Rage of a Demon King Page 10

  As Sylvia put on her robe, he said, “What’s gotten into you?”

  “You have time to spend with Helen Jacoby, but you spend days away from me.”

  Roo said, “You can’t possibly be jealous of Helen?”

  “Why not?” She turned, an accusatory expression on her face as he sat up in her bed. “You spend time with her. She’s not unattractive in a rawboned peasant-girl fashion. You’ve mentioned you respect her wit, far too many times for my liking.”

  Roo got out of bed, and said, “I killed her husband, Sylvia. I owe her some comfort. But I have never touched her.”

  “You’d like touching her, I wager,” said Sylvia.

  Roo tried to put his arms around her, but she brushed him aside and moved away. “Sylvia, you’re being unfair.”

  “I’m being unfair?” she said, turning and allowing her robe to fall open.

  Roo found himself beginning to become aroused at the sight of her.

  “You’re the man with the wife, children, and reputation. I was one of the most eligible daughters in the Kingdom until I met you.” Pouting, she moved toward him, letting her breasts rub against his bare chest as she said, “I’m the mistress. I’m the woman of no status. You can leave whenever you want.” Her hand began tracing small circles on his stomach.

  Roo’s breath came hard as he said, “I would never leave you, Sylvia.”

  Reaching down, she stroked him and said, “I know.”

  He pulled off her robe and carried her so quickly to the bed he almost tossed her onto the covers. Quickly taking her, he pleaded his undying love while Sylvia looked at the canopy overhead, fighting off a yawn. A self-satisfied smile then formed on her lips that had nothing to do with physical pleasure, and everything to do with power. Roo was on his way to being the most important merchant in the history of the Kingdom, and he was clearly under her power. She listened to Roo breathe more rapidly as his passion mounted, and she detached herself from the experience. The novelty of his lovemaking had long since worn off, and she preferred the talents of his cousin Duncan, who was far more attractive, and whose appetite for inventive love play matched her own.

  She knew Roo would be appalled to discover that she and Duncan often shared this bed, and occasionally invited one of the servants to participate as well. She knew that Duncan would be malleable as long as he had access to fine clothing, good fond, rare wine, pretty women, and the trappings of prosperity. He would make a fine lover after she wed Roo, and a completely socially acceptable replacement for him one day. As Roo neared the pinnacle of his ardor, Sylvia absently wondered how long she need wait to wed the repellent little man after she arranged the murder of his fat wife. At the thought of taking control of both her father’s financial empire and Roo’s, Sylvia found her own passion mounting at last, and as Roo could control himself no longer, Sylvia joined him in a paroxysm of release, imagining herself as the most powerful woman in Kingdom history.

  Erik knocked on the door and William looked up. “Yes, Sergeant Major?”

  “If you have a minute, sir?” he asked.

  William waved him to a chair and Erik sat. “What is it?”

  “Nothing to do with training,” said Erik. “That’s going well. It’s a personal matter.”

  William sat back. His expression was neutral. While serving together, each man had occasionally let the other glimpse some facet of his personal life, but neither had intentionally opened a conversation on a personal subject. “I’m listening,” said the Knight-Marshal of Krondor.

  “I know this girl, and, well, if you don’t mind, I just need to talk about being a soldier and getting married.”

  William said nothing for a moment, then he nodded. “It’s a difficult choice. Some handle family matters well. Others don’t.” He paused. “The man who held this office before me, Gardan, was once a sergeant like yourself. He served Lord Borric, Duke of Crydee, when my father was a child there. He came to Krondor with Prince Arutha and rose to this office. All the while he was married.”

  “How did he do with it?”

  “Well, all things considered,” said William. “He had some children, one of whom became a soldier like him. He died in the sacking of the Far Coast.”

  Remembering what his stepfather, Nathan, had told him of those days, Erik knew that many had died during those raids. “Gardan was already dead by then. Some of the other children survived, I believe.”

