King of Chaos

by Dave Gross

  "What do you seek here?" said Feinroh Balemoon.

  "Fresh water," I said. "And any report you can offer on the demons of the area."

  "No fiends dare approach Valahuv. Our gods protect us."

  "Let us speak to your scouts to learn the lay of the land. We have supplies to trade."

  "There are no scouts among us. No one strays from the village. Everything we need is here."

  "What of medicine?" I asked. "Have you no healer who searches the land for herbs?"

  Feinroh lowered his arms, letting his sleeve conceal his afflicted hands.

  I offered him my own. "Here," I said. "Let me share the radiance of Iomedae. Hers is the light that heals."

  Uncertain, Feinroh looked at Alase. She nodded. Behind her, Tonbarse nodded at Tammerri.

  Feinroh held out a hand. I clasped it between both of mine and prayed. "Bright Goddess, Inheritor of Aroden, cleanse this man's affliction."

  Feinroh startled as the warmth penetrated his diseased limb. For an instant we both saw the bones beneath his flesh. As the light faded, he gazed in wonder at his hand. Peeling away the wrappings, he saw that the skin beneath was healed and whole.

  "Can you do this for others?"

  "For a few, yes," I said. "I can do so again after my morning prayers. So can my sergeant."

  "Heal my people, and you may have all the water you can carry."

  "And you'll tell us what you know of the surrounding land?"

  Feinroh looked to his eidolon.

  Tammerri turned her hawk-like head to me and said, "I have ranged as far as Domora to the west and Undarin to the east."

  "May I bring my people inside the village?"

  "Yes," said Feinroh, "so long as you swear not to climb the Thunderstair."

  "There is evil here," said Porfirio. I had become accustomed to his reincarnated face and body, but not the new voice. It was deep and resonant, rather more commanding than the one he had before.

  Aprian nodded.

  I had felt the butterflies stirring ever since we entered the village, but I sensed no malice from its people. The sensation was worst when I gazed toward the castle and the cliff beneath it. Some dire thing dwelt beneath this Thunderstair.

  "We might have brought the evil with us," said Porfirio. His gaze fell upon Radovan, who sat near the fire in the camp we had made between the count's carriage and supply cart. There our people mingled with the few villagers bold enough to speak with us after Aprian and I had healed the most severely injured and afflicted.

  Several of the women of Valahuv seemed intrigued by Radovan, who told outlandish stories of his travels in Kyonin and distant Tian Xia. Yet none of them could penetrate the barrier formed by Gemma, Alase, Jelani, Selka, and Kala, who vied for his attention in a fashion I had never before observed in grown women.

  Their fascination with Radovan had begun almost the moment we met him and the count in Nekrosof Tower. At first I hoped the summoner had claimed his full attentions, but I had glimpsed him flirting with both Alase and Jelani on different occasions, and the other women seemed only too eager for a turn.

  The only other gander among the clustered geese was Dragomir. He offered Radovan a drink from his own cup. Radovan toasted him with a Varisian phrase before draining the leather tankard. For a moment I feared the sound of the native tongue of Ustalav would anger the Sarkorians. Fortunately, none of the inhabitants appeared to notice that Radovan and Dragomir were Ustalavs.

  "It doesn't make any sense," said Aprian.

  "I know."

  "He's not even that good-looking," said Porfirio, scowling at Radovan.

  Hearing him echo my earlier words gave me pause. I prayed I had not sounded so unconvincing.

  "You said he's not using magic," said Aprian.

  "So Jelani assured me." I wondered whether I could depend upon her judgment. She seemed smitten with the hellspawn ever since accompanying him to the Looter's Market. I wondered just how complete her report to me had been.

  "You have to admire the lad's courage," said Urno. "That's too many pins for any juggler. He'll be lucky if it ends only in tears, not blood."

  "At least Naia has better taste," I observed.

  The others stared at me, bemused. It took me a moment to realize why they smiled at me. "Don't tell me ..."

  "He's not her type," said Porfirio. "No more than she is mine."

  I smacked my forehead. "I really have no sense for these things."

