by Allan Cole
The prince, pretending to be completely absorbed by his father’s final words before the campaign began, heard their grumbling and hated them for it.
He couldn’t imagine why they were so anxious to rush off to meet their Makers. The prince didn’t care if they all died the most horrible of deaths. What he objected to strongly was he was expected to share their fates. He thought, they’re all so inbred you could poke out both eyes with a single talon. They’re all balls and no brains. They had thick necks with small heads, whose only purpose - as far as Luka could determine - was to carry a helmet. Why oh why, do the gods hate me so?
"The first part of the campaign rests squarely on you, my son," King Manacia was saying.
"Pardon, Majesty?" Luka said. "I’m sorry, but I’m finding it difficult to concentrate. I confess I was dreaming of the victories my troops and I will lay at your feet once we are in the humanlands."
Manacia exposed his fangs in a proud grin. "What a fighting prince I have for a son, Fari," the king said to his Chief Wazier. "He’s so anxious to be off slaying humans he’s barely heard a word I said."
Fari bobbed his head, old snout wrinkling into a smile. "Indeed, Your Highness," Fari said, putting claws to chest as he spoke and then adding one his favorite stock phrases: "Prince Luka is an example to us all."
Luka caught the gleam of amusement in the ancient demon’s eyes. Fari could read his heart and was delighted at the prince’s predicament. You old bastard, Luka thought. I swear I’ll live just to spite you. No matter what it takes I’ll survive to piss on your grave and shit on my father’s.
"It’s his mother’s hot blood in him," Manacia said. Then, to Luka, "Did I ever tell you about the time your dear lamented mother accused me of raping her?"
"I don’t believe you did, Majesty," the prince lied. "I’d be most anxious to hear that tale."
Manacia burst out laughing at the memory. "It was after she tried to stab me and I had to tie her down," he chortled. "She... She..."
The king broke off, calming himself. He wiped an eye and resettled his crown, which had been shaken over one ear from his laughter.
"Never mind," Manacia said. "We have more important business at claw. I’ll save the tale for some night in the future when we’re all gathered about a good campfire, sharing a roasted human haunch."
He jabbed at a map, drawing their attention back to the final planning session.
"I want you to cross the desert just as quickly as you can, Luka," the king said. "Ride like the winds. Don’t stop for anything. And when you’re on the other side I want you to secure a basecamp.
"Give the area a good scrub, mind you. If you see humans, kill them. In fact, it would be best if you scouted out a good fifty miles around the camp. Destroy any settlements you find and make sure no humans escape to spread the news of our invasion. We want to retain the element of surprise as long as we can.
"Once I have my army set and the supply lines secured, we’ll roll over them like an eight-beast chariot run amok in the market place. Within six months I predict we’ll be at the sea, enjoying a good fish dinner."
Luka bowed. "And it will be my great honor, Majesty," he said, "to cook your meal with my own claws." But he thought, If I have the chance I’ll stuff it so full of poison it’ll make your scales fall off, you filthy old coward, you.
Manacia rolled up the map and handed it to an obsequious aide, who dropped to his knees and knocked his bony forehead on the rocky ground before withdrawing in a backwards crawl.
"There’s only the casting of the bones remaining, Fari," he said. "Then I’ll give the signal for the march to begin. Assuming all bodes well, of course."
He glowered at the wizard when he said the last, making it quite obvious what would happen to Fari if the casting did not meet his liking.
"Never fear, Your Highness," Fari said, drawing his casting case from his sleeve. "I ordered special bones made up for this historic moment. That human we used for the last divining session proved so lucky I kept back the knuckles of his dexter hand when we disposed of his corpse."
Fari motioned and two slaves crawled over to unroll a small carpet at his feet. The carpet was night black, with the Star Houses picked out in silver.
He took an ivory cup from his casting case and a small drawstring bag made of silk. He untied the string and upended the sack. The knuckle bones made a dry rattling sound as they fell into the cup. He shook the cup and it was like the buzz of a desert viper as the bones swirled about.