  William rose and closed the door behind Erik, and came to sit on the edge of his desk. Erik noticed that apart from the formal tabard of his office, the Knight-Marshal elected to wear a common soldier’s uniform, without markings of rank. “Look, with what’s coming . . .” William began. He fought for words, then said, “Is any sort of relationship wise?”

  “Wise or not, I have it,” said Erik. “I’ve never felt this way before about a girl.”

  William smiled, and for a moment Erik saw years drop from the man. “I remember.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, have you ever been married, sir?”

  “No,” said William, and there was a hint of regret in his voice. “My life never seemed to have room for a family.”

  He moved to his own chair and sat. “Truth to tell, my family hasn’t had much room for me.”

  “Your father?” asked Erik.

  William nodded. “Time was we didn’t speak to each other from anger. We’ve since gotten over that. But it’s hard. If you’d ever met my father, you’d think he was my son. He looks but ten years older than you.” William sighed. “The ironic thing, it turns out, was that becoming a soldier, as I did, had been his own boyhood dream. He insisted I study magic.”

  William smiled. “Can you imagine growing up somewhere where everyone practices magic, or is married to someone who does, or is the son or daughter of someone who does?”

  Erik shook his head. “It must run in your family, though. I met your sister.”

  William smiled ruefully. “Another irony. Gamina’s adopted into our family. And she’s far more adept at things magical than I.

  “I have one pitiful talent. I can speak with animals. They tend toward short, uninteresting conversations. Except Fantus, of course.”

  At mention of the firedrake, Erik said, “I haven’t seen him around the palace lately.”

  “He comes and goes as it pleases him. And if I ask him where he’s been, he pointedly ignores me.”

  Erik said, “I still don’t feel any closer to a decision than I did before.”

  William said, “I know that feeling, too. There was a young magician from Stardock, a girl from the desert stock of the Jal-Pur, who came to study with my father when I was a boy. She was two years older than I.

  “She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, dark skin and eyes the color of coffee. She moved like a dancer and her laughter was musical.

  “I was smitten the first time I saw her. She knew me as the Master’s son, Pug’s boy, and she knew I was infatuated with her. I followed her around, making a pest of myself. She put up with me with good grace, but after a while I think I wore her nerves thin.”

  William gazed out the window that overlooked the courtyard and said, “I think her indifference to my plight was one of the big reasons I chose to leave Stardock and come to Krondor.” He smiled in remembrance. “She came two years later.”

  Erik raised an eyebrow in question.

  “Prince Arutha’s father had a magical adviser, a wonderful old character named Kulgan. Far from the most powerful magician around, he may have been among the most intelligent. He was like a grandfather to me in many ways. His death hit my father very hard. Anyway, Prince Arutha decided he wanted a magical adviser in his court, so he asked Pug to send his best to Krondor. Father surprised everyone by sending her instead of one of the masters; I thought at first he was sending her to check up on me.” He smiled ruefully in memory.

  William was almost laughing as he went on, “You can imagine the consternation among the nobles when she showed u
p and turned out not only to be Keshian, but to be distantly related to one of the most powerful noble lords among the desertmen of the Jal-Pur. It took Prince Arutha’s iron will to force the court into accepting her.”

  William sighed. “Things got very difficult here the day she showed up, some things I can’t talk about, but suffice it to say by the time we were done she and I had learned we were very different people than we had been at Stardock. We also discovered that my feelings hadn’t changed, and I was astonished to discover that the two years apart had changed the way she looked at me. We became lovers.”

  Erik said nothing for a moment as William became lost in a moment of remembering.

  “We were together for six years.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died.”

  Erik said, “If you don’t want to talk about it—”

  “I don’t,” interrupted William.

  Erik looked uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll go, sir. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”

  William waved away the apology before it came. “You didn’t. Those wounds are with me every day and they are always open. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never wed.”

  As he reached the door, Erik said, “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what was her name?”

  Without looking at Erik, still staring out the window, William said, “Jezharra.”

