The Demon King

by Cinda Williams Chima

  He was likely to fail at that, as well. There was no chance he’d get anywhere near his real enemies, the ones that pulled the strings. At most, a few bodyguards and servants would die.

  Willo held long meetings with the elders in the Visitors’ Lodge late at night, which was surprising, because such meetings were usually held in the Matriarch Lodge. Maybe, he thought, they didn’t want him and Dancer to be privy to their deliberations.

  He could stay with Willo and study healing, make a little money as an apprentice, and see Bird now and then when she traveled to Marisa Pines. If, after a year, he wanted to leave, he’d put the money he’d saved toward the warrior school at Oden’s Ford. It was that or back to the streets. Either way he was unlikely to have to worry about growing old.

  Finally, one sultry night when Dancer was within a week of leaving, Willo called a meeting at the Matriarch Lodge.

  Han and Bird came from their hideout by the river, where they’d spent the afternoon before sluicing off the hot stickiness of the day. He’d pulled on clan leggings Willo had made for him and a summer shirt of cotton. Bird had left off her warrior garb for once. She wore an embroidered deerskin vest with no shirt underneath and full trader skirts. She’d laced a beaded anklet Han had given her around her right ankle, and Han couldn’t help staring at her tanned and muscled legs as they flashed beneath her brightly colored skirts. He looked down at himself, wondering if she noticed him the way he noticed her.

  When Han and Bird entered the lodge, he was surprised to see it was packed full of people, many of them unfamiliar. The clans were great for holding councils. He and Bird found a seat on a bench by the door and sat, hands clasped, hips squeezed tightly together. Han was pleased she chose to sit with him rather than huddle next to the fire with the other Demonai warriors.

  Willo opened the meeting. “Thank you for coming, to our Marisa Pines brethren as well as those who’ve journeyed from Demonai, Rissa, and Escarpment camps.”

  Han and Bird had been whispering together, but Han looked up, startled, at Willo’s words. This must be an important meeting for the Rissa and Escarpment camps to have sent representatives.

  “Please share our fire and all we have,” Willo said. There was a murmur of greeting from the visitors from other camps.

  Han spotted Lord Averill and Elena Demonai standing behind Willo. Once again, Han wondered if Averill would remember him from the incident at Southbridge Temple. And, indeed, Averill’s eyes lingered on Han for a long moment of appraisal.

  But this night Averill had other things on his mind.

  “Lord Demonai has brought news from the Vale,” Willo said.

  Lord Demonai looked around the circle, and the buzz of conversation died away. The patriarch looked older and wearier than when Han had last seen him. He also looked as if he’d been in a fight, which seemed so out of character, Han couldn’t help paying attention.

  “I bring troubling news, as Willo has said,” Lord Demonai said. “The power of the High Wizard grows stronger by the day. Lord Bayar exerts tremendous influence over the queen. So much so, in fact, that Queen Marianna means to marry our daughter, Raisa, the princess heir, to Bayar’s son, the wizardling Micah Bayar.”

  This was greeted by a clamor of protest and cries of alarm and disbelief.

  Beside Han, Bird stiffened and leaned forward, the light from the torches gilding the hard planes of her face. “That cannot happen,” she whispered.

  They deserve each other, Han thought.

  “I accept the blame for this,” Lord Demonai went on. “I must confess, I did not see it coming. In fact, Captain Byrne and I were attacked and nearly murdered on our way back from Chalk Cliffs on Raisa ana’Marianna’s name day.”

  This was met by another storm of disapproval. Han glanced over at the Demonai warriors. They did not shout and demonstrate with the others, but stood silent and alert and looked more dangerous because of it.

  “I cannot believe Her Majesty approved our murders,” Lord Demonai said wryly. “Yet we must not underestimate Lord Bayar’s potential for treachery. They intended to marry the princess heir and young Bayar on her name day, while Captain Byrne and I were—ah—otherwise occupied.” He paused, then added, “Fortunately, Princess Raisa has escaped into exile.”

