Rage of a Demon King (4 page)

Erik had told Roo of what he and the others had discovered, and he needed no embellishment to convey
the horror and disgust he felt at fighting through the Pantathian birthing halls. Of those who had not traveled to Novindus with Calis on his most recent journey, Roo, Nakor, and Sho Pi had been there previously, and knew what the others faced. Slowly, over the voyage, Erik had provided enough grisly details about the slaughter of Pantathian females and infants, as well as about the mysterious “third player” who had accomplished more carnage than Calis’s raiders ever could have done. Unless there were birthing crèches located elsewhere—and it seemed unlikely—the only living Pantathians were those close to the Emerald Queen. If they were finally defeated in the coming battle, the Pantathian serpent priests would cease to exist, a fate most fervently hoped for by the two boyhood friends from Darkmoor.

Roo and Erik had parted almost as soon as the ship had berthed, as Roo had businesses to oversee. Two days later, Erik had left on maneuvers, evaluating the training Jadow Shati had inflicted upon the men while Calis had been gone. Erik was pleased that the new men under his command for the last week were as disciplined and reliable as those he had trained with when he had been a common soldier.

Entering the palace, Erik was again uncomfortable at finding himself in the halls of power and in the presence of the great of the Kingdom. He had served for a year in Krondor before leaving with Calis on the last voyage, but had confined himself to the training grounds most of the time. He came to the palace proper only when summoned or to borrow a book on tactics or some other aspect of warcraft from Knight-Marshal William. He was never comfortable
with the supreme commander of the King’s Armies of the West, but he finally grew used to spending hours over ale or wine discussing what he had read and how it would bear on the armies he was helping fashion. But, given a choice, Erik would rather be in the drilling yard, working with the armorers around the forge, or tending to the horses, or most of all, out in the field, where life was too demanding to think much about the larger consequences of the coming war.

In the Prince’s private chamber, actually, Erik thought, a small hall, other men waited, including Lord James, Duke of Krondor, and Jadow Shati, the other sergeant in Calis’s company. Erik expected Jadow would be promoted to sergeant major to replace Bobby. Upon the table a lavish board of cheeses, meats, fruit, bread, and vegetables had been laid out. Ale, wine, and frosted pitchers of fruit juices were also waiting.

“Set to,” said the Prince of Krondor, removing his ceremonial crown and mantle and handing them to waiting pages. Calis picked up an apple and bit into it while others moved around the table.

Erik motioned to Roo, who came over to him.

“How did you find things at home?” Erik asked.

Roo said, “The children are . . . amazing. They’ve grown so much in the months I was gone I scarcely recognize them.” His faced creased in a thoughtful expression. “My business endured my absence well enough, though not as well as I expected. Jacob Esterbrook had the better of me three times while I was gone. One transaction cost me a small fortune.”

“I thought you and he were friends,” said Erik, taking a bite of bread and cheese.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Roo. He had thought better of mentioning his relationship to Sylvia Esterbrook, Jacob’s daughter, given that Erik tended to have a narrow view of family and vows of faithfulness. “ ‘Friendly competitors’ would be a more accurate description. He has a stranglehold on trade to Kesh and seems reluctant to relinquish even a small part of it.”

Calis came up to them and said, “Roo, will you excuse us a moment?”

Rupert nodded, said, “Of course, Captain,” and walked over to the table to take advantage of the fare.

Calis waited until they were out of earshot before he asked, “Erik, has Marshal William had a chance to talk to you today?”

Erik shook his head. “No, Captain. I was busy getting back into the rhythm of things with Jadow . . . now that Bobby’s no longer here. . . .” He shrugged.

“I understand.” Calis turned and motioned for the Knight-Marshal, who joined them. Calis looked at Erik. “You’ve got a choice.”

William, a short, slender man whom Erik knew to be one of the best riders and swordsmen in the Kingdom despite his advancing age, said, “Calis and I have talked about you, youngster. With things . . . as they are, we have more opportunities than we have men with talent.”

Erik knew what William had meant by “things as they are,” for he knew that a terrible army was massing across the sea and would be invading in less than two years’ time. “Choice?”

“I’d like to offer you a staff position,” said William. “You’d hold the rank of Knight-Lieutenant in the Prince’s army, and I’d put you in charge of the
Krondorian Heavy Lance. Your skill with horses—well, I can’t think of a better man for the job.”

