“I’m for another mug of ale, even if it is thin and watery,” said Vered. He tossed a small pouch into the air and caught it handily. “We have enough money to live on for some time, compliments of our clumsy ambushers.”
“We were lucky. Less suspicious men would have gone directly after the horses and died in the snow.”
“Not us, friend Santon. We will live forever!”
Vered threw open the door to the inn and was catapulted back into Santon. A heavy club had caught him squarely on the top of his skull. The pair tumbled into the snow, more brigands rushing from the inn. Flat on their backs and weapons useless, they stared at certain death.
CHAPTER II
Baron Theoll looked up and down the corridor before running his nimble fingers along the wood carving of an armoured knight that graced the wall. A small click sounded and a secret passage through the thick stone walls of Castle Porotane opened for him. He darted inside, rat-quick, and pulled the panel shut behind him. His heart raced. The game he played this night was a deadly one, and the slightest mistake meant his death.
On boots with carefully padded soles, he walked gingerly along the narrow passage. Other nights he would have paused to peer through the dozens of spy holes. Theoll knew the value of intelligence and information gathering. Spying on the serving girls in their quarters often gave him insight into castle alliances and new treacheries.
But tonight he passed by such salacious pleasures. Only when he had reached a branching corridor and slipped into this musty, unused portion of the secret ways did he pause. Theoll cautiously pulled back a black piece of cloth and peered through the spy hole into Lady Anneshoria’s quarters.
The sight of her undressing did nothing to arouse his lust. Her sleek limbs had opened for too many other nobles as she methodically worked her way to power for Theoll to care about her. He needed more this night — he needed to know Anneshoria’s plan to assassinate him.
Theoll had heard rumours flitting about the castle; there were always rumours. This time, though, he had to give them credence. Anneshoria had seized equal power when he had killed Archbishop Nosto. The cleric had foolishly mixed religion and politics — and Theoll had foolishly permitted Anneshoria to share the throne as vice regent to hold back the tide of indignation rising against him.
He had made it seem that the dim-witted jester Harhar had committed the heinous crime. Anneshoria would have revealed the fool’s part and betrayed Theoll if he had not agreed to her demands.
But he no longer could keep from moving against her. For weeks they had maneuvered for total dominance of the castle. What did the demon-cursed woman plot? He had to know!
Theoll pressed his eye closer to the spy hole and moved about slowly to scan the room. Another joined Anneshoria!
“Captain Squann,” the woman said, barely loud enough for Theoll to overhear. “You do me a great honour with your presence this night.”
“Lady Anneshoria, I seek only what is best for Porotane. The division of power in the castle weakens us. If we continue to fight among ourselves, the rebels will wash over us like a foul black tide.”
“True,” the woman said. She continued to disrobe, as if the soldier were not present. “Why do you come to me? Your ties are with Theoll. He has promoted you. You are his man.”
“I am my own man,” snapped Squann. He straightened his dark blue uniform jacket and touched the row of medals pinned to his breast. Theoll watched as the captain fought for control against Anneshoria’s clever manipulation. “I seek only the best for the castle and the people of Porotane.”
“How patriotic of you,” the woman said scornfully. “No one else within these walls is so altruistic. What do you hope to gain? Would you become my consort when I depose Theoll? Ah, yes, that must be it. You like what you see now.” Anneshoria pirouetted for him, naked. “You would like me the better if I were queen, wouldn’t you, Captain?” She bore down on his rank to put him in his place.
Theoll prayed for Squann to whip out his dagger and drive it into the woman’s foul heart. That would solve all the baron’s problems. He could execute Squann as a traitor and need never reveal the reason for the noble lady’s murder.
“Question my reasons, if you will, Lady,” Squann said through clenched teeth. “I make a better ally than foe.”
“No doubt, Captain,” she said, softening her tone. She drifted to him, a lovely white speck carried across the room on a light summer’s breeze.
Her hand reached out. Squann flinched. She tensed and caught at his cheek, drawing him closer. They kissed.
