War Maid's choice wg-4

by David Weber

  The huge, obscene parody of a hradani glared at him, and the ghouls who filled the clearing went silent, trembling in terror, but Varnaythus simply stood there, arms folded before him, hands tucked into the full sleeves of his robe, and waited. Tension crackled in the night, and then, after a long, breathless moment, the creature sank back onto its throne.

  “You said you would have word for us,” it rumbled. “Give it and be gone.”

  “Very well.”

  Varnaythus inclined his head, but only very slightly. It was a carefully metered gesture of respect from one who was at the very least an equal, and the glare in the creature’s eyes glowed hot, a brighter, deadlier green flaming through the lava for just an instant. Yet that was all that happened, and the wizard inhaled deeply, despite the stench filling the air, as he raised his head once more.

  Both demons and devils were drawn from other universes, ones in which the Dark had triumphed over the Light and such abominations roamed free, yet they were very different from one another. There were other, even more powerful servants who couldn’t be brought across the chasm between universes, for the Gods of Light forbade it, and those other servants were too powerful to creep across unobserved. Sharna’s greater servants approached that limit, but not so nearly as Krashnark’s. His devils might be physically less imposing than demons, yet they blazed with so much power it was even more difficult for them to elude the Gods of Light’s vigilance. They were far, far more intelligent than Sharna’s creatures, as well, and appearances could be deceiving even where simple physical strength was concerned. The creature in front of him-Anshakar-could have matched any demon strength for strength, and its mere presence warped reality in subtle, distorting ways. The very air about it seemed to shimmer and waver, as if it were water covered by a thin skim of polluted oil, and that distortion could have ruinous consequences for any spell directed at it. More than that, demons were bound by their summoners; they were controlled, not controllers. But unlike a demon, Anshakar could not have cared less that Varnaythus knew his true name, for-also unlike a demon-no mortal could summon him against his will, and Anshakar’s name had no power over him, except in the voice of Him whom he called Master. He could not be bound, he could not be commanded, and his wrath could not be appeased by any mortal ever born.

  That was the reason no wizard in his right mind ever even attempted to summon a devil. If it deigned to respond at all, it was usually only to discover who’d had the audacity to disturb it before it devoured that unfortunate individual…usually while the meal was still alive, since its soul was tastier that way. Occasionallyoccasionally — it might actually choose not to destroy its summoner, but only when the reason it had been summoned was more entertaining than dismembering a wizard, and very few things were more entertaining for a devil than dismembering anyone.

  But Anshakar and his companions hadn’t been summoned; they’d been sent, by Krashnark Phrofro, the one being they had no choice but to obey. Every devil in existence, wherever it might dwell, came from a universe which had fallen into Krashnark’s power as His personal fief, and every one of them owed Him a fealty no other god-a certainly no mere mortal-could challenge or overcome.

  That was one of the reasons for the burning hatred between Him and His twin, Sharna. There were many times as many demons as devils, but Sharna lacked the power to command those more powerful beings, and a single devil was more than a match for any score of demons. There had been confrontations, upon occasion, between Sharna and Krashnark, mostly in the closing stages of the conquest of universes which had fallen to the Dark. The infighting at moments like that tended to be vicious beyond belief as Phrobus’ children battled to rip the choicest bits of power from the toppling wreckage. Yet unless one of Their siblings chose to league with Sharna (which They rarely did; They had no desire to make Krashnark an enemy for Sharna’s sake), those confrontations had always…ended badly for Him and His demons.

  Varnaythus didn’t know all the details of those other universes, and he often suspected that what he did know-what he’d been allowed to discover-had been carefully shaped and limited by the Dark Gods. They didn’t want Their mortal servants in this universe knowing too much about the weaknesses, the potential vulnerabilities, They might have revealed in another. But he also suspected that one reason Krashnark’s devils were so loyal and obedient to Him was also the reason they were more powerful; Krashnark had taken at least a partial page from the God of Light. He had a far more direct relationship with His greater servants than the other Dark Gods, deliberately choosing to have fewer of them than He might have, but making those He did have His champions, as surely as Bahzell Bahnakson was Tomanak’s champion. Not in the same way, for even the greatest of His servants was still His slave, as well, yet He allowed them a greater degree of autonomy-and access to far more power-than any of His siblings (except Carnadosa) or even His mother would ever dream of permitting.