  Han heard shouts of “Thank the Maker!” and “Where is she?” and “Our daughter Raisa should take refuge here, with her family, within the highland camps.”

  At this point Elena Demonai stepped forward, her aged face etched with new lines of worry. “My granddaughter is safe for now. We believe it best if she does not stay here with us, but in some more neutral place outside the realm. To hold the princess here, against the queen’s wishes, would be too great a provocation. We hope that there is still a chance to save Marianna. I do not wish to go to war against her.”

  The Demonai warriors, Bird included, looked to be more than willing to go to war with the queen. One thing they could agree on. Han despised them all—the queen, the wizards, and the Princess Heir. It was the Queen’s Guard that had burned the stable down, and Mam and Mari with it— likely on orders from the High Wizard. They could all go to the Breaker as far as he was concerned.

  “We must, however, be realistic and prepare for what we would rather avoid,” Elena said. “If they’ve found a way to break the magical binding between the High Wizard and the queen, it’s likely that the Bayars hold some magical weapons that were made before the Breaking. We don’t know if they have held them all along or if they recently acquired them.”

  Feeling a prickle of unease, Han leaned aside to Bird and asked, “Why is that important?”

  “The clan still makes the amulets that are necessary to channel magic,” she said. “But these days they have a limited life span. They must be renewed or replaced by a clan master or matriarch. That gives us some control over the Wizard Council. The amulets made before the Breaking were extremely powerful. Once given, they cannot be taken back. It was a condition of the Naéming that all such pieces be returned to the clan.”

  Han thought of the amulet hidden beneath his sleeping bench. Could that be one of those special amulets? Was that why the Bayars were so anxious to get it back?

  He should have thrown it into the ravine, as Dancer had suggested the day they’d found it.

  “For now,” Averill said, “we are asking all clan traders to observe a moratorium on trade in amulets, talismans, and other magical pieces. We cannot allow the Wizard Council to collect a greater armory than they have already.” He massaged his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I know that this will be a hardship on many of us who rely on that trade.”

  “The Wizard Council will see this as a provocation,” Bird whispered to Han. “Especially with the war in the south going on. They’ll say that they need a steady supply of amulets to train their young and defend the Fells against the southerners. If wizards convince the queen this is true, what will happen to clansfolk working or trading in the city?”

  There was more discussion of safeguards against possible violence in the Vale and alternatives to the markets for those who relied on trade for their income.

  “I will continue to work from the inside, at court, to exert whatever influence I can to turn them from this path,” Averill said.

  “I’m worried about you, Averill,” Willo said. “There’s already been one attempt on your life.”

  The trader shrugged. “Life is as long or short as it is,” he said. “The Maker will call me when he is ready.”

  “If we could just persuade Marianna to come to Marisa Pines, we might be able to cleanse her of whatever magical charm has been laid on her,” Willo said.

  “She’s unlikely to be persuaded with Bayar whispering in her ear,” Elena said sourly.

  Reid Demonai spoke for the first time. “We could seize the queen,” he said, “and bring her here ourselves.” His gang of warriors murmured approval.

  Reid looked around the lodge as if assessing the backbone of his audience, then
added, “Should anything happen to Marianna, we could crown the princess heir.”

  “No, Reid,” Elena said. “We are not queenmakers. Marianna ana’Rissa is the blooded queen of the Fells and the descendant of Hanalea. Any attack on her will bring nothing but misfortune to us.”

  Reid shrugged, but Han could tell he hadn’t let go of the idea.

  The council came to an end, and the attendees drifted out, talking in twos and threes. Han knew all the guesthouses and fire circles would be crowded with people talking long into the night. Conscious of their dwindling hours together, Han leaned close to Bird and whispered, “Let’s go back down by the river.”

  But Willo put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. He hadn’t heard her approach. “Stay a while, Hunts Alone. We need to speak with you.”

  “All right,” he said, wondering, Who’s “we”?

  Bird stood, and Han said, “Can Bird stay?” Willo shook her head.

  Perplexed and a little annoyed, Han said to Bird, “Wait outside, will you? This shouldn’t take too long.”