For the spying baron, time stood still. He raged and yet dared not shout. His hands clenched so hard that blood formed in the palms where fingernails cut into flesh. A big vein in his temple began to throb and hundreds of plans for revenge formed.
Theoll pulled himself back from the spectacle in Anneshoria’s room. He did not wish to see them in rut. His time could be better spent consolidating his power base, finding those in the guard who hated Squann, getting promises of support from the other nobles. If he did not end this dual reign soon, the rebels would have all their heads on pikes outside the castle walls.
The diminutive baron slipped from his secret passage and into the main corridor once again. He walked quickly to his quarters, his left leg dragging slightly as old wounds made their presence felt. He massaged his arm where a sword thrust had nearly ended his life, and smiled. His disability was more feigned than real now, but he knew the value of having an enemy underestimate his prowess.
Nosto had made that mistake and he now lay in a crypt in the castle’s catacombs.
He dropped into a chair behind a table strewn with papers. Theoll shuffled through them and carefully pulled out a single sheet covered with names connected by lines. The best place to hide battle plans in the castle was in plain sight. He had merely glanced toward the wall hangings concealing a spell-locked chest. Anneshoria’s wizard was as adept as any Theoll could find. Small indications showed that the ward spells had been breached.
That mattered little. Theoll knew how to keep his secrets from prying eyes. He scanned the list, debating the loyalty of some and discounting others entirely. When he finished with his appraisal he vented a tiny sigh of disgust.
Squann had been his most powerful ally. Deposing Anneshoria and retaining the throne for himself would be doubly difficult without the guard captain’s aid.
A tiny rap came at the door. Startled, Theoll looked up and moved worthless paper over the one detailing his coup.
“Enter,” he barked. Dark eyebrows rose in surprise when Squann entered.
“Baron, I must speak with you.”
Theoll eyed the soldier critically. The immaculate dress uniform now carried telltale wrinkles where Anneshoria had been less than discreet in stripping it from his broad shoulders. If he had not been watching through the spy hole, he would have assumed Squann had been on night patrol along the battlements.
He had been sheathing his sword, but Theoll knew it had nothing to do with duty.
“What is it?” Theoll tried to keep his tone neutral but a hint of his anger seeped around his words. Squann’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You know of my visit to Anneshoria this night?”
“What visit is this, Squann? Get to the point. I have much to do.”
“I sought information from her, Baron. She is evil and must never rule Porotane alone. She will be worse than Lorens, even with the Demon Crown turning him down the road of madness.”
“Fine words, Captain, but what do they mean to me?”
“You were watching. I know it, Baron. Nothing of importance escapes your alert eye. Anneshoria revealed her assassination plot to me.”
“In the heat of fornication?” Theoll snorted in contempt. “She never loses control of her senses. What she told you was only what she wished to tell you. You pried nothing from her.”
“The plan is a good one, Baron.” Squann perched on the edge of the table. Theoll’s h
and moved toward the dagger he had sheathed at his belt. If Squann attacked, he would be greeted by cold steel.
“Please, Baron, I mean you no harm. You have done much for me when others turned away. I owe you everything and would never betray you. What I did was for you — and for the good of Porotane.”
“You again beat the drum of patriotism?”
“I believe Porotane must have a strong ruler — soon. The kingdom will shatter into a hundred fiefdoms unless the civil war is ended and a king of great power and ability assumes the throne.” Squann paused, his cold ebony eyes fixed on Theoll’s. “You are such a man, Baron. Only you can unite a divided nation.”
“Anneshoria offered to let you be her consort. What do you want from me in return?”
“Your trust. I know you can be generous to those who serve you well.”
“Anneshoria knows of our past dealings. Why do you think she told you anything important that you wouldn’t immediately reveal to me?”
Squann laughed. “I don’t doubt that she mistrusts me. Her plan is a good one, though, and makes me think it is one she considered long and well.”
“And?” pressed Theoll, interested in spite of his misgivings.
“She had discarded this one in favour of another. We know one route she will not take. That is valuable, as is some indication of the way she thinks.”
