“I do not believe it was a mistake,” Rodric said. “Without you, we would never have made it to Magas Komaron. We would never have learned all we now know about Voros Korom. There has to be a reason for that. Maybe, if we work together, we can still defeat him.”
“You speak of fate,” Ilona said.
“I am no philosopher,” Rodric said, “but my understanding is that the acolytes of Turelem oppose sorcery because they believe there are powers with which mortals should not meddle. But if that is the case, does it not imply that there is some authority above us who reserves that power for themselves? And if so, then—assuming that power is to be considered worthy of respect—does it not mean that someone is watching out for us?”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You wax quite metaphysical for a non-philosopher, Rodric.”
Rodric blushed, but Ilona nodded. “No, he is right. The words are crude, but he expresses the essence of the acolytes’ opposition to sorcery. We believe that only those such as the Blessed Mother, who have ascended to a state of moral perfection, have the right to employ the mysterious energy that underlies our universe. We trust her to guide us and use events to work together for the good of the faithful.”
“Then is it not possible,” I said, “that Turelem herself arranged for you to ally with a sorcerer?”
“That is blasphemy,” Ilona said curtly.
“Be that as it may,” I said, “sorcery is our only hope against Voros Korom. Sorcery and several hundred archers, Turelem willing. I will not pretend to understand your faith, but neither do you understand what I have been through. I ask only this: make a decision, one way or another. Stay with us and fight Voros Korom however we can, or return to Delivaros.”
Ilona nodded sadly. “In this we can agree: my dithering serves neither of us. I will return to Delivaros in the morning.”
Chapter Nineteen
We spent the night in an unused suite in the palace. It was mostly empty by this point, but enough Barbaroki remained that we didn’t fear anyone coming in to ransack the place. Csongor had made it clear that we were not to be harmed.
The rest of Csongor’s men were gone by late morning, and by noon the city was rid of the Barbaroki—as well as much of its wealth. The invaders had plundered the palace and other government buildings, the temples, the homes of the wealthier residents (and many of the less wealthy), and most of the markets and storehouses. What the Barbaroki left behind was stolen by opportunistic looters. The few gendarmes who hadn’t been killed had gone into hiding.
Rodric, Vili and I could not hold the palace alone, so we stocked up on supplies from what little the Barbaroki had left in the palace’s stores and set out across the city. By this time the worst of the looting was over. Corpses of humans and horses, swarming with flies, lay strewn in the streets, and weeping could be heard in the distance. A man wandered by in a daze, his face crusted with dried blood, calling the name of his wife. The air was thick with the smoke from a dozen fires across the city. Only Nagyvaros’s unique construction saved it from being entirely consumed: most of the larger buildings were composed of the stone-like aggregate used by the Builders, and the many chasms and walls throughout the city served as firebreaks. Still, I could not help but think of my dream about the city being consumed by flame. If the dream had been a portent, it was mistaken: Nagyvaros could not burn. But what had happened to it was arguably worse. People had been slaughtered, families torn apart, women and children enslaved by the Barbaroki. And as in the dream, I had stood by and allowed it to happen.
As we made our way through the refuse-cluttered streets, an old woman, dressed only in a ragged wool blanket, approached and stopped before us. “Sorcerer!” she cried, her voice hoarse and shrill. “Why didn’t you stop this?”
I didn’t recognize the woman, but by this time many in the city knew of the man with strange markings on his face, who many claimed was a sorcerer. Having no answer, I averted my eyes and walked past. Rodric, on my right, slipped past the woman, giving her a polite nod.
“No answer, sorcerer?” shouted a man’s voice from my left. I looked past Vili to see a middle-aged man collecting bruised apples in a burlap sack from where they’d spilled onto the street. “You and your friends look quite well. Been getting plenty of rest lately, have you?”
Several other people on the street had stopped to stare at us. I kept moving, realizing that things could get ugly if enough people tried to block our way.
“That’s right,” shouted the man. “Run away. This is why nobody trusts you lot. They should have let you rot in that salt mine!”
