Demon Blade

by Mark A. Garland

  Hoke turned his mount and rode back to find the others. Lady Anna met him near the wall. Mauro and Umblic were still with her as personal escorts, all on horseback. She looked on with apparent satisfaction.

  "A shame you are too old for all of this, isn't it?" she said coyly.

  "I am too old," Hoke replied. "I am simply too foolish to refuse the likes of you."

  "I thought you listened to me because you'd grown wise with your years."

  "Is that what it is?"

  "I assure you."

  Hoke shook his head, then the two of them started back into the city. When they had gotten only a few yards, Hoke looked up to find a Bouren soldier riding toward him at a full gallop. The man drew up just in front of Hoke and Anna, breathless. "Lord Ivran said to bring you at once!" the rider exclaimed.

  "What has happened?" Hoke demanded, already beginning to follow the man.

  "My lord will explain."

  He glanced at Anna, an unspoken invitation, then kicked his mount into a gallop again. She followed in kind, with Mauro and Umblic trailing. They rushed through squares and down a brief maze of streets, passing many of their own men and a few captured guards, and townsfolk who had already begun to come out of their homes and shops and halls, until they reached a particularly narrow way. Here they came to a sudden stop.

  Lord Jurdef Ivran stood in the street, a strange, pleased look on his face. "My son, Jaran," he said, grinning then, and he put his arm around a young man who could only have been his own. Behind the prince a very large man stood worrying over those grouped about him—already, their appearances had begun to change.

  Hoke sat absolutely still, unable just then to say or do anything as he looked down at the people in the street before him. Anna, however, paused just long enough to gasp. Then she jumped down from her horse and rushed ahead to throw her arms around another who ran to meet her, calling the other's name as she did: "Madia!"

  * * *

  Dinner was the work of guild merchants and city officials, all of whom seemed altogether grateful to the men who had, at least for now, freed Kopeth's markets. On their way to the town hall, Frost had passed through the same market square he had seen earlier, this time to find nearly all of the occasional rich, overflowing stalls being emptied out, and the merchants who had tended them conspicuously absent. Many of the smaller booths seemed to have gained from other merchants' losses.

  He stopped here and there, and the merchants had made offers of gifts to Madia and Anna, then included Sharryl as well, though they seemed less certain of what to offer her.

  As they strolled further, the town's gentry met them along the way, bowing to Madia, making introductions. Just minding their business, Frost knew, as were the merchants and the city's fathers, though Madia seemed to sense this well enough on her own. Dinner had followed.

  Madia said little during the meal, letting squires and nobles, merchants and town officials fill her ears as well as those of their other guests with tales of the past year, the hardships they had suffered, the oppression, the fear of Lord Ferris they each still harbored. The mayor, a balding, rather troubled man, with thick face and hands, and dressed to indicate an even thicker purse, lent many of the most woeful accounts himself.

  "My own brother!" he whined. "Cast out of his shop because of 'owed taxes'—none of which he owed, I can assure you! They simply wanted his shop closed. He sold silks, you see, and so did the new shop the soldiers helped set up."

  "And what has each of you done about all this?" Madia asked at last, looking around the great table, finding each man one by one. No replies were forthcoming.

  "What, then, do you plan to do now?" she pressed. Though again, no one spoke.

  Frost noticed the northern lords discreetly calling his attention, a signal that he was to speak their minds for them. He and Madia had talked with Hoke and the great Lords at length about allegiance—though this seemed a hopelessly mired subject at present—and about Kopeth, but only briefly had they discussed details of what would come tomorrow, or the day after. Still, it seemed there was a feeling of general agreement, a basic premise that did not require much debate. This was what the others wanted Frost to tell the people of Kopeth. He nodded, then leaned to whisper a word in Madia's ear. Madia listened, and quickly nodded.

  "Then you will give supplies to the great army that has saved you this day, so that we may ride on to Kamrit," Frost said, "to reclaim the throne."