  Erik closed the door behind him. As he walked along the corridor leading to the marshalling yard, he considered the conversation. No closer to knowing what he should do, he decided to put his mind to the matters before him and let his feelings for Kitty come as they might.

  5

  Elvandar

  Tomas sat motionless.

  King Redtree, Aron Earanorn in the elves’ language, spoke. “In the years since we abandoned the Northlands to return, we have attempted to understand our cousins.” The leader of the glamredhel, the “mad” elves, those left to fend for themselves in the Northlands above the Kingdom ages ago, fixed Queen Aglaranna with a steady stare. “We bow to you as ruler, here, lady”—he made an all-encompassing gesture with his right hand—“in Elvandar. But we do not accept any suggestion that you rule us, absolutely.”

  Tomas glanced at his wife. The ruler of the Elves of Elvandar turned her softest smile on the warrior who had ruled over his followers for almost as many years as she had reigned in the elven glades. “Earanorn, no one here is suggesting anything,” she countered. “Those who chose to come to Elvandar, by the call of ancient blood or as guests, are free to leave at any time. Only those who choose to remain here of their own accord are subject to our rule.”

  The former King tapped his chin. “That’s the rub, isn’t it?” He looked at the assembled elves in the Queen’s Council: Tathar, her senior adviser; Tomas, the half-human Warleader and prince consort; Acaila, leader of the eldar who had remained on the world of Kelewan until the human magician Pug had found them; and others, including Pug and his current companion, Miranda. After a long silence, the old King asked, “Where would we go? Back to the Northlands and our less generous cousins?”

  Tomas glanced at Pug, his boyhood companion, foster brother, and ally in the Riftwar, and his eyes revealed that he, too, knew the answer: there was nowhere else for these “wild” elves to go.

  Tomas turned his attention to Acaila, whose knowledge and power never failed to astonish Pug, and raised a finger so slightly the human magician barely noticed it. Acaila inclined his head but a fraction of an inch, yet the Queen returned the barely perceptible nod.

  “Why leave at all?” asked the leader of the eldar, those ancient elves who were closest to the Dragon Lords, and who kept their lore and knowledge. “You have found your lost kindred after centuries of isolation and no one seeks to return you to slavery, yet you seem ill at ease. May one ask why?”

  Redtree let out a long sigh. “I’m an old man.” At this, Tathar, Acaila, and some others laughed, without malice but with genuine amusement. “Very well, so I’m merely three hundred seventy years of age, while some here are twice that, but the truth is the Edder Forest of the Northlands is a harsh place, rife with enemies and scant of food. You have little sense of that here, in the midst of Elvandar’s bounty.” He hugged himself slightly as if memory of the Edder was chilling. “We numbered no Spellweavers, and the healing magic of Elvandar did not exist. Here a mild wound heals with rest and food; there festering can take a warrior as surely as an enemy’s arrow.” He held out his hand in a balled fist, anger coloring his words. “I have buried my wife and my sons. By my people’s experience, I am a very old man.”

  To Pug, Miranda whispered, “And a long-winded one, too.” She stifled a yawn. Pug tried not to smile on the heels of the old King’s emotional words, but he, like Miranda and the others, had heard the tale of Redtree’s battles and losses many times in the months they had lived with the elves.

  Calin, Aglaranna’s older son and heir to her throne, spoke. “I think over the last thirty years we have demonstrated our goodwill, King Redtree. We mourn your losses”—others of the council nodded agreement—“yet here rests your people’s best chance to thrive, returned to the heart of our race.

  “During the Riftwar and the Great Uprising, we lost many who now rest in the Blessed Isles, yet we have gained, by your having found your way here. In the end, all of elvenkind are profited.”

  Redtree nodded. “I have considered my people’s choices.” He seemed to let go of something, a hint of pride. “I have no sons.” Looking at Calin, he said, “I need an heir.”

