The Rise of
the Demon Prince
Book Two of The
Counterfeit Sorcerer
A Novel by Robert Kroese
Copyright ©2019 Robert Kroese. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or other—except for brief quotations in reviews, without the prior permission of the author.
Prologue
I stood watch the night the city burned.
From my vantage point at the highest platform affixed to Apa Tornya, the tallest tower in Nagyvaros, I could see every corner of that vast and teeming city. I would like to report that I was distracted when the fire began—that I dozed for a moment, or that I was looking the wrong way—and that by the time I saw it, it was too late, but that would be a lie. Except for the pale glow of the full moon and a few candles that still burned at that late hour, the city was in darkness. I saw the fire begin, and I smiled when the eastern wind picked up. It was not a joyous smile, but rather the smile of a man who, having suffered a long time with an incurable illness, finally sees the end drawing near. When the conflagration could no longer be contained, I raised the alarm, but by that time the first cries of terror had already reached my ears. There would be no question about what I had done, and there would be no doubt as to my fate—if anyone were left alive to have me condemned.
I watched, mesmerized, as the blaze moved westward. By this time, a dozen houses had already been consumed, and people awakened by screams or smoke had begun to pour into the streets. Some had begun organizing a brigade to carry water in buckets from the well by the eastern gate, but it was a pitiful effort undertaken out of desperation. Before the first bucket of water was delivered, those on the front lines had been forced by the heat and smoke to flee. A score of homes was now ablaze, and the fire had reached the commercial district. Many of the buildings here were constructed of brick or the mysterious aggregate favored by the builders of the ancient city that predated Nagyvaros. These materials would not burn, but wooden doors, window frames, partition walls, and support beams, as well as tapestries and furnishings, provided plenty of fodder for the fire. Still, the fire’s progress slowed a bit; perhaps if they’d gotten more warning the people of the city might have arrested the blaze there, but they were too slow and too disorganized. The fire reached the dense foliage of the Municipal Gardens and quickly tripled in size. Nothing could stop it now.
As waves of heat washed over me, I wondered if I was safe at the top of Apa Tornya—not that there was anything I could do about it in any case. By the time I climbed down to the ground, the flames would have reached the base of the tower. The tower itself was an artifact of the ancient city and thus constructed from the impervious aggregate, but a large timber palisade had been constructed around its base. It would be fitting if I were overcome by heat or smoke, but I suspected I would not be so lucky. No, I would live to see that mighty city razed to the ground, and I would live to see the horrors that came after. I would walk the ash-covered streets, the smoke from the smoldering ruins burning my lungs, and the other unlucky survivors would point at me as I passed and curse my name, but they would not lay a hand on me—because they would see the brand on my face, and they would know I was the only one who could save them from what came next.
The fire had now reached the buildings closest to the palisade. A wide avenue had been constructed on the eastern side of the structure partly to act as a firebreak, but it did little good. The wind carried embers to the roof of the palisade, and soon a dozen little fires were burning. Men scurried about the roof, stomping out the fires as best they could, but they couldn’t keep up. The men jumped from the roof and then did their best to flee. Some had broken bones in the fall and were unable to get away in time. They lay on the ground or tried to crawl away but were quickly overcome by the heat or the smoke. Embers landed on some of them, setting their clothes ablaze, but the men didn’t move.
As the palisade erupted in flame, the heat came at me in waves, almost unbearable in their intensity. I cried out, and I imagined throwing myself from the tower into the cold water of the Zold. But this was a fantasy: the river was nearly a mile away, on the far western side of the city. The fire would not stop until it reached it. There were no bridges on this part of the Zold; only those lucky enough to get aboard one of the barges would escape the flames. As the heat grew even more intense, I considered throwing myself from the tower anyway. Apa Tornya was nearly three hundred feet tall; I would die instantly on impact.
But this, I knew, was not my fate either. I would not be spared the sight of the destruction of Nagyvaros nor of the hellish heat that accompanied it. My eyes burned from the smoke, but I forced myself to keep them open, to take it all in. Nearly a third of the city was now ablaze, and the spires cast long, harsh shadows across the Zold and the plains beyond. The spectacle was eerily beautiful; from this height I could almost imagine the people scurrying frantically to escape the flames were only mice or insects. But the wind, carrying their screams, spoiled the illusion. You did this, the wind howled at me. You destroyed Nagyvaros.
I wanted to protest, to say it wasn’t true, but the words caught in my parched throat. Tears poured down my cheeks and the heat seared my skin. I backed away from the railing, putting my back against the stone wall, but there was no relief: the unbearable heat was everywhere. It was as if the fire were inside me, consuming me from the inside out. I tore off my clothing, but nothing helped. I wanted to die but could not. The only hope I had was that the fire would eventually have to pass. But I was in such agony that time seemed to have lost all meaning. Seconds seemed like hours. I opened my mouth to scream but could not make a sound.
Then a shadow passed over me, and there was some relief. Someone had moved between me and the flames. A familiar voice spoke: “It’s all right, old friend. The worst is over. Drink a little of this.”
I felt the mouth of a bottle at my lips. Cold water poured into my mouth and down my chin. I wanted to weep for joy, but my tears had all been spent.
