Rage of a Demon King (51 page)

“What does this have to do with us? I mean, why are you telling us this now?”

“Macros the Black was the single most powerful master of magic upon Midkemia until the advent of Master Pug’s return from Kelewan,” said Gathis. “It is my mission to remain as close to whoever that person may be as long as I live.

“As long as the Black One existed, no matter how far removed, I was bound to him. Now he no longer
exists, and I must continue in my mission of working on behalf of Sarig.”

“So you want to create a similar bond with me?” asked Pug.

“In a manner of speaking, but you must understand exactly what this entails.

“You know what the bond was between Macros and Sarig. Sarig claimed Macros as his own, his agent on Midkemia, and provided him with his powers. You were the one who severed the bond between them.”

Pug said, “But at the last Macros used Sarig’s powers to defeat Maarg.”

“Perhaps,” said Gathis. “I was not a witness to that, but if it is as you described it to me when you first returned, then that was Sarig’s last gift to Macros, the power to destroy himself and the demon, rather than fall prey to whatever it was stood behind the demon.”

“Whatever it was stood behind the demon?” asked Miranda, and suddenly she was aware again of the knowledge that had been blocked from her memory. “I think I understand.”

Gathis nodded. “I think you do, as well. Master Pug, you, on the other hand, are not connected to Sarig. You were not even given your powers on this world. Your ties to the Tsurani heritage and their practices, your native ties to Midkemia conspire to make you something of a neutral agent in this.

“Which is why you now have a choice.”

“And that is?”

“You now understand that an ages-old conflict is under way, between powers so vast and ancient our mortal minds can barely comprehend them; we can
only serve our tiny part in the great conflict. Your choice is this: you may continue to act as an independent agent for those causes you consider worthy, or you may dedicate yourself to Sarig, taking the place of Macros. If you do so, you gain greater power than you already have, for you will not only have the full measure of the gods’ powers and knowledge native to Midkemia, you will also have your knowledge from Kelewan.”

“So you’re saying I was chosen and trained to be Macros’s successor?”

Gathis regarded Pug for a silent moment. “I have come to know this much about the gods: often we act for reasons about which we are uncertain. Who is to say if anything Macros ever did was without Sarig’s influences? Macros found you as a baby and unlocked something rare and powerful within you; I do not know if he understood where you would be today. I can’t say he chose you to be his successor, but I can say you now stand in the place where you can choose to be such. It is up to you.”

“What do I give up?” asked Pug.

“Freedom,” said Gathis. “You will find you need to do things without understanding exactly why. Macros claimed he could see the future, and that was partially true, but part of that claim was theatrics, the showmanship of a vain man attempting to make everyone think he was far more than he really was. It’s ironic, for he was more powerful than any man I’ve met, until I met you, Master Pug. But even the most powerful among your race has flaws, I have discovered over the centuries.

“In any event, you will find your life is no longer your own.”

Pug said, “You offer a great deal, but you demand a great deal, as well.”

“Not I, Master Pug; he does.” Gathis pointed to the statue of the god.

Miranda said, “How long does he have to think this over?”

“As long as he needs,” said Gathis. “The gods move along a stately course, in their own time, and the lives of mortals are but fleeting heartbeats to them.”

Pug said, “You’ve given me a great deal to think about. What happens if I say no?”

“Then we will wait until another appears, one whose nature and powers are such that the god chooses him to assume the mantle of Sarig’s agent.”

Pug looked at Miranda and said, “Something else for us to discuss.”

She nodded.

Gathis said, “I will leave you alone. Perhaps the god himself will guide your thoughts. If you need anything, I will be back at the villa.”

The green-faced steward of the villa departed and Pug said, “What should I do?”

“Be a god? Seems like a hard one to reject.”

Pug reached out and pulled her to him. As he held her close, he said, “It also seems like a hard one to accept.”

“Well, we have time,” said Miranda, hugging him back.

“Do we?” asked Pug as his mind turned to the question of the war.