And Fari intoned:
"Unloosen thy secrets, let us behold
What tale the Gods will tell of us
When these blessed events unfold."
He cast the bones on the carpet. King, prince and wizard leaned over to study the result.
"What’s this?" Manacia said, delight in his eyes. "They’ve fallen in a pattern across the Demon Moon." He looked up at the wizard. "I believe the Demon Moon is due to rise soon, isn’t it, Fari?"
"Indeed it is, Your Highness," Fari said, bobbing his head. "The Star Gazers tell us it appears but once every thousand years. And they predict that cycle is about to repeat itself.
"This casting brings us good news, Your Highness, as you can see for yourself."
He pointed a talon. "And look here, one knuckle has fallen on a comet. The Demon Moon and the Comet, as Your Highness well knows, is the sign of Alisarrian."
Manacia slapped his thigh in delight. "The Conqueror, himself!" he exclaimed. "Except this time it’ll be a demon, not a devil human, who does the conquering!"
Fari gave a mental sigh of relief. He would have lied, if he’d dared, to make this casting come out as the king wanted. But Manacia was the most powerful wizard in the demonlands. He could read a casting as well, if not better, than any of his royal wizards. Such things bored him, however, and he left it up to his magical minions to study bones and entrails for some signpost of the future.
Overcome by emotion, Manacia rose and threw his arms around the Crown Prince. "The gods are with us, my son," he said, embracing Luka. "Let their will guide you on this holy mission."
Luka returned the embrace awkwardly, wishing mightily for a dagger to plunge into his father’s back.
"I will do my best, Majesty," he said.
Manacia drew back. "Mount up, my son," he commanded, "and I will give the signal."
Luka bowed low, then strode over to his steed, a huge mailed beast with a long graceful neck, glistening fangs and polished claws. As the prince tried to mount, the beast took a swipe at him with one of those claws. Without breaking stride the prince dodged the claw and vaulted into the saddle, raking the beast with his spurs so hard he drew blood.
The beast shrieked and reared back, pawing the air.
"Good show!" Manacia shouted to his son. "Nothing like a spirited mount to carry one to victory."
Luka was struggling to keep his seat, but he covered this indignity by again raking the beast with his spurs.
"To victory!" he cried, drawing his sword and waving it in the air.
His warriors echoed the cry, roaring in unison. "TO VICTORY!"
Luka pressed the sword against his mount’s neck, his next words covered by shouts pouring from ten thousand demon throats. "Get your claws on the ground, you louse-bitten piece of slime," he said, "or I’ll cut your throat."
The beast understood and dropped back to earth as agilely as a house cat.
Luka booted his mount to the command point in front of his demon force.
Again he shouted, "To victory!"
"TO VICTORY!" they roared, drawing their own swords and waving them madly in the air.
"The prince is going too far," Manacia complained to Fari under his breath. "This is my moment, not his."
Fari shook his head, hiding his pleasure at this criticism of his enemy. "Just high spirits, I’m sure, Your Highness," he said. "I’m certain it wasn’t intended."
"Maybe so, maybe so," Manacia grumbled. "But we’d better hurry it up just th
e same."
Fari signaled and demon slaves jabbed at the king’s great white elephant. It lumbered forward, grand howdah lurching back and forth. More jabs brought it to its knees and the king was hoisted up, panting a little and wondering if perhaps he was letting himself become too fat.
Never mind that, he thought as took his place in the howdah. You’ll be slim enough when this campaign is over.
He signaled. Trumpets blared, drums rolled and the whole army came to attention with a great rattling of armor and weapons. A slight pause followed, just a bit longer than good drama warranted.
"For the gods’ sake, Fari," Manacia shouted down from the elephant, "cast the damned spell!"
Fari broke out of a delightful reverie in which Manacia and Luka were shrieking and turning on a spit over a slow fire.
"Immediately, Your Highness," he called back.
He threw a glass globe to the ground. It shattered, spilling a thick yellow liquid across the stone. The liquid began to bubble, then to smoke. A sulfurous cloud boiled up, rising high into the sky.
