Rage of a Demon King (6 page)

One of the two strangers approached. “From your garb I take you for a soldier,” he said.

Erik nodded. “I am.”

With a friendly manner the fellow spoke. “It’s kind of quiet here tonight. I’ve been in a lot of inns, and this isn’t exactly what I’d call lively.”

Erik shrugged. “Sometimes it is. Depends on what’s going on at the palace.”

The man said, “Really?”

Erik glanced at Kitty, who nodded slightly, said, “Got to check some inventory,” and left through the rear door.

“We’ve got a big parade coming up soon,” said Erik. “Some embassy or another from Kesh is coming
for one of those state visits. The Master of Ceremonies has the Captain of the Prince’s Household Guards half-crazy with all the nonsense the garrison’s going to go through to get ready for this. I’m in for a quick ale and a chat with my friend; then I’ve got to head back.”

The man glanced at his empty ale mug. “I need another.” He turned and shouted, “Girl!”

When Kitty didn’t answer, he turned back to Erik. “Think she’d mind if I fill my own?”

Erik shook his head. “If you leave your coins on the bar, she won’t.”

“Buy you one?” asked the man as he moved behind the bar.

“What about your friend?” asked Erik, indicating the other man at the table, the darker stranger Kitty had referred to as the quieter of the pair.

“He’ll keep. He’s a business associate of mine.” The man lowered his voice and in a conspiratorial tone said, “Truth to tell, he’s a terrible bore. All he talks about is trade and his children.”

Erik nodded, as if agreeing with the man.

“I’m unmarried myself,” said the stranger, coming around the bar, handing a foaming mug to Erik. “Name’s Pierre Rubideaux. From Bas-Tyra.”

“Erik.” He took the mug.

“Your health,” said Pierre, hoisting his own mug.

Erik took a drink. “What brings you to Krondor?” he asked.

“Business. In particular, we’re looking to set up some trading with the Far Coast through the port.”

Erik smiled. “You’ll be wanting to talk to a friend of mine, I think.”

“Who’s that?” asked Rubideaux.

“Rupert Avery. Owns the Bitter Sea Company. You trade in Krondor, you do business with either Roo or Jacob Esterbrook. If you’re talking about Kesh, that’s Esterbrook. If you’re talking the Far Coast, that’s Roo.” Erik took another long drink from his mug. Something slightly bitter lingered after the ale, and he frowned. He didn’t remember his first mug being off.

“As a fact, I am looking for Rupert Avery,” said the man.

The other man stood, nodding to Pierre. “It’s time,” he said. “We must leave.”

“Well, Erik von Darkmoor, it’s been more of a pleasure than you know.”

Erik started to say good-bye, then frowned. “I never told you my full name—” he began. Suddenly a pain ripped through his stomach, as if someone had plunged a fiery knife in his gut. He reached out and grabbed the stranger by his tunic front.

As if removing the grip of a baby, the man pulled Erik’s hands away. “You’ve got only a few more minutes, Erik, but they’ll be long ones; trust me.”

Erik felt the strength drain from his legs as he attempted to step forward. The blood pounded in his temples and darkness began to close around his field of vision. He was dully aware of Kitty reentering the inn. Her voice sounded distant and he couldn’t understand most of what she was saying, but he heard a man shout, “Take them!”

Then he was looking upward through a tunnel of light as darkness moved in from all sides. His body was afire with pain as if each joint was swelling inside him. Hot spikes of agony traveled up and down his arms and legs, and his heart pounded faster
and faster as if trying to erupt from his chest. Perspiration ran from his face and drenched his body as Erik felt his muscles tighten, disobeying his command to let him stand. As Kitty’s face appeared at the end of the tunnel of his vision, he attempted to speak her name, but his tongue wouldn’t work and the pain made it almost impossible to breathe.

The last thing he heard as darkness overtook him was a single word: “Poison.”

“He’ll live,” said the voice as Erik found himself regaining consciousness.

Pain exploded behind his eyes as he opened them, causing him to groan. The sound of his own voice caused the pain to redouble, and he bit back a second groan. His body ached and his joints were burning.

“Erik?” came a woman’s voice, and Erik attempted to find the source. Strange blurry shapes hovered at the edge of his vision, and he couldn’t make his eyes obey his will, so he shut them.