  "Of course not," said Urno. "One look at your unicorn, and we all realized—"

  Aprian coughed to silence the dwarf. Urno looked blankly for an instant before shutting his mouth.

  My embarrassment at my own foolish assumptions about Naia, Dragomir, and Porfirio tempered my irritation with the men. We are fools to think we understand the hearts of others, every one of us.

  Porfirio huffed. "I'm not going to stand here another minute while Dragomir embarrasses himself in front of everyone."

  "Don't start any trouble," said Aprian. "It's a wonder we've gotten along with these mercenaries as well as we have."

  "Don't worry, Sergeant. I'm just going for a walk." Porfirio paused to look back ruefully at the attention Dragomir and the women lavished on Radovan before vanishing into the dark.

  "Well, my watch is up, and he can't warm them all tonight, can he? Someone ought to be ready to console the runners-up." Urno rubbed his palms together and went to sit by the fire, nestling in between a startled pair of village women.

  "You wouldn't think so to look at him," Aprian said, "but Urno is the company heartbreaker."

  "You're right," I said. "I wouldn't think that."

  "I think his record stood until the day you arrived near Kenabres and had all the boys throwing themselves at your feet."

  "Please, don't remind me."

  Aprian chuckled, an easy, friendly sound. From the start, he had treated me with both the respect due my rank and a camaraderie unhindered by the hope of sex. I tried and failed not to wonder whether I was simply not his type as well, but I put that thought aside.

  I was reminded of our previous conversation about such matters. Perhaps because he hadn't raised the question of my past relationship with Ederras again, I felt a curious need to tell him.

  "Ederras was never my lover," I said. "He was my best friend."

  Aprian turned to me, nodding as if the shift in topic were completely natural. He said nothing and listened.

  "He had a lover, though. Everyone found her charming and worldly. But I knew." I patted the space just above my stomach, where the butterflies of evil dwelled. "I felt it in here."

  Aprian nodded again. "At the time, Ederras was still in grace with Iomedae?"

  "Yes, or at least I assumed so. It was my own feelings I doubted. I was confused, uncertain."

  "Because you were afraid you might be in love with Ederras?"

  "No," I said. "That's not what frightened me. I think—I want to think, anyway—that if I had loved him as something more than a friend, I could have told him. What frightened me was the idea that I was capable of jealousy."

  "We're all capable of jealousy."

  "But we shouldn't be," I snapped. "We must strive to be better than that. I want to be better than that."

  "You want to be perfect."

  "No—I mean, yes, of course. Don't you?"

  The miracle of his smile was that it contained not a trace of condescension. "It could be easier for me, since I put on that damned ring and let a demon take control of my body. More than most, I know I've never been perfect and never will be. But I guess it must be harder for you because of how you look and what you've accomplished so early in life. Others can't see the flaws that trouble you so much. They treat you differently because they can't tell just how imperfect you feel."

  I tried to speak, but my voice caught in my throat. I coughed and said, "That's right."

  Aprian turned to look back at the fire, but he remained by my side. "I guess you told Ederras about his lover."<
br />
  "Yes. I was the one who presented him with the proof that she wasn't who she claimed to be. She was a diabolist, a spy. She was using him to infiltrate the Children of Westcrown."

  "What did he do?"

  "He insisted on confronting her alone. I almost followed him, afraid he would kill her. Instead, he let her go. Then he left the Children."

  "And ended up in the crusade."

  I nodded.

  "The way you talked with him back near Kenabres, I got the impression you'd forgiven him."

  "Yes, of course."

  "But he still hasn't forgiven you."

  I shook my head.

  "One day he will," said Aprian. "Or maybe he won't. It doesn't matter."

  "Why not?"

  "The only forgiveness you need is your own."

  I was ready to scoff at him for offering me a platitude, but laughter erupted from the campfire. Radovan's stories were only marginally less preposterous than Valki's, but I had witnessed some of the events he described. He exaggerated relatively little, although they were certainly colored by his particular point of view.

  Radovan reached another punch line, causing another roar of laughter.

  Count Jeggare opened the window of the nearby Red Carriage and stuck his head out. "If you would kindly lower your voices while I work ..."