We pushed through the crowd and were once again on an open part of the street. I’d been tempted to answer, but what could I say? They were right; we’d done nothing to save the city. Worse than that, I’d had a hand in the city’s destruction. If I hadn’t intervened—or had begged Nebjosa to make a stand against the Barbaroki—Nagyvaros might have been saved. The Torzseki would have been crushed, but the Barbaroki’s advance might have been delayed enough that they would still be in the city when the Fourth Division arrived. The Barbaroki could easily have held the city against the janissaries for a week. When Voros Korom arrived, he would have to break through the Fourth Division on the plain and then defeat the Barbaroki in the city. Of course, General Bertrek would probably have ordered his men to stand down and allow Voros Korom into the city, hoping the demon would take care of the Barbaroki for him….
I forced the thought from my mind. Such speculation was useless. The fact was, I’d miscalculated, counting on the Barbaroki’s desire to hold Nagyvaros for strategic purposes. What I hadn’t known—but should have realized—was that the coming of the Barbaroki a few days in advance of Voros Korom was not a coincidence. Csongor had known about Voros Korom, because someone had warned him. If that someone was Bolond, what was his angle? Was he simply wreaking mischief at random, or had he manipulated the Barbaroki into laying waste to Nagyvaros to clear the way for Voros Korom?
That had certainly been the result. The city was defenseless and in shambles. No mere wall would keep out Voros Korom and his wraiths in any case, but the city guard might have at least slowed him down. As things stood, Voros Korom could walk right in and take up residence in the palace if he so desired.
We continued to the eastern gate, which stood open, hanging from broken hinges. There were few people around; evidently most of those who intended to flee the chaos had already done so. Once outside the city, we said a curt goodbye to Ilona. Again, what was there to say? It seemed that our paths had crossed not because of the machinations of fate or providence, but rather as a result of blind chance. We had found the way to Magas Komaron, but it had availed us nothing. We could not save Nagyvaros, and soon Delivaros would fall to the Barbaroki. I could see that Rodric wanted to say something more to Ilona, perhaps offer to go with her to Delivaros, but he did not. He watched silently as she turned and walked away down the road to the south. None of us had horses; Ember remained with the Torzseki, and the other horses had been taken from their stable by the Barbaroki. It would take Ilona three days to get to Delivaros on foot, by which time it would most likely already have fallen to the Barbaroki. Delivaros had minimal defenses; it relied for protection on its relationship with Nagyvaros and its position as the seat of the politically powerful Cult of Turelem. The Barbaroki, however, did not care about such political concerns.
Rodric, Vili and I traveled east across the plain until we found a place along the Sebastis creek where we could camp. We spent a night there and then I set out again. Rodric and Vili would wait there while I sought out the janissaries. I took off my cloak and put on an old tattered ceremonial robe that the Barbaroki had left behind in the palace. I felt like a fool, but without Ilona to make the appeal to General Bertrek, our best bet was for me to fully embrace the role of sorcerer. It had been six years since I had seen Bertrek; with any luck, he wouldn’t recognize me. Whether he would accede to my request—or even deign to meet with me—was anothe
r question. I reluctantly left my rapier and scabbard with Rodric, pulled the robe’s hood over my head, and started out across the plain.
I had only a rough idea where the Fourth Division was; I was estimating based on my knowledge of their last known position and the fastest route over the plain. It was entirely possible I would pass right by them a few miles to the north or south. When I hadn’t encountered them by late afternoon, I began to wonder if I should change course. But then I saw four men on horseback coming toward me over the plain. It soon became clear that they were a forward scouting party for the janissaries. They encircled me and demanded to know who I was and what I was doing. I told them I was the sorcerer Samvel and that I had a message for General Bertrek. Amused, they escorted me three miles to the janissary camp.
I was forced to wait under guard just outside the camp for nearly two hours. When the general’s adjutant finally came for me, it was cold and dark, and the camp was illuminated by torches and cooking fires. I was checked for weapons and escorted past several hundred tents to General Bertrek’s tent. In daylight I might have recognized some of the men, but at night they were interchangeable shadows. They joked and spoke in the overly jovial way soldiers did when they were nervous about an upcoming battle. None of them paid me any mind.