Erik glanced at Calis. “Sir?”

“I’d like you to stay with the Crimson Eagles,” said Calis in a flat tone.

“Then I’ll stay,” said Erik without hesitation. “I made a promise.”

William smiled ruefully. “I thought as much, but I had to ask.”

“Thank you for asking, m’lord,” said Erik. “I’m flattered.”

William grinned at Calis. “You must use magic. He’s halfway to being the best tactician I’ve ever met—and if he keeps studying he will be the best—and you want to waste him as a bully sergeant.”

Calis smiled slightly, an expression of wry amusement Erik had come to know well. The half-elven Captain said, “We have more need of bully sergeants to train soldiers right now than we do tacticians, Willy. Besides, my bully sergeants are not the same as yours.”

William shrugged. “You’re right, of course, but when they come, each of us is going to want the best we can find at our side.”

“I can’t argue that.”

William left and Calis said, “Erik, thank you.”

Erik repeated, “I made a promise.”

“To Bobby?” asked Calis.

Erik nodded.

Calis’s expression darkened. “Well, knowing Bobby, I’d best tell you now, I need a sergeant major, not a nursemaid. You kept me alive once, Erik von Darkmoor, so consider your promise to Bobby de Loungville discharged in full. If it comes to a choice
between my life and the survival of the Kingdom, I want you to make the right choice.”

It took Erik a moment to comprehend what had just been said. “Sergeant Major?”

“You’re taking Bobby’s place,” said Calis.

“Jadow has been with you longer—” Erik began.

“But you have the knack,” interrupted Calis. “Jadow doesn’t. He’ll do fine as a sergeant—you saw how the new men are shaping up—but promoting him any higher would put him in a situation where he would be a liability instead of an asset.” He studied Erik’ s face a moment. “William wasn’t overstating the case about your abilities as a tactician. We’ll need to work on your comprehension of strategy as well. You know what’s coming and you know that once the struggle begins, you may find yourself out there with hundreds of men looking to you to keep them alive. An ancient Isalani general called it the ‘fog of battle,’ and men who can keep other men alive while chaos erupts around them are rare.”

Erik could only nod. He and the others around him who had traveled with Calis had seen the army of the Emerald Queen, had been a part of it for a time, and he knew that when that host of hired killers arrived on the shores of the Kingdom, chaos would ensue. In the midst of that chaos, only well-trained, disciplined, hard men might survive. And it would be upon those men that the fate of the Kingdom—and the rest of the world of Midkemia—would rest, not on the Kingdom’s traditional armies.

“Very well, Captain. I accept,” said Erik.

Calis smiled and put his hand upon Erik’s shoulder. “You didn’t have a choice, Sergeant Major. Now you need to promote some men; we need one more
sergeant for the balance of this year, and a half-dozen corporals besides.”

“Alfred of Darkmoor,” said Erik. “He was a corporal and a bully until I got through with him. He’s ready to take on the responsibility, and at heart he’s still a brawler and we’ll need that when the time comes.”

“You have that right,” said Calis. “Every man a brawler, for that matter.”

Erik said, “I suppose we have enough potential corporals around. I’ll make up a list this evening.”

Calis nodded. “I must talk to Patrick before this turns into a full-blown reception. Excuse me.”

Roo returned when he saw Calis leave, and asked, “Well, did you get promoted or did Jadow?”

“I did,” answered Erik.

“My condolences,” said Roo. Then he grinned and struck his friend on the arm. “Sergeant Major.”

“What about you?” asked Erik. “You were telling me how things are at home.”

Roo smiled weakly and shrugged. “Karli is still upset I took off to go after you on such short notice, and she was right: the children don’t recognize me, though Abigail does call me Daddy, and little Helmut just gives shy grins and gurgles.” He sighed. “I got a warmer welcome from Helen Jacoby, truth to tell.”

“Well, from what you told me, she is in your debt. You could have turned her and her children out on the streets.”