Theoll leaned back and moved his hand from the sheathed dagger. He looked hard at Squann, then smiled slowly. “Porotane will need a new Marshal of Armies when I am king. Do you know where I might find a man suitable for such an exalted position, Squann?”
CHAPTER III
A hunting hawk swooped low, its talons dragging along the white drifts of snow. Lorens, King of Porotane, fugitive from rebels, screeched in fear and threw himself over an embankment. Hot streaks of red appeared on his back as the hawk tried to get a firm hold and lift him into the air. Lorens thrashed and screamed and lay in the frozen ravine until it became apparent that the bird of prey had left to find another, less taxing dinner.
Lorens stared into the pure blue sky framed by the razor-sharp peaks of the Yorral Mountains and laughed out loud. He laughed harder and harder until tears ran down his cheeks.
“You can never get me. Never! I am king! I am lord of all Porotane!” The tears fell from his cheeks and dropped to the crusted snow. There they froze after a brief fight with the cold.
Lorens heaved himself erect, tottered on the slick streambed, and finally wobbled along as if drunk. No man should endure what he had been through. Rebels. He cursed Dalziel Sef. The rebel had splintered what remained of his personal guard. Lorens had no idea what had become of his loyal followers and valiant soldiers.
He spat. None of this would have happened if those two worms had not stolen the Demon Crown. Shaking fingers touched his forehead where the magic crown had rested and given him limitless power. With its demon-granted magic he had been able to see anywhere in the realm.
More! He had been wherever he turned his magical senses. He overheard plots against him, saw troop movements, tasted the rebel’s dinner, felt Sef’s vile lover’s caress, smelled the pungent wood smoke from campfires a hundred leagues distant, saw vistas locked away for too many centuries.
The demon Kalob had given the crown to King Waellkin three hundred years earlier as reparation for the horrors wrought on Porotane by demonic infestations. Lorens chuckled and wiped spittle from his lips. What treasure! What a prize! And it had been his!
He did not see the Demon Crown as another source of discord cast by the banished demon. All Lorens knew was the magnificent change. His entire life had been one of tedium and obedience. The tall, white-haired woman — the Glass Warrior his master had called her — had told him that he had been kidnapped when only a small child. Lorens cared little for this. He was a dutiful apprentice to the wizard Patrin and did not want to leave the City of Stolen Dreams.
He had not wanted to leave his apprenticeship until he touched the Demon Crown. Worlds opened for him — and even without the burning band around his head, some still stretched before him.
Lorens fought his way up the slippery ravine embankment and threw back his head, his shrill voice rising to challenge the heavens. “I see other worlds!”
And he did. His ringing words echoed not from lofty mountaintops but from dark and dangerous twisting corridors filled with sulphur fumes and timid beasts. Yellow eyes peered at him from the black depths. An occasional pink forked tongue slithered out and wiggled sinuously and suggestively in his direction.
Lorens laughed at them. They were powerless before him. The wedge opening their fearsome world to him lay in the Demon Crown, but he had no need of that magical device now. His power had grown. He had grown and he would use the denizens of this lava-and-volcano world as his soldiers. He would order them forth and their mere presence would cause the rebels to quake.
“When I regain the crown,” Lorens muttered. His thoughts became incoherent and he drooled. “Nothing will be beyond my power.” He turned to the dark world with its red-glowing lava twistings and beckoned. “Come forth, my little ones. Join me in this world-and we will conquer!”
The deformed, grotesque beasts shuffled forward, talons clicking on hard rock, eyes darting and nervous.
“Come, come with me. Follow my banner and you will be rewarded! I, King Lorens of Porotane, will let you live!” He laughed harshly as the beasts recoiled. Lorens gestured. The beasts again shuffled toward him, ready to enter his world.
Lorens jerked about when a thunderclap rolled down from the uppermost reaches of the mountains. The sky remained unsullied by clouds. As lodestone draws iron, Lorens turned slowly until he saw a single lofty peak far away, looking over the Uvain Plateau. Eyes were not enough to see what came to Lorens.