  “I won’t wait forever, Hunts Bird,” Bird said, grinning at him. She swept out in a swish of skirts.

  After everyone exited, Averill, Elena, Dancer, and Willo remained, all sitting around the hearth. Dancer looked as bewildered as Han.

  Han began to feel apprehensive. Willo’s expression had bad news all over it. He didn’t know Averill and Elena very well, and he’d always been a little afraid of them. Maybe Willo was going to withdraw her offer to train him in healing. Or the elders were going to banish him because he’d continued to see Bird in defiance of Willo’s warning. Maybe Averill wanted to ask questions about the girlie he’d kidnapped at Southbridge Temple a lifetime ago. Or they could have found out about the amulet hidden under his sleeping bench.

  Too many possibilities, all of them bad.

  Just then the door to the lodge opened and Lucius Frowsley came in, which was possibly the most surprising thing that could have happened. Lucius traded with the clan, but Han had never seen him in any of their camps before.

  The old man looked less derelict than usual. Although his breeches and shirt were worn, they were clean and finely made, and he’d made some attempt to put his hair and beard into order. His filmy eyes were clearer than usual, and he leaned on an elaborately carved walking stick. Han could have sworn he was sober.

  That was frightening in itself.

  Han rose from his bench. “Lucius? What are you doing here?”

  “You’ll see soon enough, boy,” Lucius said. The old man seemed almost smug. Han took his arm and led him to one of the benches. Lucius sat down with the others.

  Willo rose and stood at the center of the half-circle. She was obviously in charge of this rough assembly.

  “Hunts Alone, I want to begin by asking your forgiveness,” Willo said.

  Han stared at her for a long moment, temporarily speechless. “Why? What for? If you’re talking about Mam and Mari, that wasn’t your fault.”

  “In a way it was,” Willo said, looking away from him and lacing her fingers together nervously. That was unlike her, because usually she was very straightforward. She just seemed to be having trouble spitting this story out.

  “No,” he said. “It was my fault. I was the one who brought the Guard down on them. I should’ve just stayed away.” He didn’t mention the amulet. Dancer knew about it, and Lucius did, but neither of them knew what had happened after, or that he still had it.

  Han was ashamed he’d kept it, ashamed he’d tried to sell it. That was the story he had trouble telling.

  “We’ve kept a secret from you all this time,” Willo said. “For many reasons. Partly to protect you. Mostly to protect everyone else. But now, for many reasons, we’ve decided to tell you the truth.”

  Han said nothing, but sat and waited, his heart flapping in his chest like a trout stranded on the riverbank.

  Willo rose and handed Han a jug of tea and a cup. He gazed at them stupidly, then looked up at Willo.

  “Have some,” she said. “It will calm you.”

  So he needed calming, did he, before he heard this news? He poured, then cautiously sipped the muddy brew. The fragrance was familiar, though he’d never tasted it before.

  Rowan. Protection against magic and hexes. Did they think he’d been hexed by somebody? Were they worried about the jinx Lord Bayar had used on him? He looked up at Willo in surprise, but again, she avoided his gaze.

  Han swallowed down more tea. Perhaps rowan had soothing properties he’d never heard of. Plants were like that. They had multiple uses.

  To Han’s surprise, it was Lucius who spoke. “Boy, you remember that story I told you down by the creek? About Hanalea and Alger Waterlow? The one you didn’t like?”

  Han nodded, then remembering Lucius couldn’t see him, said, “Yes.”

  “Well, it was true. Every bit of it. What I didn’t tell you was that when Waterlow died, Hanalea was with child. Twins, in fact.”

  “What?” This was utterly contrary to all of the old stories. Hanalea was practically a saint. The savior of her people. Somehow all the legends skipped over what might have happened between Hanalea and the demon after he’d stolen her away. “I never heard that,” he said.

  “Not many knew. After Waterlow was killed, everyone was caught up in the Breaking, trying to save the world, and like that. After Hanalea negotiated the Naéming, she went into seclusion. Wasn’t nobody going to bother her after all she’d been through. She married, then, quietly, and had the babies—a boy and a girl. Everyone assumed they were issue of the marriage.”