Another voice, Roo’s, said, “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” Erik managed to croak.

Someone put a damp cloth on his lips and Erik licked them. The moisture seemed to help, so he sucked on the cloth. Then someone held a cup of water to his lips, while someone else held his head so he could drink.

“Just a sip,” said the woman’s voice.

Erik sipped, and while his throat hurt worse than he ever remembered, he forced himself to swallow. In a few seconds the returning moisture to his mouth and throat eased the discomfort.

Erik blinked as he realized he was in a bed. Hovering over him were Kitty, Duke James, Roo,
and Calis. Another figure was barely visible at the periphery of his vision.

“What happened?” asked Erik, his voice still hoarse.

“You were poisoned,” said Roo.

“Poisoned?” he asked.

Nodding, Duke James said, “Henri Dubois. He’s a poisoner from Bas-Tyra. I’ve run afoul of his handiwork before in Rillanon. I didn’t expect to see him this far west.”

Glancing around, Erik assumed he was in a back room at the inn, a priest of an order he didn’t recognize standing behind the others.

“Why?” asked Erik. Assuming no one in the room was ignorant of the coming invasion, he still didn’t want to betray anything Lord James wanted kept secret.

“Nothing to do with the coming troubles,” said Calis. He glanced pointedly at the priest, which Erik took to mean the man was not fully trusted.

“A personal matter,” suggested Lord James.

Erik wasn’t sure what he meant, for a moment, then realization struck. “Mathilda,” he whispered. He sank back into the bed. His father’s widow, mother to his murdered half brother, who had vowed revenge on Erik and Roo, had sent someone to see the matter disposed of.

“They were coming after Roo next,” said Erik.

“That’s logical,” said James.

“Who was the other man, the quiet one?” asked Erik as James helped him to sit upright. Nausea struck him, his head rang, and his eyes watered, but he stayed conscious.

“We don’t know,” answered Calis. “He got out of the inn while we were subduing Dubois.”

“You captured him?” asked Erik.

“Yes,” answered James. “Last night.” He indicated Kitty. “When she left the inn to fetch some of my agents, then returned to find you on the floor, she surmised at once what was going on. She hurried down to the nearest temple and brought a priest to heal you.”

“Half dragged, you mean,” said the nameless priest.

James smiled. “My men took Dubois to the palace and we questioned him all night. We’re certain the late Baron of Darkmoor’s widow sent him after you.” James raised one eyebrow and motioned with his head toward the cleric.

Erik said nothing. He knew the Lady Gamina, James’s wife, could read minds, which was why they were certain who had sent the assassin. No confession was needed.

The priest said, “I think you should rest. The magic that cleansed your body of the poison didn’t reverse the damage already done you. You will need at least a week of bed rest and a bland diet.”

“Thank you, Father . . . ? ” began Erik.

“Father Andrew,” answered the priest. He nodded once to the Duke and left without further comment.

Erik said, “That’s an odd priest. I don’t recognize his regalia.”

“I would find it strange if you did, Erik,” answered the Duke as he moved toward the door. “Andrew is a priest of the order of Ban-ath. Their shrine is the closest to this inn.”

The god of thieves was not one commonly worshipped by most citizens. There were two holidays when small votive offerings were made to protect the
home, as an appeasement, but mostly those who frequented the temple were on the dodgy path, as it was called. It was rumored the Mockers’ Guild sent a tithe to the temple each year.

James said, “I’m going to leave you now. You stay here a couple of days, then you’ve got to get that happy little band of cutthroats we’ve recruited for you up into the mountains and teach them what they need to know.”

Erik glanced around. “Where is here?”

“My room,” said Kitty.

“No,” said Erik, trying to rise. He almost fainted from the effort. “Give me a little while to catch my breath and I’ll get back to the palace.”

Calis turned to leave. “Stay here.”

“I’ve slept with worse company,” said Kitty. “I won’t mind a pallet on the floor.”

Erik tried to protest, but fatigue was making it hard to keep his eyes open.

He heard Calis say something to Kitty, but couldn’t remember what it was. During the night, chills racked his body for a few minutes, until a warm body slipped into bed with him and he felt reassuring arms encircle his waist. But when he awoke in the morning he was alone.