  "Sorry, boss," said Radovan. "All right, ladies. Lean in close. I'll whisper the next one in your ears. You see, I once met this temple prostitute ..."

  "Shall I break it up?" said Aprian.

  "Let him finish this one," I said. "Then make sure all of our troops who aren't on watch are in their beds. Alone."

  "Yes, Captain."

  As they departed, I went to the Red Carriage for a word with Count Jeggare. Bastiel joined me, turning his head in an equine approximation of a sidelong glance. I knew he understood everything I said, but sometimes I wished he could speak like Tonbarse or Tammerri.

  As if conjured by my thought, Feinroh Balemoon approached our camp. He smiled, as he had done with increasing frequency since we cured his people. "I was just talking to your god, thinking he wished to visit the unicorns of the northern forest. I am afraid that Tammerri reports they have all but vanished."

  It seemed both peculiar and refreshing to meet someone who treated Bastiel as the intelligent being he was. Apart from Radovan, who seldom had anything pleasant to say to Bastiel, everyone treated him as if he were an unusual horse. Just because he could not speak did not mean he did not understand every word he heard.

  "Where is Tammerri?" I asked, slightly suspicious at the eidolon's absence.

  "I summoned elementals to fetch your water," he said. "To do so, I had to release Tammerri."

  "Your summoned creatures cannot exist in this world at the same time?"

  "Not through me," said Feinroh. "The relationship between god and caller is unique. Only a fool would offend a god by devoting less than his full attention to drawing it into this world and tending its needs."

  "I see," I said, though I didn't, not truly.

  "You say you have come to drive the demons from our land."

  "That is our hope."

  "And then you will claim Sarkoris for your own?"

  "No," I said with emphasis. For myself, I meant it. I also believed Queen Galfrey's motives were pure, but I was not so naive as to believe the matter would be resolved by the queen of Mendev alone. "Naturally, I cannot speak for all parties who have sent forces to the crusade."

  Feinroh studied my face as I answered. He did not seem satisfied, but neither did he accuse me of dissembling. "Perhaps I should ask the man in the wheel-house."

  "Count Jeggare has no authority over me or my troops."

  "Some of these swordsmen work for him, not you. Is that not so?"

  He had learned a surprising amount about us during the hours of our visit. "Yes, but we are cooperating on this mission."

  "To rid our land of demons?"

  "We hope that will be the eventual result. But if—when—we succeed, we shall have a powerful weapon against the Abyss. We will—" I stopped myself. My impulse to explain myself to this refugee in his own country was trivial compared with the need for some measure of secrecy. Already the count's mercenaries knew too much for my peace of mind, and I could not be certain that the demons had no spies within the village.

  We continued to speak as my troops and Count Jeggare's settled in to sleep. Radovan retired to the Red Carriage with the hound. The interior lights dimmed, but one persisted on the count's side. He had stayed up late each night inscribing more and more of his unusual scrolls. Either the process took much longer than I realized, or he was creating enough to supply an army of wizards.

  Soon it became clear that Feinroh held out little faith that the crusade would prevail against the horde. He told me stories of the first three Mendevian Crusades, tales passed down by his ancestors. Through Sarkorian eyes, the crusades were a series of tragic failures led by foreigners hoping to claim the land of Sarkoris for themselves. All the while, the people he served had found shelter at the foot of the cliffs, where the demons never came.

  Feinroh remained unmoved by my assurances that Queen Galfrey, at least, had only the purest of motives in coming to the aid of his people. "In my youth, I met others who called themselves crusaders," he said. "The horde took them all, bodies and souls."

  Before I could frame a response, Aprian approached. By his expression, I knew he had words for my ears alone. Excusing myself, I led him away as Feinroh went to patrol the streets of Valahuv. Just as we set our sentries, so did he watch over his people while strangers resided among them.

  "Captain, Porfirio is missing."

  "Are you certain?" I found it difficult to imagine the young paladin sulking over the slight of Dragomir's attention to Radovan, but he had endured an extraordinary trauma at Storasta.