“Easy, that’s enough for now.” I knew the voice but could not place it. It was someone I knew, someone I trusted. The bottle, I thought. Something about the bottle jogged my memory.
“Rodric?” I croaked.
“Ah, you recognize my voice. Then I suppose you haven’t lost your wits entirely.”
“The flames,” I gasped. “You’ll burn!”
Rodric chuckled. “I wish. It’s as cold as a troll’s tits tonight.”
I opened my eyes and realized I was lying in bed, with my head and shoulders propped up on pillows. Rodric sat on the bed next to me; behind him a fire roared in the fireplace.
I sat up. “The fire…?” I asked uncertainly.
“I paid a few more ermes for extra wood tonight,” Rodric said. “The healer said not to let the room get too cold, even though you’ve been burning up for three days. Anyway, it seems the fever has broken at last.”
“Fever,” I repeated dumbly. “Then the city… Nagyvaros is safe?”
Rodric gave me a pained look. “Oh, not by a long shot,” he said.
Chapter One
Having not had a bite to eat in three days, I was famished. Rodric managed to fetch me some bread and sausages, as well as some weak wine. While I waited, I gulped down the rest of the water. Outside the window, it was dark. There were two other small beds in the room; on the farthest one slept a curled-up figure whom I recognized as my other traveling companion, the orphaned boy, Vili.
I couldn’t eat much, but I was able to sate the worst of my hunger. Rodric fetched a washbasin while I ate, and I stripped off my
sweat-stained clothes and gave myself a perfunctory bath. By the time I’d finished, I was exhausted. Rodric had meanwhile changed my filthy bed sheets, and I lay down again and slept for some time. When I woke again, it was light outside, and Vili and Rodric were gone. I dressed myself and then went down the to the common room and got some breakfast. The owner of the Lazy Crow, a haggard old woman named Dimka, seemed surprised to see me up and about.
“Thought you was a goner,” she said, without much indication of either interest or sympathy.
“I was,” I replied. “But then I came back.”
She shrugged and went back to washing dishes. My mind was filled with questions, but I doubted Dimka would be much help, so I ate and drank and waited for Rodric to return.
Rodric returned a little before noon and we ensconced ourselves in a booth in the corner of the inn. I saw now that Rodric had shaved and cleaned himself up since we met at the road; except for the bags under his eyes, he looked almost his old self.
“How do you feel?” Rodric asked.
“Like I’m on the wrong side of a tombstone,” I said. “How long has it been since…?” I vaguely remembered arriving at the inn with Rodric and Vili, but I couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before the fever hit.
“It will be a week tomorrow,” Rodric said. “You slept for most of the first three days, and then spent the next three days feverish and delirious. Vili was afraid you weren’t going to make it.”
“And you?”
“I know you’re too damned stubborn to die. Besides, we have a demon to stop.”
“Voros Korom,” I said, the memory coming unbidden to my mind.
“And his following of fractious phantoms.”
“I take it there has been no sign of them since they headed east?”
“None. I suppose it’s too much to hope for that the demon has changed his mind?”
“I’m afraid so. Voros Korom will not rest until he has destroyed Nagyvaros.”
“Then why did he turn away from the city a week ago?”
“I have a guess,” I said, “but I will need to consult with an expert to be certain.”
Rodric frowned. “You speak of Eben the warlock.”
“How do you know of Eben?”
“You’ve been ranting about him—and Beata, and Radovan, and someplace called Veszedelem—for three days. Vili helped me fill in the gaps. Eben is the one who gave you that brand?”
I touched my face. I’d nearly forgotten about my disfigurement. “That’s right.”
“He is dead?”
“That’s a bit of a gray area. The body he occupied when I first encountered him was dying, so he took Beata’s. When Beata died, he fled to the shadow world— Veszedelem. His spirit remains there, suspended between life and death.”
“Sorcerers are not to be trusted.”
“That is, in general, a good rule.”
“But you’re going to consult with him anyway?”
“I must. I hate him, but he is the only one who knows how to stop Voros Korom.”
“Or so he wants you to believe.”
I sighed. “I can see that you are not going to be satisfied with simple answers. Would it help if I told you the whole story from the beginning?”
“It would be a start,” Rodric said. “But hold off until Vili returns. Then you can tell us both at once.”
We sat and talked about our time in the Scouting Corps for a while, and then Rodric filled me in on what he’d been doing since he deserted. Vili walked into the inn about an hour later. He expressed how happy he was to see me ambulatory and lucid, and I thanked him and Rodric for making that possible. Then I told my two companions everything that had happened since I’d gone to meet Beata at the Lazy Crow over six years earlier.
I told them about the cloaked man who was being pursued by the acolytes of Turelem, and how he had taken Beata hostage. I told them how I’d intervened to save Beata, and how the cloaked man had seized me and I’d been transported to the shadow world. I told them about losing consciousness and waking up in a cart bound for Nincs Varazslat, the prison for sorcerers. I told them about learning of the brand on my face, my trial and conviction, the six long years I spent in that prison, and my release at the hands of a mysterious benefactor. I told them about finding Beata only to learn that it was really Eben the warlock. I told them about finding Beata in the shadow world and pleading with the demon Szarvas Gyerek to let her die. I told them about Radovan summoning Voros Korom in order to destroy Nagyvaros. And I told them about how I’d trapped Eben in the shadow world, and how he’d forced me to take on the task of defeating Voros Korom.