  “I have fresh information, Anshakar,” the wizard said now, feeling the malevolent will behind those green-shot red eyes beating upon him as he made himself meet their weight steadily. “My art has learned of certain events which couldn’t be predicted when They sent you forth upon this mission.”

  “ They? ” Anshakar snarled. The blast of his foul breath rippled the fabric of Varnaythus’ robe, like a gale howling up out of some opened tomb. “There is no ‘they’ who can command me, Wizard! I come at my Master’s bidding-no one else’s!”

  “True,” Varnaythus conceded calmly. “Yet He’s commanded you to cooperate with my Lady in this mission, has he not? And told you that His Father has given Her primary direction of it.”

  He held the devil’s gaze until Anshakar spat on the dais and snarled something which was probably an affirmative. The dais’ surface smoked and sizzled where the spittle struck, and a reek of brimstone rose from it.

  “My Lady has enjoined me to remember that this portion of the mission is yours,” Varnaythus continued, “and I have no desire to attempt to give you commands or require you to do anything other than that which Lord Krashnark has instructed you to do. Yet, by the same token, the overall coordination of the mission falls to me, and that requires me to share information with you as it comes to my hand. Now, are you prepared to hear it?”

  Anshakar reclaimed the shredded, oozing torso from where it had fallen and took another huge bite from it. His jaws worked, an icicle of gore dangling from them, and he nodded curtly.

  “Speak and be gone,” he snarled through his mouthful.

  “Very well. I’m not yet certain, but it seems likely that rather than the single champion of Tomanak you were expected to face, there will be three.”

  The creatures seated on either side of Anshakar-Zurak and Kimazh-looked up abruptly, but Anshakar only waved the shredded torso dismissively.

  “And you think this is going to change my plans?”

  His laugh boomed, and the crouching ghouls shuddered in bestial, ecstatic terror at the sound. The whimpering moan of their fear rose at Varnaythus’ back, but the wizard only shrugged.

  “I think it’s information you should have so that you can take it into consideration,” he replied, and Anshakar laughed again.

  “You mean you think it’s information I should run and hide from, as you would!” the devil grunted.

  “I admit I have no pressing desire to meet the Bloody Hand face-to-face,” Varnaythus said frankly. “His record of success is formidable, and I doubt Walsharno’s presence would make him any easier to defeat. On the other hand, as you yourself pointed out, I’m a wizard, not a warrior. My strengths lie in other areas than direct confrontation with champions, and they aren’t as great as yours to begin with.”

  “Your strengths are nothing,” Anshakar sneered. “You and your precious ‘Lady’ are so proud of your little magics, your puny spells. This is strength!”

  He held up what was left of his meal in one hand and closed his fist upon it. There was a ghastly, crunching sound as bones pulverized and c
rushed, and then the entire mangled lump exploded in lurid green fire that roared up into the night, like a meteor homesick for the heavens. It lasted less than a heartbeat, and when he opened that fist again, a few stinking flakes of ash drifted to the dais on the night wind.

  “I have drunk the blood of more champions than you could count, Wizard. Champions of Isvaria, of Lillinara and Semkirk…and of your precious, terrifying Tomanak, as well. I personally slew the last champion of Tomanak in all my universe! His head is mounted on the wall above my throne and his precious sword is in my treasure chamber! You think I should fear this Bahzell?”

  “How you respond to my information is your own affair,” Varnaythus replied, although it was evident to him that both Zurak and Kimazh were less than delighted by the prospect of confronting Bahzell Bahnakson and Walsharno. “It was my responsibility to see you had it. I’ve done that. And, as is also my responsibility, may I ask before I leave if there happens to be any other information you wish me to seek out for you?”

  Anshakar glared at him, but he also sat back in his crude throne, thinking.

  “Can you tell me when this terrifying champion of Tomanak will come to end my miserable existence?” he asked after a handful of seconds.