Then the cloud took on the shape of a gigantic King Manacia. Huge lips parted, baring fangs of tremendous length.
"ONWARD, MY FIENDS, ONWARD!" roared the gigantic Manacia. "FOR THE GODS AND THE KING!"
"FOR THE GODS AND THE KING!" a half a million voices shouted in reply.
The whole army lurched forward, shattering the air with warcries.
The elephant handlers had to give the king’s animal several sharp jabs to get it moving fast enough so Manacia wasn’t overrun. But in a few minutes all clumsiness was gone and the massive army clattered out onto the Forbidden Desert, an immense juggernaut aimed at the humanlands.
Far out in front Luka and his ten thousand elite were speeding over the badlands, battle cries ululating through the thin air. Within moments they’d reached the high dunes that marked the horizon’s edge.
Then they vanished from view.
* * *
Despite his inner feelings, Luka was an able commander. Although he drove his fiends hard, he drove himself even harder and it wasn’t long before the ten thousand thundered out of the Forbidden Desert and entered the humanlands.
All were weary from the mad dash, but Luka gave them no time for respite. He quickly found a likely campsite for his father’s army. It was nestled among gentle hills and centered at what had once been Badawi’s farm. There was nothing remaining of that farm, thanks to Sarn and his bandit horde, except a few charred timbers and a half-a-dozen caved-in roasting pits where Badawi’s family and livestock had been cooked and eaten.
Luka sent out patrols to scout the region, but other than a few ragged families huddled in homes made of sun dried mud bricks, there were no human groups of any significance to be found. Partly this was because few dared to settle so close to the Forbidden Desert. Mostly it was because Sarn had gone about his duties enthusiastically, wiping out any of the small settlements he’d found. Luka didn’t know this and so he concluded it was superstition alone that had done the work.
Several weeks passed and there was still no sign of Manacia and the main army. Luka pressed a few trusted human slaves into service, sending them deeper into the humanlands to spy out and map the region. Before they’d left he’d promised them rich rewards for success and reminded them he had their families back in Zanzair as hostages if they betrayed him.
"I’ll flay every babe you call your own," he warned. "I’ll rip off the limbs of your women and stake out their still-living bodies on ant mounds."
They took his words to heart and by the time the first elements of Manacia’s gigantic army hove into view, Luka had maps and detailed intelligence covering hundreds of square miles.
"You certainly took a lot on yourself," Manacia grumbled when Luka showed him the fruits of his efforts.
The king was tired and dirty from his long ordeal. The slowness of the pace, the constant bawling of the animals and the absence of certain creature comforts vital to a king’s well-being had made his anger swell like a boil. Luka was careful not to prick it.
Luka apologized profusely, saying, "I’m sorry, Majesty. There’s no excuse for my behavior. I promise I won’t let it happen again."
Manacia was soothed, although he complained the time would have been better spent making the royal camp more comfortable. When he’d grumbled himself out he took a closer look at the maps and reports his son had gathered.
"I suppose these will be of some use to us," he allowed. One of the maps he was studying was a rough eagle’s view of all the major hamlets and towns from the Forbidden Desert clear to the great human city called Caspan. "I’ll have the scribes make copies and pass them out to my generals. I doubt we can rely on them too greatly, but there’s no sense wasting effort well-meant."
"Yes, Majesty. You are too kind, Majesty," Luka murmured.
Meanwhile, he was thinking, You misbegotten still-birth of a camel, I’ve just given you the keys to the whole damned thing. But you won’t admit it, you old fraud. Getting praise from you is like pulling fangs. Well, keep your praise. It’s your throne I want.
You’d better watch your back, you foul old fiend, because I fully intend to take that crown away from you and mount your head on the gates of Zanzair.
The demon juggernaut swept along the Gods’ Divide, ravaging any force that dared stand in its way.
Mostly the humans were stricken with such terror at the sight of the demon hordes they surrendered on the spot. Believing the gods had abandoned them, they gave themselves up meekly, accepting any terms King Manacia demanded.