Roo chewed on a piece of fruit a moment. “Not really. Her husband had no part in the plot to kill my father-in-law.” He shrugged. “I’ve got a few loose ends to tie up; Jason, Duncan, and Luis have been careful in seeing to my company while I was gone,
and my partners in the Bitter Sea Company haven’t robbed me too outrageously.” He grinned. “At least, I haven’t found any proof yet.” His expression turned serious again. “And I also know that this army you’re about to become a significant part of will need provisions, weapons, and armor. Those don’t come cheaply.”

Erik nodded. “I have some small idea of how we’re going to meet the Emerald Queen, and while we’ll never put as large a force in the field as she will send against us, we’ll have to mount the most ambitious campaign since the Riftwar, and one never matched before.”

“How many men under arms do you think?”

“I’m speculating,” said Erik. “But at least fifty, sixty thousand more than the current armies of the East and West.”

“That’s close to a hundred thousand men!” said Roo. “Do we have that many?”

“No.” Erik shook his head. “We have twenty thousand in all the Armies of the West, including the ten thousand directly under the Prince’s command. The Armies of the East number more, but many of them are honor garrisons. With our long-term peace with Roldem, the other eastern kingdoms are calm, not willing to try anything without Roldem distracting us.” Erik shrugged. “Too much time spent with Lord William, I guess, talking strategy . . . We now must start building for the battle here.” With a shake of his head he said softly, “We lost too many of our key men on our last trips to Novindus.”

Roo nodded. “There is a large debt to be repaid to that green bitch.” Then he sighed audibly. “And a huge billing to finance it.”

Erik smiled. “Our Duke is getting into your pocket?”

Roo returned the smile, though his was far more wry. “Not yet. He’s made it clear that taxes will remain reasonable because he expects me to underwrite a large portion of the coming fight and to convince others, like Jacob Esterbrook, to provide funds as well.”

Mentioning Esterbrook, Roo again thought of his daughter, Sylvia, Roo’s mistress for the better part of a year before his sailing to rescue Erik, Calis, and the others. He had seen her only once since returning two weeks ago, and he was planning on seeing her tonight; he ached for her. “I think I should call upon Jacob soon,” he said as if the thought had just come to him. “If he and I together agree to participate in financing the war, no one else of importance in the Kingdom would refuse the Prince’s request.” Dryly he added, “After all, if we fail in this, repayment of loans will be the last of our worries.” Then he whispered in a somber tone, “Assuming we can worry about anything.”

Erik nodded noncommittally. He had to admit that Roo had proven beyond any doubt he understood matters of finance far better than Erik and, should his phenomenal success be any indication, better than most of the businessmen in the Kingdom.

Roo said, “I should make my excuses to the Prince and get about my own business. I suspect those of us here who are not part of your military inner circle will be asked to find other things to go do soon, anyway.”

Erik took his hand. “I think you’re right.” Other nobles, not part of the military, were presenting
themselves to the Prince. Roo left his boyhood friend and joined the line of those begging the Prince’s leave to depart, and soon only the Prince, his senior advisers, and members of the military remained.

When Owen Greylock entered, Patrick said, “We’re now all here.”

Knight-Marshal William motioned for them to gather around a circular table at the far end of the room. Duke James sat to his Prince’s right, and William to the left.

It was the Duke who began. “Well, now that the pomp is over, we can get back to the bloody work ahead of us.”

Erik sat back and listened to the plans for the final defense of the Kingdom begin to take shape.

Roo reached the gate where his horse was waiting for him. He had left his carriage at home for his wife’s use, for he had moved his family to an estate outside the gates of the city. While he preferred the convenience of his town house, across the street from Barret’s Coffee House—where most of his business day was spent—the country house offered a tranquillity he couldn’t have imagined before the move. He had grounds for hunting if he chose, and a stream with fish, and all the other advantages granted to the nobility and rich commoners. He knew he would have to find time soon to enjoy those pastimes.

Not yet twenty-three years of age, Roo Avery was the father of two, one of the richest merchants in the Kingdom, and privy to secrets shared by few. The country house was also a hedge, as the gamblers called it, a place from which his family could escape the oncoming invasion to safer refuge to the east
before the mob fled the city, trampling everything in its path. Roo had endured the destruction of Maharta, the distant city crushed three years before by the armies of the Emerald Queen. He had been forced to fight his way through the mass of panic-stricken citizens, had seen innocents die because they were in the wrong place. He vowed he would spare his children that horror, no matter what else might come.