Erik rode in silence. His strength was slowly returning after a few days in bed, and a week in the saddle. Since leaving Krondor he had left it to Alfred to bully the men, doing little more than give instructions to Alfred and another corporal named Nolan. He had inspected fortifications only once or twice. Jadow and the other sergeants had done their work in Krondor. The men were adept at using the ancient
Keshian Legion techniques for making camp each night. Within an hour of the order being given, a tiny fortress was in place, with breastworks, defensive stakes, and removable planks used to get in and out.

Erik was getting to know these men, though he still couldn’t remember every name. He knew many of them would die in the coming war. But Calis and William were doing a nearly perfect job of picking the right men for these special companies. The men before him were tough and self-reliant and, Erik suspected, would be able to live by their own wits for months up in these mountains if the situation required, once they had learned the particulars of mountain living.

Erik considered all the things he knew from living in Ravensburg: the tricks the wind played with sound, the threat of a sudden storm being felt before it was seen, and the dangers of being exposed to such a storm. He had seen more than one traveler dead from spending the night in the cold, only miles from the inn where Erik had grown up.

The wind from the north was cold, for winter was coming quickly. Erik realized that was why he was thinking of the trader they had found when he was ten; the man had tried to shelter under a tree, with his cloak wrapped around him, but in the night the wind had sucked the warmth from his body and killed him as if he had been encased in ice.

They were making their way along a small mountain trail, used for the most part by hunters and a few shepherds, one which ran roughly the same course as the King’s Highway from Krondor to Ylith, but which veered to the northeast about fifty miles from the Prince’s city. Several little hamlets dotted the way
up to another fork, where the road turned west again, eventually leading to Hawk’s Hollow and Questor’s View, while a smaller trail led to the northeast, toward the Teeth of the World and the Dimwood. In the foothills of those great mountains and in the various meadows, valleys, and stretches of the forests existed some of the most dangerous and unknown territory within the boundaries of the Kingdom.

Fate had conspired to keep Kingdom citizens out of those areas, for there were no natural trade routes, little desirable farmland, and few mineral riches to lure men there. Erik had decided, without asking anyone, to take his trainees farther on this march than ever before. He had an instinct that the more the Kingdom knew of the north, the less likely they would be to have unwelcome surprises when the Emerald Queen’s army came.

As if reading his mind, Alfred rode up next to him and said, “Bit far to go for drilling, isn’t it, Erik?”

Erik nodded. He pointed to a pass off in the distance. “Send a squad to scout out that rise so we don’t find a band of Dark Brothers marching over it unexpectedly, and look for tonight’s camp.” He glanced around, then said softly, “Hunting parties tomorrow. Let’s see who knows how to find his own dinner.”

Alfred shivered. “This is a cold place to camp.”

“The farther north we go, the colder it gets.”

Alfred sighed. “Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“Besides,” said Erik, “we’re almost where I want to be.”

“And would you be in the mood to share that tidbit, Sergeant Major?” asked Alfred.

“No,” said Erik.

Corporal Alfred rode off, and Erik suppressed a smile. The old Corporal had served in the garrison at Darkmoor, for Erik’s father, for fifteen years before they met. He was a full twenty years older than Erik’s twenty-two. He had also been an early convert of Erik’s, having been one of the first picked to accompany the levy of men Erik’s half brother sent to the Prince, and he was one of the few survivors of that journey.

Erik had been forced by circumstance to physically beat Alfred three times, the first when Alfred had sighted Erik in an inn in the town of Wilhelmsburg and Alfred had attempted to arrest Erik. The second time had been during his first week of training under Erik and Jadow Shati; and the third, when he had gotten too sure of himself and thought he could finally best the young sergeant. Then they had voyaged to the far continent, Novindus, and from there they had returned, two of the five men who survived that expedition. Now Erik trusted the man with his life and knew Alfred felt the same way about him.

Erik considered that odd forged bond of soldiers, men who otherwise might have no use for one another but who after serving together, facing death together, felt like brothers. Then, thinking of brothers, he wondered if James would be able to convince Erik’s half brother’s mother to cease her attempts to kill him. Erik considered that if anyone could do so, it would be Lord James.