  "If we are successful," Madia told them, "you will have nothing to fear from the throne of Kamrit, and all Ariman will long remember the generosity of the citizens of Kopeth."

  There was a momentary pause as the men in question looked to each other. Then in unison, all around the table, glasses were raised.

  "We live to serve you," the mayor replied. The servants came then, laden with trays of food, a welcome sight.

  * * *

  The meal itself was splendid, a hearty vegetable and broth soup followed by roasted pork and fresh oat bread, all doused with a plentiful supply of good red wine. By dinner's end, many wishful plans had been made, and not the slightest disagreement seemed to remain among those in attendance. But even now there was little talk of Madia's place in the scheme of things, and no true admission of her sovereignty. Madia, for her part, did not bring it up; like a hidden cave, she had found the entrance to her future but was afraid to enter.

  As talk settled into rambling chatter, Madia felt the strain of the day and the glow of the wine begin to overcome her. She leaned back and fought with what seemed an endless yawn and found Hoke looking at her as she recovered.

  "I know the innkeeper in the main square," Hoke said as the hour drew late enough. "And we'll need a place for the night. Perhaps—"

  "Of course!" the mayor said. "A fine place, it is. We will put all of you up there, and as many of your men as we can."

  Jaran yawned then, and Madia yawned again, helpless.

  "Our men have set up camps outside the city," Hoke said. "I would stay with them. But these lords and ladies, I am sure, will find the inn a comfort."

  "My Subartans and I look forward to it," Frost replied. "We have not slept indoors in weeks."

  "Walk with us," the mayor asked them, getting to his feet, then leading the way. "We'll go at once." Madia watched Frost gather with Grish and Marrn, the first time she had seen him truly speak to the two court wizards from the northern fiefs, and she wondered how he viewed them, whether he already knew them. Both men seemed sincere and competent, and their lords, Dorree and Bennor, apparently had every confidence in them, but Madia had seen court wizards in her youth, at Kamrit and neighboring manors. None compared to Frost.

  They must know that, she thought, as must he.

  As they entered the street, Madia found Jaran striding beside her. He waited until she looked at him.

  "We must talk, you and I."

  "Of what?"

  "I know my father and the other lords much better than anyone in Ariman. If you plan to ask for their allegiance, you must first tell them what you expect, and what they can expect from you. And you must listen to what they have to say. No one knows you, or exactly what you want. Except myself, of course."

  "You?"

  Jaran nodded.

  "Then you tell me what I want."

  "You have decided to rule as your father did, of course, at least lately you have. And I think you are nothing like the Madia Andarys these others have in their minds; if you were, I would not have come with you this far, nor would Frost, for he follows you as much as you follow him.

  "But I would tell you that your father was the much-praised and long-respected son of Hual Andarys, and a man of great strength and honor. He maintained the peace with ease. The same is not true of his daughter, and might never be. To most you are but a young girl, untested, unknown. . . . "

  "I know," Madia said, shuddering as she did.

  "They talk, Madia. They see you in an . . . unfavorable light."

  "I have heard enough
, thank you."

  Jaran shook his head. "I simply meant—"

  "You needn't say."

  Directly they turned a corner and the inn stood before them, and they were ushered inside. The mayor took prompt care of the arrangements, and in a moment they were being led upstairs to their rooms. Jaran was let into one of the first doors they came to. He paused and looked at Madia as he entered, a different look, Madia noticed, difficult to read—bearing a touch of concern, perhaps, or quiet despair. She walked on, entering her own room, then fell on the bed and lay there awhile, letting her thoughts spin in her mind. Fatigue nagged at every muscle, but she could not sleep.

  Damn him, she fumed at last, seeing no sense to leaving things so unfinished yet again. She had to know where she stood, no matter what. She got up and headed out into the hall. She tried the door and found that it was unlocked, so she pushed it open and stood staring at Jaran, who seemed to have nearly completed the task of getting undressed for bed.