Clearly neither Bertrek nor his aides considered me a threat. I wondered if they had heard any stories about the crazy sorcerer who wandered the streets of Nagyvaros. I thought it unlikely. Probably they considered me a curiosity or a source of entertainment. Fortunately, they did not seem to have concluded I was a Barbarok spy.
Bertrek was seated at his desk when I was escorted into his tent. It was the same desk that had once belonged to my old friend and mentor, General Janos. I felt a momentary pang of nostalgia. How much simpler the world had seemed back then, when all my energies were devoted to finding my way back to Beata. I put such thoughts out of my mind.
“General Bertrek,” I said, resisting the urge to salute. I held Bertrek in low esteem, but the reflex to salute a superior officer was deeply ingrained. I was here not as a soldier, but as a sorcerer.
“By Turelem’s teeth!” Bertrek exclaimed. “I had thought my aides were exaggerating when they told me about your face. Take off your hood so I can examine these markings.” He remained seated behind his desk, so I took this as an idle request. In any case, I certainly was not going to let him inspect my face. Slow-witted though he was, I had no doubt he would recognize the captain who had once so thoroughly humiliated him.
“With respect, General, it is customary for men of my order to keep our heads covered.”
But the General seemed to have forgotten his request already. “They tell me you were found wandering the plain. What is your name?”
“I am Samvel. I was not wandering, General. I was seeking you.”
“Oh?” said Bertrek with a smile. “I hope you intend to entertain me with tricks. It has been a long day, and I could use some amusement.”
“I do not use my powers for such purposes.”
“No? A pity.” Bertrek slumped back in his chair, sulking.
“General, I come to speak to you of a grave danger.”
“You come from Nagyvaros?”
“Yes. The city has—”
“My scouts have already reported on the condition of the city. It’s a shame, but what could we do? My division was occupied with a Barbarok incursion at the pass of Asztal. We got here as quickly as we could.”
“It is not of the Barbaroki I speak. A powerful demon makes his way across the plain toward Nagyvaros. He and his horde will attack the city on the next full moon.”
Bertrek began to look bored. “I’ve heard stories about this supposed demon. Residents of some of the villages to the southeast claim to have seen him.”
“His name is Voros Korom,” I said. “He comes to lay waste to Nagyvaros.”
“He is a tale told to keep children from staying out after dark,” Bertrek said. Having made this pronouncement, he nodded, evidently deciding that it was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“Voros Korom is quite real,” I said. “If he is allowed to reach Nagyvaros, he will kill every person in the city who still remains alive. With your help, though, I believe I can defeat him.”
Bertrek waved his hand impatiently. “I was not commissioned to combat fairies and will-o-the-wisps. I am told the Barbaroki have turned south, and I must pursue them.”
“I understand, General. I only ask—”
“You ask? Who are you to ask anything of me? A wandering sorcerer, or perhaps a charlatan? I owe you nothing.”
“It is not for my sake I ask. I am sworn to protect Nagyvaros—”
“Ah, and a fine job you are doing! Nagyvaros is lost, sorcerer. Speak another word to me of that city or of demons and ghosts and I will have my adjutant cut your throat. I agreed to grant you an audience thinking that I might be amused, but you have only vexed me.” He sat fuming for a moment. Getting control of himself, he said hopefully, “Have you not one trick you can perform for me? The journey across the plain has been hard, and entertainment is difficult to come by. I play cards with my aides at times, but I think they let me win because they fear me. One simple trick. Here, turn this quill into a goose.”
I sighed. I was sorely tempted to pull the air from Bertrek’s lungs as I’d done to the guard at the palace. A guard stood just outside the tent, but I could kill Bertrek before he even knew something was wrong. For that matter, I could snap Bertrek’s neck easily even without the spell. I could draw the guard into the tent, incapacitate him, and walk out. I’d be a mile away from the camp before anyone knew what had happened.