*   *   *

Erik shouted orders as the battle reached a critical stage. For two days they had fought along the second
barricade, suffering one breach, which had taken every reserve at Erik’s disposal to close. He had successfully evaluated the demands for defending this position and had set up a schedule for rotating his soldiers in and out of the line, so that those who had fought longest could get some rest.

The wounded were being evacuated along with the support baggage to Darkmoor. Erik knew that it was only a matter of minutes before he would give the order to withdraw and he had to set the torch to his boyhood home.

He’d had moments of regret in anticipation of that act for months, since reviewing Calis’s original plan of battle, but at this point he was so exhausted he felt nothing. Perhaps that would change when he actually saw the Inn of the Pin-tail, the Growers’ and Vintners’ Hall, and all the other familiar landmarks of Ravensburg in flames, but right now all he was concerned with was an orderly withdrawal.

The enemy seemed limitless. By Erik’s rough calculation, they had lost six thousand men at the two barricades, while he had lost fewer than fifteen hundred. But he knew that losses of four to one were acceptable to the Emerald Queen, while such a ratio was disastrous to the Kingdom. He needed to do better than six to one for the Kingdom to withstand the enemy.

Erik blocked a blow from a particularly muscular man with a war ax, then skewered him with a sword thrust. He stepped back from the battle, letting a soldier take his place. Glancing around, he judged it time to withdraw. By the time they reached Darkmoor, night would be falling. He moved far enough from the fighting so he need not worry about
anything except possibly a stray arrow and signaled for runners. Four of them came to stand before him and saluted. He said, “Pass the word up and down the line. General withdrawal on my signal.”

The soldiers hurried off, and Erik saw the magician Robert d’ Lyes rushing toward him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” the magician asked.

“Thanks, but unless you have a way to get those bastards on the other side to withdraw for a few minutes, so we can get out of here safely, I think not.”

The magician said, “How many minutes?”

“Ten, fifteen. More than that would be good, but in that time I can get the last of the wounded to the wagons and the rest of the mounted infantry in the saddle. The horse archers can hold the enemy at bay while the foot soldiers move out; if we can do that, we might all survive to fight in Darkmoor.”

Robert said, “I have an idea. I don’t know if it will work, but it might.”

“We’re pulling out, so give it a try,” said Erik.

“How long before you give the order?”

“Five more minutes,” said Erik as he signaled for his horse.

As a soldier ran up leading Erik’s mount, d’ Lyes said, “That should be enough.”

The magician hurried to a position a short distance behind the fighting, risking an errant arrow for his troubles. He closed his eyes and started a chant, then put his hand in his shirt and pulled out a small leather pouch. Opening it, he reached inside and took out something—Erik couldn’t see what—and made several passes with his hands.

Suddenly a cloud of greenish black smoke appeared at the crest of the barricade. Instantly the
invaders inside began to cough and retch. The smoke expanded, following the ridge line, and men on both sides fell back.

Then d’ Lyes shouted, “Poison!”

Erik blinked in astonishment; then he shouted in the dialect of the invaders, “Poison! Poison! Withdraw! Withdraw!”

The cry was echoed up and down the line as men from both sides fell back. Erik wasted no time. He signaled up and down the line, crying, “Retreat! Retreat!”

The command echoed up and down the line, and the Kingdom Army withdrew from the barricade. Robert d’ Lyes hurried to where Erik sat and said, “They won’t be fooled for long. When those men who are vomiting recover, they’ll be back.”

“What was that you did?”

“It’s a useful little spell designed to kill mice, rats, and other vermin in barns. If you breathe the smoke, you get very sick to your stomach for about an hour, but after that you’re fine.”

Erik was impressed. “Thank you for thinking of it.”

“You’re welcome. It might be more useful if I could figure a way to make it more toxic, so the enemy would really be poisoned.”

“Only if you can also figure out how to keep it on the correct side of the battlefield.”

“Yes,” said the magician, “I see the problem. Now what do we do?”

“Run like hell,” said Erik.

“Very well,” said d’ Lyes, and he started running as fast as he could to where his horse was tied.