  "All right," she said, "unfavorable how, exactly?"

  Jaran pulled his trousers back on, then paused to tie them before speaking. "Very well," he said. "You are known to these men as an irresponsible tart, a girl without respect for her own heritage and therefore the heritage of others. They have been told differently by Hoke and Anna, and they have spoken with you enough to know that there is some truth to what your friends say, but there remains much doubt in their minds. If they are ever to pay even symbolic homage to you, they must be shown good reason to do so."

  "And you say you do not agree with the other lords?" Madia asked, looking at him differently now, unable to ignore him physically, even though she wanted to resist the idea. He was making sense, and being honest, like the Prince he had been raised to be. . . .

  "I know a different Madia."

  "Truly?" She kept her expression still.

  He crossed the room toward her slowly, until finally he stood very close, his stockinged toes nearly touching the tips of her boots. "You may just do," he said, "in desperate times."

  Madia barely smiled as Prince Jaran leaned closer. She stood fast, feeling an urge to close her eyes; she kept them open, waiting for Jaran to make his intentions clear. Then she watched a smile spread across his face, and hers broadened. He kept still, apparently sensing the moment exactly as she did. For a long time they simply looked into each other's eyes.

  "Good night," he said then, softly, rocking back a bit.

  "In the morning," Madia replied, softer still. She turned and started up the hall, heard him gently closed the door behind her. For many things, she thought, there would come a time.

  * * *

  Madia could feel the eyes of the great lords keenly upon her as she and Lady Anna walked out into the late morning sun. When she reached her mount, she glanced up at the others. Yes, she saw, it is as Jaran said. The others looked away as her gaze found them, but they had been watching her, she knew, considering her, passing judgment on her—talking about her when she was not there.

  They would see what they wanted, think as they had always thought, say whatever pleased them no matter what she said or did. At least, for a while they would. She needed to erase what had been and convince them of who she was now, of what could be, or she would never be a Queen in their eyes. She simply didn't know how.

  But as she mounted her horse, she noticed not only the lords but everyone else looking at her: Hoke and Mauro and Umblic, Frost and Rosivok and Sharryl, a dozen captains that stood before their ready forces, and nearly eight hundred fighting men, those from the northern fiefs as well as the militia they had attracted in Kopeth. Waiting for her, she saw, for me. . . .

  And for the first time in her life, she felt the full weight of her heritage touch her shoulders. She had been so caught up in redefining herself and struggling to reach her goals that she had never stopped to think about what it would be like to obtain them, what her life would be like afterward.

  She looked about again as she settled atop her mount. So many eyes, and these only the first, she thought. So many people, all of them wondering who I am. Yet even now, or perhaps especially now, she felt a fleeting urge to count herself among them.

  "The higher ground west of the river will be our best route," Hoke recommended to all. "There are many open fields where an army might find easy passage."

  "I agree," Jaran said. "The road from Kopeth is a better one, but it is still too narrow, and we would be too vulnerable in so predictable a line."

  "Aye," Dorree agreed. "We've stayed to the fields so far. And so good."

  Madia watched as everyone chimed agreement, noting that now none of the nobleman seemed to be looking to her anymore, except Jaran, whose eyes seemed never to stray too far. His expression was almost too understanding. She said nothing, waiting while the conversation around her found its own end, then she solemnly followed the great lords as they turned and called to their captains to march.

  A great enthusiasm filled the air as the armies spread out, loosening ranks, cavalry and footmen finding their way across the road and into the fields and woods. Villagers at work in the countryside along the way waved and some even cheered, and many were quick to offer a share of their noontime ale. And a string of local land barons turned out to greet the passing army, to offer supplies and even a few men-at-arms, and to stare at the young princess. . . .

  Madia found many of the peasants she encountered aware of who she was, rumors having spread ahead of the march. And for the first time since leaving home, the people of Ariman bowed in her presence. Few said anything to her, and many seemed more curious than genuine in their attention, a curiosity of scandal and power, of course, but she did not mind the attention even so.