  “Not at this moment,” Varnaythus acknowledged. Fresh contempt guttered in Anshakar’s eyes, and the wizard cocked his head. “I know where he is and what his general plans are, but not even the best scrying spell can reveal things which have yet to be decided. If you wish, I can continue to monitor him and send you word when he actually leaves Hurgrum to join their army here in the Ghoul Moor. Should I do so?”

  Anshakar waved one clawed hand in a brusque gesture of agreement, and Varnaythus inclined his head ever so slightly again.

  “Very well, my art and my agents are at your disposal in that much. I would, however, remind you of the importance of timing in this matter. They’ve made it clear They wish your presence here to remain unsuspected until all the other parts of Their plan are prepared and ready.”

  “My Master made that plain enough, Wizard. Just as He made it plain”-Anshakar glared at him-“that He would have little patience with any delays on your part. We are here, these miserable ghouls are prepared, and I thirst for the blood of yet another champion. It’s been too long since the last one. I advise you not to waste my time or my Master’s, or when this is done, you will answer to me.” He bared his fangs. “No matter where you may hide, in any universe, I can find you, Wizard, and if I do, you’ll take little joy from our meeting.”

  “I never waste Their time, Anshakar,” Varnaythus said coldly, “and you might find me somewhat more formidable than you think, here in my own world. Nor do I think Milady would look kindly upon any attempt on your part to damage one of Her servants without Her permission.” He smiled thinly. “I readily acknowledge that you could destroy me whenever you chose, but I doubt even you would wish to face Her afterward.”

  A deep, rumbling growl grated up out of Anshakar’s chest, and Varnaythus allowed his smile to grow a bit broader.

  “And with that, Anshakar, I bid you farewell,” he said. “I have other errands to run if I’m to have all of those other parts of Their plan in readiness soon enough to make you happy.”

  “Go. Go! ” Anshakar snarled, and Varnaythus spoke the word of command and vanished once more.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to sound out the Great Council and the Manthalyr about this, Father?” Sir Seralk Axehammer asked. “If the rumors we’re hearing are even remotely accurate, don’t we need to be taking a strong position against approval of Tellian’s madness?”

  Cassan of Frahmahn looked up from his plate and frowned thoughtfully as he contemplated his only son and heir across the breakfast table. Physically, Seralk was very similar to his father, with the same tall, powerful build and gray eyes, although he had his mother’s dark hair. The resemblance was even closer where their attitudes were concerned, and despite his youth-he was not yet twenty-three years old-Seralk fully shared his father’s loathing for the entire Bowmaster clan. He was, however, younger and more impetuous than Cassan. Indeed, he was impetuous enough that he and Sir Trianal Bowmaster had come within less than one hour of meeting one another in a highly unlawful personal combat which would almost certainly have been fatal for one of them. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending upon what the outcome might have been), they’d been in Sothofalas at the time, and Sir Jerhas Macebearer had gotten word of the impending combat in time to have both young men arrested for conspiring to violate the King’s Peace during the Great Council’s session. Before releasing them, he’d extracted a binding oath from both of them-before witnesses-to stay clear of one another for at least two full years. That had prevented a repetition of the challenge Seralk had issued, but it had also poured fresh oil on the fire of his hatred for Trianal and his uncle, which was one reason Cassan had taken such pains to keep him completely separated from his own…deeper plans.

  There were other reasons, as well, of course.

  “And who on the Council would you be sounding out?” Cassan asked after a moment. “In addition to my own sources, I mean.”

  Seralk snorted.

  “Father, I don’t begin to have your sources on the Council itself,” he conceded. “But, you know, even the hoariest Councilor tends to have an heir or two floating around. For that matter, even members of the Manthalyr do, although I’ll admit few of them are going to run in the same circles I do. And while you may not have noticed, some fathers have a tendency to share their thoughts with those heirs of theirs.”

  “Actually, I have noticed that, now that you mention it. Sloppy of them, but understandable, I suppose,” Cassan said, and heard something like a chuckle from his right, where his daughter Shairnayith had finished her meal and sat lingering with a fresh cup of hot chocolate. “Not that the Manthalyr matters all that much.”