“Then you believe Eben really does want to save Nagyvaros?” Rodric asked.
“I do.”
“For what purpose?”
“That is a very good question,” I said, “and I’m afraid I do not know the answer yet. Given what I know of Eben, I can say with some certainty that he is not motivated by altruism.”
“Then is it not dangerous to ally ourselves with him? Even if you are correct in your assessment, and if we somehow succeed in stopping Voros Korom, how do we know we are not saving Nagyvaros only to deliver it over to some greater evil?”
“We don’t,” I replied. “But the city will be destroyed for certain if we do not stop Voros Korom.”
“And what about the sorcerer who tried to kill you?” Vili asked. “Is he truly dead, or is he also trapped in the shadow world?”
“I am far from an expert on such things, but I believe Radovan to be dead. That is one matter on which I hope to get clarification from Eben.”
“Do you know why Radovan wished to destroy Nagyvaros?” Rodric asked.
I shook my head.
“It seems there is a great deal we do not know,” Rodric said.
“All the more reason to consult with Eben.”
“Perhaps Eben can tell you what happened to my parents,” Vili said.
Rodric raised an eyebrow at me.
“Vili’s parents disappeared in the Maganyos Valley,” I explained. Vili bit his lip and looked away. I saw from the look in Rodric’s eyes that he understood what this meant: before Voros Korom led them away to the east, the wraiths haunted Maganyos Valley.
“The more I learn of this whole business,” Rodric said, “the less I like it. Vili, it brings me no joy to say this, but your parents are gone. I know little of such things, but I saw that procession of wraiths across the plain. No man or woman could stand against such monsters.”
Vili shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. His eyes glistened with tears. I put my hand on his shoulder. “You misunderstand, Rodric,” I said. “Vili knows his parents are gone. He only wishes to make sure that they are at peace, and not….” I trailed off, not wishing to speak the idea aloud. Each of the scores of wraiths that followed Voros Korom was composed of the tormented souls of hundreds of people. I had promised Vili we would make sure his parents were not among them.
Rodric flushed. “I am a fool,” he said. “Vili, I beg your forgiveness. I had assumed you were acting out of childish naivete, but I see now that you are only doing what you must. I can only hope that if, Turelem forbid, I am ever faced with such a challenge, I shall be so bold.”
Vili nodded, smiling grimly.
“You are far too hard on yourself, old friend,” I said. “The truth is, you are the only one of us who has taken on this quest willingly. Vili and I have little choice, but you have volunteered for this burden. And I will remind you that it is not too late for you to back out.”
“And spend the rest of my days trying to kill the memories of my cowardice with wine?” Rodric asked. “No, my path is here with you. But how is it that you do not have a choice, Konrad? I understand that you would save Nagyvaros if you could, but this is not your city. No one would blame you if you fled as far and as quickly from Voros Korom as you could.”
I managed a smile. “It seems that I glossed over my agreem
ent with Eben, and in doing so inadvertently painted myself as more heroic than I am. Although I would like to believe I would do what I could to save Nagyvaros in any case, the fact is that my soul is beholden to a demon named Szarvas Gyerek. Were it not for Eben’s intervention, I too would be lost in the shadow world. But my salvation came at a cost: I am committed to keep Voros Korom from destroying Nagyvaros.”
“And if you fail?”
“I will spend the next thousand years in Veszedelem, doing the bidding of Szarvas Gyerek.”
“Why would you enter into such a bargain?”
“I did not do so willingly. In order to free Beata from her torment, I pledged my blood to Szarvas Gyerek. I was near death, and Szarvas Gyerek would have taken my soul. Eben volunteered to take my place, on the condition that I stop Voros Korom.”
Rodric sighed in exasperation. “I see that I never should have let you go off on your own. I thought I’d had a rough time of it, but I see now that you’ve gotten yourself into more trouble than I’d imagined possible. Rest assured, though, that my bow is at your service, for whatever that’s worth.”
“It’s worth quite a bit,” Vili ventured, “judging from your treatment of those bandits on the road.”
Rodric waved his hand in embarrassment. “Luck was with me that day. It was only the hand of Turelem that kept me from skewering one of you by accident.”
I smiled but didn’t argue. Rodric was the greatest archer I’d ever known or heard about, but he lived in constant fear that his gift would leave him. When the fear became too much, he drowned it in wine, but when we were together he abstained out of a desire not to disappoint me. So while he maintained that he’d pledge himself to our cause of his own volition, in a sense he was just as bound to it by fate as Vili and I.
“You say you released Beata from her torment,” Rodric said, desperate to change the subject. “Do you mean she is at peace?”
“Beata is dead,” I said, surprising myself with the lack of emotion in my voice. “By the time I found her, the bond between her soul and her body was too weak for her to return. There was nothing left to do but release her from the shadow world.”
The Rise of the Demon Prince Page 1