  Still, these waiting friends meant that Kamrit would know of their approach long before they reached the city, that the beast that was Lord Ferris would have ample time to prepare his defenses. There had not been nearly enough talk of battle plans. The collective forces of the great fiefs had been unstoppable, and certainly blessed by the Greater Gods in their quest thus far. Decisions made on the spur of the moment had produced perfectly good results. These blessings, Madia thought, might not be enough in the battle that lay ahead. She maneuvered her horse close to Hoke's, near the front of the march, and told him of her concerns.

  "You are right, of course," he said. "Tonight, when we make camp, we must discuss our plans."

  "What have the others said?" she asked, sitting back in the saddle as the horses trudged up a long, low rise. "You must know something of their desires. Surely they do not expect to ride up to Kamrit's main gates and ask for the head of Lord Ferris."

  "No, but you are not far off. They are buoyed by the magic of Frost and his Demon Blade, and by our quick successes. They feel that straightforward assault will work. They may be right."

  "You were not there when Frost faced Lord Ferris the first time. I fear these men will die, most of them, Blade or no." The horses were slowing, finally reaching the top of the rise. "We may all die."

  "I'm sure each of them knows that."

  "But this must not be a sacrifice. I—"

  "Madia!" Hoke yelled suddenly as he thrust an arm out in front of her. She reigned her horse to a stop beside his at the crest of the hill. The others riding the point had stopped as well. Out ahead lay a wide cultivated basin—ponds near its center, small clumps of trees, many acres of barley and beans and hay and grazing pastures. Beyond the valley lay another row of low, rolling hills covered mostly by forest on either side but cleared along a wide piece of the ridge straight across the way. There, atop the ridge, stood a waiting army of several thousand men.

  Chapter XXIV

  "There are so many," Madia whispered, mesmerized. "They do not move," Hoke said, shading his eyes with one hand.

  "They wait," Lord Ivran agreed. "They must have learned of our approach."

  "Could they have come from Kamrit so quickly?" Lord Dorree asked, moving near. "Would Lord Ferris be with them?"

  "No
one else could mount such a force," Lord Bennor said, a bleak endorsement. "There must be three thousand of them."

  "But why would Ferris assemble such a force and bring them so far north, if not to go to war with all of us?" Jurdef Ivran mused, examining the lines more carefully. "There was not time to mount a response like this; it must have already been planned. I would have called every man in the countryside had I known!"

  "Very well, what should we do?" Bennor asked, looking particularly afflicted. There was no immediate reply. Madia studied the other lords now gathered tightly about, the grim looks on their faces.

  "I'll tell you the first thing we're going to do," Madia muttered. She turned in her saddle and faced back down the slope, then cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Frost!"

  A long moment passed while the sorcerer and his Subartans left the company of the two court wizards, Grish and Marrn, and made their way up to the cluster of nobles. He acknowledged Madia, then stared out across the shallow valley at the great army gathered on the other side. As he watched the far hill his mood seemed to grow very dark; Madia had never seen him so since they had fled Kamrit Castle.

  "We need a means to better the odds," Madia said. "There are far too many of them."

  "I will do what I can," Frost replied coldly, a tone that matched his features. Madia frowned at him. "I know how you feel," she said, leaning toward him, "but you must help us."

  "He is there," Frost replied, colder still.

  "Ferris? You see him?"

  "I sense him, somewhere, perhaps there among the trees, just out of the sun. He will attempt to counter anything I do."

  "And you will counter whatever he tries," Hoke said in a hopeful tone.

  Frost lowered his voice and turned to Madia. "I will do what I can, but the omens . . . " He paused, taking a breath. "The pebbles tell of certain doom, a pattern of chaos, and the wind has come round to our backs, betraying us to our enemies, and only last night as we sat near the fire, a beetle crawled across my boot, a sure sign of death."