But other than exacting my vengeance on Bertrek, it would accomplish nothing. Until I had dealt with Voros Korom, I could not take the risk of being apprehended. It was clear that I was going to get no help in that matter from Bertrek. I would have to face the demon alone.
“By your leave, General,” I said.
“Eh? Oh. Yes, fine. Go.”
I turned and walked out of the tent. A guard escorted me to the edge of the camp and I made my way across the moonlit plain to the place where Rodric and Vili waited. They were disappointed, though not surprised, by my account of my meeting with Bertrek.
The next morning, we traveled back across the plain toward the city. When the eastern gate was in sight, we stopped and set up camp. That night the moon would be full. If Voros Korom intended to take the city, he would have to get past us.
I laughed out loud at the thought. Rodric and Vili sat on the trunk of a fallen tree across a little campfire from me. The three of us were all that stood between Voros Korom and the city I’d sworn to protect. I wanted to tell Rodric and Vili that they had no obligation to stay, but I knew it would make no difference. They knew, and they would stay anyway. We would all die together. That was my hope, anyway—the alternative was to be assimilated into one of the collectives of wraiths.
I considered going to Eben in the hopes that I might still learn some way of dealing with the wraiths, but the last several times I had gone to meet him, he had not responded to my calls. In any case, traveling to Veszedelem and practicing sorcery would drain my energy. I wanted to at least be awake and alert when Voros Korom arrived. Rodric and Vili seemed grateful for the rest as well. We had done everything we could to prepare. After spending the day telling each other stories and dozing by the fire, we ate the last of the provisions we’d taken from the palace and then lit a torch and placed it on the top of a tall pole Vili had carved from a sapling. If Voros Korom came within a league of us, he would see it.
Shortly before dusk, Vili spotted movement to the south. We watched as a group of men on horses came into view. Had the Barbaroki returned? The group was coming from the wrong direction to be janissaries. Rodric picked up his bow, but I did not bother to grab my rapier. There appeared to be at least two dozen men, all on horseback. If they wanted to kill us, they would.
As they drew closer, however, I
realized I recognized the men wore the ragged leather and furs of the Torzseki. The man at the front of the group, astride a beautiful cream-colored horse, was Chief Nebjosa himself. I hailed him with a wave. “Put down your bow, Rodric,” I said. “This man is the chief of the Torzseki. He is no enemy of ours.”
Chapter Twenty
Rodric complied, still holding the bow at his side. When he saw the woman riding next to Nebjosa, however, he dropped the bow. “Ilona!” he cried.
It was indeed Ilona. She appeared to be well. I recognized as well the beautiful chestnut horse she rode: it was my own Ember. The group approached to within a few paces and began to dismount. I walked up to Ember and took her reins, cooing reassuringly to her.
Nebjosa must have heard the words I’d spoken to Rodric, because as he walked toward me, he said, “Hail, Konrad. Do not call me ‘chief’ any longer. I have been exiled from the Torzseki. These men disagreed with the council’s ruling and have chosen to accompany me.”
I nodded toward the men. Davor Sabas, the chief’s advisor, sat on a horse to Nebjosa’s right. “Decent and brave men they must be to have made such a choice.”
Nebjosa clasped my hand as Rodric embraced Iona. “Brave or foolhardy,” the chief said. “I told the council about the coming of Voros Korom, and that I agreed with your assessment. From what I have seen and heard, Voros Korom is a greater threat to Nagyvaros and to the Torzseki than the Barbaroki. They called me a coward to have refused to fight the Barbaroki, but they are the cowards. They delayed just long enough in their deliberations to render the matter moot. They chose a new chief, but not until the Barbaroki had already taken they city. And now they refuse to send men either to fight the Barbaroki or to stand against Voros Korom. The men who accompany me do so as much out of disgust with such ‘leadership’ as out of loyalty to me.”
“Your modesty has been your one failing as a chief,” said Davor Sabas, leaning to take the reins of Nebjosa’s horse. “I and the others would follow you into the Pit of Dravmal if you asked.”
The Rise of the Demon Prince Page 17