Erik gave the order and watched with relief as the men too wounded to walk were carried to the last of
the baggage wagons. Others hurried to mount waiting horses. The archers in the rocks climbed down as fast as they could, and mounted also or joined the general withdrawal, depending on which units they served.

Erik saw the enemy fleeing to the west, many of them rolling on the ground, clutching their stomachs, in what they thought were death throes. A few of his own men, also incapacitated by the smoke, were also helped to safety by their comrades.

Erik counted the minutes, and after ten had come and gone, he said, “Fall back!”

The light cavalry, spears at the ready, were scheduled to be the last units to withdraw before the horse archers. Erik passed them and saw tired, bloody men, but men with a look in their eyes that made his chest swell with pride. He saluted them, then cantered his horse toward town.

As he rode away, he saw firelight on the ridges, as the engineers torched their catapults and mangonels. The machines, too big and difficult to move without dismantling, were destroyed to deny them to the enemy.

Reaching Ravensburg, he saw men with torches at the ready. He glanced around his boyhood home as the baggage wagons rolled through the center of town, taking the wounded and the supplies to the next defensive position. Erik dismounted and loosened his horse’s girth, giving the animal a bit of rest. He led the horse to a trough and let him drink a little. Erik watched, waiting for the signal from his rearmost scout that the chase was on, when he would have to burn his boyhood town.

But time passed and no enemy approached. Erik considered they might be leery of approaching the
place where d’ Lyes had “poisoned” them until they realized it was a ruse. That extra hour would gain them a precious advantage. When he judged they would safely be through, he shouted, “Order the archers and lancers to retire!”

A messenger rode off to the west, carrying word to the last of the Kingdom’s scouts to withdraw, and Erik rode toward the Inn of the Pintail. He reached it as a soldier stood ready to ignite hay piled against the fence and outer wall. Erik said, “Give that to me,” indicating the torch.

The soldier did as ordered, and Erik threw the torch into the hay. “No one’s going to burn my home but me,” he said. Then he turned and shouted, “Burn it!”

Everywhere soldiers rode or ran through the town, tossing hundreds of torches. Erik couldn’t bring himself to watch the fire destroy the inn, so he put heels to his horse’s barrel and rode back to the center of town. Flames were rising quickly on all sides as the first elements of the light cavalry rode through. He knew the horse archers would be the last out, and was determined to ride with them.

The horse archers came fast, in a maneuver created by Calis, one he said originated with riders in Novindus, the Jeshandi. Half the squad would ride, while the other half would cover and fire, then the squad that had ridden would stop and offer cover fire to the group that had just been firing. It required precision and practice, but Calis had drilled these horse archers to perfection, so their withdrawal was nearly flawless. A few enemy arrows sped after them, as the fires announced to the invaders that the Kingdom was withdrawing, but most were fired blindly, arched
high from behind the cover of boulders, and fell harmlessly to the ground.

As enemy fire increased, Erik felt it was time to go, so he shouted, “That’s enough! Retreat!”

The horse archers turned as one, set heels to their horses, and galloped to the east. They rode furiously until they were sure no enemy followed close on their heels, then they slowed to a relatively relaxed canter, saving the horses as much as they could.

The usual travel time to Wolverton was three hours on a walking horse. Erik reached the town in less than one. The entire way he saw the baggage wagons lumbering down the road, and as he reached Wolverton, he saw them slowing, moving around a building on the edge of town. Jadow and another man from his company stood waving, and Erik rode up. “What is it?”

“Most of your cavalry and infantry went by about ten, fifteen minutes ago. We almost had a disaster when they tried to run over the wagons.”

“Are you overseeing traffic?”

Jadow grinned. “More. Got a few of those traps you asked for, enough so that after a couple of them go off, the enemy should slow down a bit.” They waited as the wagons rolled on. Again Erik rested his horse. He and Jadow were too concerned with the possibility of the enemy’s overtaking the last of the baggage train to engage in small talk. For another two hours the wagons rolled, until suddenly a company of riders could be seen, Erik’s rear guard. Jadow motioned toward the company of riders. “They the last?”

Erik nodded. “If you hang around, my advice is, the next rider you see coming down the road, kill him.”