  Lucius’s face slumped into a fleshy puddle of pain. “They were her only children. It was as if she refused to have any but Waterlow’s. Their daughter, Alyssa, established the new line of queens. Fortunately, she displayed no sign of wizardry, though it is said the gift of prophecy that runs in Hanalea’s line may come from Waterlow.”

  “You’re saying the line of queens descends from the blood of the Demon King?” Han whispered.

  “It does,” Elena said, almost defensively. “His blood may be tainted, but the pure blood of Hanalea is much stronger.” She paused, biting her lower lip. “We had no choice. Alyssa was her only issue. Since then, the demon’s blood has been diluted many times.”

  Well. No wonder that story was kept quiet. If it was true. The dynasty of queens was founded on a lie.

  “What about the boy?” Han asked.

  Lucius laughed softly. “The boy was a problem, because there was no doubt he was gifted. Word went out to the few who knew about it that the baby died shortly after birth and was buried in an unmarked grave. But I happen to know that the baby lived.”

  “Why would they let it live?” Han asked. After everything the demon had done, weren’t they worried that the son would go bad too?

  “The Demonai warriors meant to kill him. They handed him to a clan matriarch and told her to drop him off a high cliff. It was seen as a great honor for the matriarch, at the time.”

  Instinctively, Han glanced at Elena. She was leaning forward, her face set in hard, defiant lines.

  Lucius turned back toward Han as if he could sense his location in the room. “But Hanalea intervened. Dressed as a trader, she came to the matriarch and offered a trade. She offered to give up her child forever in exchange for sparing his life.”

  An image suddenly came to Han—of a marble statue in the Southbridge Temple garden. It was an old piece, worn down by weather. Jemson said it was made around the time of the Breaking, and had been carried there from somewhere else. It was an image of Hanalea in trader garb—an unusual presentation. The warrior queen cradled a baby in one arm and wielded a sword in the other, fending off an unseen attacker. It was called, Hanalea Defending the Children. It never occurred to Han that the scene was more than symbolic, that it might depict a real event.

  Lucius continued his story. “The clan couldn’t say no to Hanalea, especially after all she’d done, all she’d been through.
Yet the matriarch did not wish to turn the boy loose in the world, to grow up unsupervised. So a very small, very secret council was convened to determine what to do.”

  Thoughts swirled through Han’s head. Here it was, another story that contradicted everything he’d heard before. Who knew what to believe anymore? He looked at Dancer to assess his reaction. His friend sat, transfixed, absently toying with the fringes on his leggings. Dancer had never heard Lucius tell a story, had never seen how he could draw a person in.

  “How do you know all this?” Han asked, meaning, Where’d you get this story? Did you find it at the bottom of a bottle of product?

  “I was the one that married Hanalea after Alger died,” Lucius said.

  “You?” Han said it louder than he intended. He looked around the circle and saw the truth in every face, as if he and Dancer were the only ones not in on this particular secret.

  This old man who bathed once a month at best had been married to a queen? And not just a queen, the queen who’d saved the world. A legendary beauty preserved in countless statues, etchings, and paintings.

  “That’s impossible,” Han said flatly. “No offense, Lucius, but, I mean, come on—you’d be a thousand years old.”

  “Aye, I am over a thousant, though I quit counting a long time ago,” Lucius said, smiling, revealing his intermittent teeth. “Look at me close, and you’ll see the mark of every one of those years. I was a wizard once. Alger Waterlow’s best friend. I was blinded in the Breaking, and my gift was burned right out of me.”

  His voice changed, and he sounded like a blueblood. “The council that wrote the Naéming chose me to carry the memory of those times, to remind Hanalea of it, in case her memory faded. I was cursed with the truth and the compulsion to tell it. That’s what keeps me alive. This way, no matter how much everyone wants to forget, there’s someone who remembers everything, clear as if it were yesterday.”

  Han couldn’t help thinking that he wouldn’t choose a scruffy old drunk for the job, if it was that important. Well spoken or not, who’d listen to him?