  A young warrior of the glamradhel stepped to his King’s side, handing over a bundle wrapped in leather and tied in thongs. “This is the mark of my rank,” said Redtree, untying the bundle. As much as elves could display surprise, the assembled council was surprised. Inside the skins was a belt of marvelous beauty: silken threads that Pug judged were something more alien than silk held gems of stunning brilliance in a pattern both lovely and compelling. “Aslethnath!” proclaimed Redtree.

  Pug studied the belt, shifting his perceptions. To Miranda he whispered, “This is a thing of power.”

  “Really?” she asked dryly.

  Pug glanced at her and saw her smile, as she tried to keep from laughing at him outright, and again he was visited by the certainty that her power and knowledge were more than she revealed.

  Acaila stepped down from the circling benches and came to stand before Redtree. “May I?” he asked.

  Redtree handed him the belt.

  He examined it and then turned to Tathar. “This is a great and wonderful magic. Did you not know it was here?”

  Tathar, senior among the Queen’s Spellweavers, shook his head. With a hint of irritation, he said, “Did you?”

  Acaila laughed, as he had often laughed when teaching Pug for the year the magician had lived with the eldar, in Elvardein, Elvandar’s twin forest, magically hidden under the ice cap on the world of Kelewan. There was no mockery in that laugh, ever, but with a hint of irony, Acaila said, “There is that.” He turned back toward Redtree, and the ruler of the glamredhel nodded slightly. Acaila turned as Tathar stepped down from his place in the Queen’s circle. Even though Acaila was the undoubted leader in age and experience among the Queen’s advisers, he was a newcomer, and Tathar was Aglaranna’s seniormost adviser.

  As Tathar took the belt and turned to present it to Calin, Redtree spoke. “The belt is worn in high council and is passed from the King to his son. As he who was my father gave the belt to me to mark my position as heir, so I give this to you, Prince Calin.”

  The Elven Prince bowed his head as Acaila handed him the belt. He took it and touched his forehead to it, and said, “Your nobility is unquestioned. I accept your generosity with humility.”

  Then Aglaranna rose and said, “Again our people are one.” To Redtree she said, “You are truly Aron Earanorn.” She bowed her head to him. An elf appeared behind him with a new robe, and at the Queen’s bidding, he placed it over the armor and furs Redtre
e wore in the fashion of his people. “You would honor our council by accepting a place in it.”

  The old King said, “The honor is mine.”

  Acaila put out his hand and led Redtree to a place between Tathar and himself.

  Pug smiled and winked at Miranda. By placing the glamredhel above himself in council, yet behind Tathar, the wise leader of the eldar avoided years of possible resentment by the glamredhel. Redtree would stand second only to Tathar in council.

  Miranda motioned with her head for Pug to move away from the council and when they were safely away from the discussion, she said, “How long is this going to continue?”

  Pug shrugged. “Redtree’s people first came here about thirty years ago, twenty years or so after Galain and Arutha ran into him after the fall of Armengar.”

  “They’ve been arguing who’s in charge for thirty years?” asked Miranda, her face showing disbelief.

  “Discussing,” said Tomas, appearing behind them. “Come with me.”

  Tomas led Pug and Miranda to a private area, screened from the Queen’s court by cleverly arrayed branches. On the other side, he could look out over the tree city of Elvandar.

  Pug asked, “Do you ever get used to it?” He studied his friend, again finding the echoes of his foster brother in the alien-etched features of the tall warrior.

  Even in his ceremonial robes, Tomas radiated strength and power. His pale blue eyes, nearly colorless, gazed across the vista of Elvandar as he said, “Yes, but its beauty never fails to move me.”

  Miranda said, “No one who’s alive could not feel something.”

  It was evening and Elvandar was ablaze with a hundred cooking fires, some on the ground below, others on platforms erected in the branches of the trees. Throughout the community, glowing lanterns had been ignited, but rather than the harsh yellow flame of a city lamp, these glowed with a softer, blue-white light: elven globes, part natural, part magic, and unique to this place. But the trees themselves also were alight, branches illuminated with a soft glow, a faint bluish or greenish haze, as if the leaves were phosphorescent.