to snare a fish?”

  “It is easy if you but have patience and a steady hand, young sir.”

  Dash said, “I hear Kesh in your speech.”

  “Oh, no, mercy, young sir. I am but a humble servant of a great trader of Shamata, Kiran Hessen.”

  Jimmy and Dash had both heard the name. A trader with Keshian connections who did a great deal of business with the late Jacob Esterbrook. Since the destruction of Krondor, the boys’ father, Lord Arutha, had pieced together several accounts that had clearly indicated two facts, that Esterbrook had been a long standing agent of Great Kesh, and that he and his daughter were both dead. Jimmy could see what Dash was thinking; if Esterbrook had been a Keshian agent, so then could Kiran Hessen.