  "He was meant to relieve Naia at her watch, but he never arrived. He is not here at camp. Erastus and Silvio just completed a sweep of the village. No one has passed through the gate. Unless he is hiding from us ..."

  Anticipating his conclusion, I looked up at the Thunderstair. The moon remained hidden on the other side of the high plateau, but starlight limned the stone stairs. It occurred to me that Aprian's human eyes could not see even that much in the darkness. I needed others who could see as I did.

  Feinroh had forbidden us only one thing. If I were to alert him to my suspicions, I doubted he would permit us to search his castle. Worse, he may have been complicit in Porfirio's disappearance.

  "Bring me Silvio," I said. "And wake Urno. I shall fetch the count and Radovan. You remain here. If Feinroh attempts to follow us, delay him."

  "Captain." Aprian nodded and moved away. Either he understood I chose those who could see without light, or else he was simply that obedient. Either way, I understood why Ederras hated to part with him.

  A rap on the carriage door and a few whispered words was all it took to enlist the aid of Jeggare, who immediately set aside his pen, and Radovan, who appeared fully alert after rising from his slumber. They understood the need for stealth in this matter, for we were about to break the one promise Feinroh had demanded of us.

  Bastiel wished to accompany me. It took me strong whispered words to ensure he remained at the camp. Once assured that he would not disobey, I led the others to the Thunderstair, resisting the temptation to draw the Ray of Lymirin. If it sensed the presence of demons, its light would alert all Valahuv to our transgression.

  Radovan slipped past me on the stairs. Before I could protest, he whispered, "They can hear you clanking in Lastwall. Let me go ahead."

  I didn't like it, but I allowed it. Moments later, I heard a distant cry echoing as through a long, winding passage. I abandoned the last pretense of stealth and whispered, "Hurry!"

  We reached the top, warm and breathing heavily. Moonlight lit the western half of a semicircular courtyard. A lone tower stood on the west, near the plateau's edge. In the east, still shrouded i
n darkness, crouched a low arch set at an angle to ground, like the doors of a storm cellar. But there was no door, only a rune-carved frame of weathered stone surrounding an iron portcullis left wide open. Radovan crouched beside it, his face close to the ground.

  "Somebody just went this way," he said.

  "This must be the Delvegate," said Jeggare. "Below us is the lair of the ‘god' called Ommors."

  As if responding to his words, the distant cry we heard earlier came again. This time there was no mistaking its source.

  "Follow me." I stepped inside. The passage descended not in stairs but in a gradual ramp reminding me of an elven tomb I had once explored with Jeggare and Radovan. There the resemblance ended, for instead of the delicate elven architecture, this subterranean passage contained crude niches carved into its walls. Ancient Sarkorian runes and pictograms marked each site, perhaps naming those interred there.

  I counted two hundred steps before drawing the Ray. Its bright steel glowed dully, confirming what the butterflies already told me. There was evil in these passages, but no demon.

  The passage widened into a larger chamber. Jeggare activated the light on his ring. Dried blood flaked upon the walls. Bloodstained cocoons hung from the ceiling. The limbs of desiccated corpses protruded from the fraying crimson sacs. As I took another step, my feet touched something sticky on the floor.

  "Aw, hell no," said Radovan, looking down at the blood. "Fresh."

  Urno grumbled and hefted his axe. I shared his urge to strike, if only we could find the foe.

  Count Jeggare discharged a riffle scroll. Radovan flexed an arm and said, "Thanks, boss."

  "Porfirio!" I called. "Where are you?"

  No one answered. If anything, the silence seemed to grow heavier.

  We hurried on, ignoring the crypts and carvings in the walls. Now and then, Jeggare cast another spell. Sometimes I felt the magic touch me. Under other circumstances, I would have protested that he did not ask my consent. I allowed it.

  When the passage branched, we always took the path of fresher blood, gleaming bright red against the dark stickiness of the rest of the passage.

  In a cool, damp grotto, we found Porfirio.

  His tangled limbs lay beneath a monstrous arachnid. It stood as tall as Urno, but each of its translucent wings was longer than I. The creature's body appeared to be composed almost entirely of freshly let blood. Only its black mandibles appeared solid.