  He grimaced in distaste. The Manthalyr, the ancient and traditional assembly of the Kingdom’s commoners, had no real authority where the formulation of the Crown’s policy was concerned, although he supposed a wise monarch at least listened to them. The Manthalyr did have the authority to vote to withhold any Crown tax on any free city or town-or free yeomen, for that matter-if the Crown didn’t listen to its members, after all. And, he conceded sourly, it was far more likely to weigh in in favor of Tellian’s insanity than against it, given the heavy representation of merchants and bankers in the Manthalyr’s membership. The more far-sighted artisans and craftsmen might be wise enough to see what a flood of Axeman-made goods was likely to do to their own livelihoods, but the moneycounters wouldn’t care about that.

  If this works out the way Yeraghor and I hope, perhaps it’s time we look into reducing the Manthalyr’s authority still further, he thought. We’d have to be careful how we went about it, but if Tellian succeeds, there’ll be no stopping it from gaining still more power when Markhos hands the entire Kingdom over to the bankers and loansharks! And it’s not like Tellian would mind. He probably thinks that abortion of a “Parliament” they have sitting in Axe Hallow or that “Dwarfmeet” in Dwarvenhame are good ideas!

  He brushed the thought aside and made himself smile dryly at his own heir.

  “So what you actually have in mind is to take yourself off to Sothofalas to wallow in dissipation with at least a dozen other equally dissipated young blades while peering at them through a drink-induced haze in an effort to pick their brains between goblets of wine in hopes their fathers may have been foolish enough to tell any of them what they were truly thinking. Do I have that approximately correct?”

  “Actually, no, Father,” Seralk replied. “I was thinking more of doing that between tankards of ale.”

  “Ah! Thank you for the clarification. That’s a much better idea!”

  Shairnayith laughed out loud. Seralk grinned and raised his own chocolate cup to his father in a gesture of surrender, and Cassan smiled more broadly back at him. There
was nothing at all wrong with his son’s brain when it wasn’t being hampered by his ingrained hostility for all things Bowmaster. It was, perhaps, unfortunate that he was also young enough to make keeping a rein on that hostility such a chancy proposition. Yet that certainly didn’t mean Seralk’s proposal didn’t have much to recommend it, and behind his smile, the baron’s brain was busy.

  Actually, he reflected, Seralk’s idea was shrewder than it might have appeared at first glance. The gods knew young men’s tongues wagged freely and fathers-or some fathers, at any rate-sometimes did forget that unfortunate fact when it came to sharing information with their heirs, so it was likely a certain amount of discreet pumping would extract valuable information. Of course, Cassan’s sources were so much better than Seralk could possibly know that he was unlikely to discover anything of which Cassan wasn’t already aware. For example, he couldn’t know that “the rumors” weren’t simply “remotely correct.” In fact, those sources of Cassan’s had positively confirmed that the worst had already come to pass, although there was no way Seralk could know that at this point. And the proposal also had the virtue of being exactly what Cassan’s opponents would have expected out of his son. Given the nature of Cassan’s actual plans, having Seralk visibly pursuing a totally unrelated strategy might have a great deal to recommend it, if only as an exercise in misdirection.

  On the other hand, it could also turn out to be a serious mistake if those actual plans of Cassan’s went awry.

  As Cassan’s only son and the legal heir to the Barony of Frahmahn and the Lord Wardenship of the South Riding, Seralk was too important to risk casually. That was the real reason Cassan had kept him totally separated from his discussions with Yeraghor, Arthnar Sabrehand, and Talthar Sheafbearer. Seralk might share his hatred for Tellian of Balthar and his anger over King Markhos’ current policies, but his son could honestly testify that he’d never had any part in any actions anyone could construe as even remotely treasonous. And if Cassan’s more ominous suspicions about just how it was that Sheafbearer managed so persistently to come up with information he shouldn’t have been able to get should turn out to be accurate, Seralk’s ignorance would also protect him against any charges of associating with wizards.