“No, no, you won’t rob me of this! You won’t. Damn you, you hell-spawned fiend!” Lorens tried to use his feeble magical power to fend off the Wizard of Storms’ most potent spells. He failed. The reclusive wizard had no need of the Demon Crown to make him whole and powerful.
A lightning bolt vaporized a large boulder a dozen paces away. Lorens threw up his arms to protect his face. Peals of thunder sounded constantly as the Wizard of Storms directed his attack from the distant Castle of the Winds.
“Come, come to me. Hurry, my friends. You must obey me!” Lorens shrieked when the first of the black-scaled reptilian creatures slithered through the portal he had opened for them. Sulphur fumes caused his nose to wrinkle and his eyes to water. He stood straight and tall and pointed. “There is the enemy. Destroy him! Do it for your lord and master! Do it for me!”
Another lightning bolt lanced down from the empty sky. This one touched the shimmering door into the netherworld that Lorens had opened. When the debris from the resulting explosion settled, only a dozen of the black reptiles had reached this side safely.
“Do not rest. Kill him. Kill whoever opposes me!” His shrieks turned incoherent. Lorens babbled and pointed. The reptiles dropped to all fours, then rose up in a parody of soldiers on parade. They formed a ragged rank and began marching toward the distant peak.
Lorens cackled. It might take them a month or a year or ten thousand years, but they would find the Wizard of Storms and destroy him. He, Lorens, son of Lamost, had ordered it!
Lorens fell silent when thick clouds formed directly overhead. Their leaden bellies split with flashes of lightning but no strikes reached the ground. In fascination he watched as raindrops formed — heavy-bodied, cloud-dragging raindrops unlike anything he had ever seen. The tendrils of cloud dipped lower and lower, their watery cargo glistening in the sunlight.
A sudden explosion knocked Lorens off his feet. From the cloud he saw four immense writhing blobs of water tumbling to the ground. When they touched the earth they did not spatter.
They grew. Slowly at first, then with great rapidity they grew into humanoid forms. Watery fingers reached out for the black, sulphurous reptiles. And every touch produced a soul-searing
agony that caused the afflicted reptile to jerk violently, snapping important bones and dying instantly.
The Wizard of Storms’ water warriors moved ponderously but managed to cut off all retreat by the reptiles. Lorens dropped to all fours and watched his alien army being destroyed by one born of pure magic.
Lorens scuttled off like a dog, leaving behind the unholy carnage. A league away, he dropped to his belly and lay panting. All concept of time had fled him. He could not remember if the battle of magic had been an hour or a year before.
His fingers worked weakly in the frosty soil until he touched a tuber. He smiled weakly and began digging. He ate the bulbous brown stem with an appetite that knew no bounds. When he had finished, Lorens belched and rolled over to stare at the sky and wonder what had caused his panic. He couldn’t remember.
Everything was as it should be. Soon, very soon, he would regain the Demon Crown and again sit on the throne and rule Porotane. Soon. Soon.
CHAPTER IV
“He’s dead. There is no need to search out his rotten carcass.” Dews Gaemock glared at his brother, wishing Efran would show some sense. “You have played the fool overlong,” the rebel leader said. “You still think like a court jester.”
“That’s not what you said when we engaged Lorens’ troops. Whose plan did you select from all the ones submitted by your officers?” Efran Gaemock pulled his cloak tighter around him, thinking fondly of the warm corridors of Castle Porotane. The two years he had spent pretending to be Duke Freow’s fool had not dulled his tactical sense. Once more in command of a company of troops, he had shown his skills.
He sneezed and looked around, as if he would find warm woollens awaiting him. The jester’s motley he still wore provided almost no protection against the early winter winds blowing down from the highest reaches of the Yorral Mountains.
“You’ve not lost a bit of your talent,” said Dews, clapping his brother on the back. “But prancing about in the midst of those royalist swine has made you too cautious. Lorens is dead. We routed his troops and scattered them from here to Porotane. I doubt if they’ve stopped running yet!”
A Symphony of Storms (Demon Crown Book 3) Page 2