Some he slew, some he enslaved, but mostly he followed the practices that had won him a demon empire. If the humans threw down their arms without a fight he tended to be merciful. He let the rulers keep their posts and made them swear fealty to him, recognizing him as the one true monarch - the King of Kings - Master of Esmir; lord of all humans and demons alike.
He sealed them to their oath by requiring them to sign documents in their own blood, telling them the documents would always be by his side and if they betrayed him he would cast a spell that would let loose a voracious worm in their guts.
Manacia left only a small garrison force at each place he took, relying on fear and sorcery to keep his human subjects contrite.
First he sent his sniffers out to find and kill any human with magical talent.
Then he had small temples erected at the key cities and hamlets, with a demon wizard in charge of each edifice. Portable spell machines were installed in the temples, spewing out spells by the hour meant to keep the populace fearful and humble and strike terror in the hearts of any outside enemy who might attempt to retake the city.
Once he’d secured the spine of the humanlands - the great mountain range called the Gods’ Divide - he struck toward Caspan.
That region proved more difficult. The cities were much larger as were the armies who defended them. He also no longer had the element of surprise. The human monarchs and generals he encountered swallowed their terror and fought grimly to halt the demon invasion.
The enemy generals conscripted everyone of fighting age, hurling the ragged, weeping hordes before Manacia’s forces. Most of the humans died, but in dying they slowed Manacia’s drive enough so the professionals could attack the weak points. True, ten humans might fall for every demon. But Manacia had no way of replacing his losses.
Manacia began losing fiends at an alarming rate. Of the half-a-million he started with, less than four hundred thousand remained when he approached the gates of Caspan.
Crown Prince Luka’s shock troops had suffered the most. When the human hordes charged out to meet him he had only five thousand mounted fiends to meet that charge.
"This is it," Luka thought as he led his fiends into the battle. "This is when I die."
The humans were horrid things, ugly as the devils from the Hells. Flat faces, piggy little eyes and filthy little mouths that screamed hate and fury as they fought.
They had good ar
mor, sturdy weapons and were mounted on huge mailed warhorses that reared up to fight the demon steeds with iron-tipped feet. It was hoof against claw, talon against hand, swords and axes flailing about at close quarters, blood spraying everywhere.
Archers and slingmen sent shower after shower of missiles into the melee, not caring who fell - friend or foe - so long as the demons were kept from the gates.
Two horsemen crowded Luka from either side. A pikeman reared up in front of him. His mount slashed at the pikeman, disemboweling him. But as he died he plunged forward, burying his pike into the beast’s shoulder. The animal screamed in pain, but kept its feet. Luka swung left, sword biting through human mail and finding flesh. His opponent toppled from his horse, but before Luka could turn to meet the other he felt a sharp pain in his side.
The human had struck first.
Howling in agony, Luka slashed at the man with sword. In a haze he saw blood gout, feared it was his own, then he saw the human fall and felt relief rush in to dull his pain.
His mount staggered and Luka leaped off moments before it crashed to the ground. Now he was standing in the middle of plunging horses and demon beasts, dodging blows from every side. He saw one his fiends topple from his mount and Luka vaulted into the saddle and grabbed the reins.
"Victory!" he bellowed. "For the gods and the king!"
His cry rallied his soldiers and they returned his shout - "VICTORY! FOR THE GODS AND THE KING!"
They charged the humans with spirits renewed, smashing and slashing them down.
Finally, the humans broke, fleeing through the gates.
Luka and his fiends pursued them, hacking their way through the gates’ defenders.
Suddenly there was no one to kill anymore. Luka and his soldiers found themselves in a large square, panting and heaving and bleeding from many wounds.
Behind him he heard trumpets sound.
His father’s trumpets.
Then there was a great roar of demon voices and a sea of Manacia’s soldiers poured through the gates.
Rising out their midst was his father’s royal elephant. The huge animal moved smoothly across the square to Luka.
