The Misbegotten King (34 page)

“What is it?”

“Messenger, sir. From Ithan.”

“Yes? What news?” One look at the man’s face told Roderic what he was going to say before he spoke the words.

* * *

Tears ran down the messenger’s hardened face. “The King, Lord Prince. King Abelard is dead.”

An immediate hush fell over the entire group as Roderic slowly rose to his feet. “When?”

“Two days, ago. Your lady sister said to tell you he didn’t suffer at the end—just slipped away.”

Roderic nodded automatically. “Thank you, soldier. Captain, see to this man’s needs.”

He did not wait for the salute. There was a hollow feeling in his chest, as though there were only empty space where his heart
had beat a moment ago. He was surprised his knees did not shake. With measured steps, Roderic walked like one blinded beyond
the perimeter of the camp. He threw back his cloak, said his name, and the sentry let him pass.

On a slight rise, he paused. The dark sky was silent, the stars stared back at him, and if they guarded some portent, they
shared it not. Was Abelard among them, now? he wondered. The puny, flickering watch fires could not penetrate the darkness
of that void. He stared south: blacker land under black sky. He raised his fist and the muscles of his arms and chest flexed,
and he relished the weight of the King’s sword across his shoulders. “Amanander!” He bellowed the challenge into the desolation.
“I’m coming!” The bloodrage burned hot and bright, and he shook his fist to the impassive heavens.

“By what right?” The unbidden answer was a sibilant whisper in his mind. “By what right, Prince Roderic?” A mocking emphasis
on the title made him stagger. The words faded away until it would have been easy to pretend he heard them not at all.

* * *

When they crossed into Missiluse, the horrors began. First there were the crosses. In scattered clumps, they rose across the
landscape like parodies of trees, bearing their hideous fruit. Many of the corpses had been stripped of flesh, so that only
skeletons remained pinioned to their branches, or in piles of desiccated bone around the bases. Carrion birds flocked the
skies and the buzz of insects was a constant hum.

Vapor steamed through deep cracks in the ground, and here and there boiling springs of sulfurous water spouted without warning.
But nothing challenged the passing of the great army as they moved with ponderous pacing.

Their passage was often blocked by the rubble of the ruins of old roads, torn from their beds of earth, heaved in great piles
to the sides in gorges deep and rocky. The bodies of animals of every description lay rotting beneath the merciless sun. The
air was wet and dank; a man could move no more than two or three feet before he was soaked to the skin.

The swamps seethed with unseen life; at night the men were wary and silent. More than once there were reports that a soldier
had lain down to sleep and had disappeared by morning. At last, the scouts reported word of Amanander’s position. “Less than
two days march, Lord Prince,” they said, twisting their hands nervously. “There’s something—something bad about that place.”

Roderic scanned their faces and did not press. Instead, he surveyed the ruins of the ancient city which lay around them.

“And that’s not all. We can go no further, Lord
Prince.” The scout wiped the sweat off his face with a grimy linen square. It left a smudge across his forehead. “The river
south of here is fouled; this is the last fresh water supply.”

Roderic nodded. “Then we have our answer.” He pointed to a jagged spur that rose out of the swamp, the highest ground for
miles. One side rose nearly a hundred feet, the sheer rock raw and striated. The other side sloped gently to the river’s edge.
“There. If the engineers say that ground’s stable, we’ll move up there.”

The men were set to the task of constructing the fortifications. Near the top of the crest of the rise, the remains of a high
tower rose three stories in the air. Once the engineers determined that the foundations were stable, Roderic gave orders to
make that the center of command.

As the days passed, he watched the endless digging and hauling, and partly out of restlessness, took a turn riding out with
the patrols. Less than six hours from the keep, he found a sloping hill which rolled down onto level ground. He turned to
look at Deirdre. “What do you think?”

She scanned the area with a practiced eye, taking in the natural contours of the land. “Looks like a good place for a battle
to me, Lord Prince. This slope gives us some advantage—those trees will make good cover for our men.”

“I say we make our move, Deirdre.”

She grinned, even as the sweat rolled down her face and trickled down the collar of her opened shirt. “Thought you’d never
say so, Prince. Me and the boys, we’re itching to get home.”

T
he scouts reported movement in the swamps as Roderic ordered the army into position on the battlefield he had selected. From
the top of the ridge, he stared out over the plain, fancying that beneath the moon he could see the gray, ghostly forms of
those men whose eyes had haunted his dreams for so long. The full moon stared like the flat eye of some uncaring god, casting
a cold light over that land of nightmares. In the distance, over the trees, he saw a dark smudge on the horizon which was
Amanander’s keep.

“What are those things we fight?” Evan Lewis spoke quietly behind him. Lewis had spent a lot of time listening to the scouts,
as well as the survivors from the Dlas expedition. He, too, had ridden out with the patrols, and he had seen firsthand what
the enemy looked like.

“Only bodies, without mind or will or spirit.” The Kahn’s voice sounded harsh in the soft night air. “They do their lord’s
bidding;‘tis all they exist for.”

A flash of orange lightning split the night sky and Roderic was reminded suddenly of the battle at Minnis. The flames of the
campfires of the foot soldiers in their trenches twinkled, like fallen stars.

Roderic squared his shoulders. “Come, gentlemen. I want to review our strategy for tomorrow.”

Miles nodded. “I shall summon the captains of the regiments to join us.”

“And my men, Prince,” said the Kahn.

Lewis followed Miles and the Kahn down the hill. Roderic watched them leave and turned to Deirdre. Her face was blank, her
eyes unreadable in the dark. “You know, Roderic, despite our numbers, we face long odds tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he answered softly. “I know.”

“If one man out of a hundred still lives by this time tomorrow, you may count yourself a wise general. Our men, these armies,
they are nothing—he uses mindless minions against them. The only life which counts tomorrow is yours. Yours is the only life
he wants.”

“What about Annandale?”

“I do not mean that others are unimportant. But if you fall, all will be lost.”

He stared at the southern horizon. “You’ve been with me all through this, Deirdre. No man could ask for a more loyal ally,
a more faithful friend. I’ll never forget what you’ve done.”

She shrugged, and for a moment, her face softened and she looked almost girlish. “Then don’t betray my trust, Prince.”

“How can you still call me that? You know the truth— why do you call me Prince even when we are alone?”

She sighed and shook her head. “A Prince isn’t something you’re born. A Prince is something you live. There are men among
my people who are born in places not much
better than byres and they are Princes. For to be a Prince means you know how to show other men how to live, and how to die.”

Her voice was not much more than a husky whisper.

“And you think I am a Prince? After all you know about me?”

“I know you are, Lord Prince. The question is—do you? A man may go crazy from time to time.‘Tis how he acts afterwards that
matters. You win tomorrow, you will be King. Can you do that, Roderic? Can you show other men how to live, and how to die?”

The question was nearly unanswerable. “Deirdre, do you think she’s still alive?”

“Aye.” Deirdre nodded. “She’s stronger than anyone I have ever met—though it worries me how he got to her. I don’t understand
that part at all. I wish your father had been able to tell us more.”

“Yes,” Roderic agreed. “If I lose her, Deirdre, I don’t know what I will do.”

She looked at him sharply. “You’ll go on, that’s what you’ll do. You’ll raise your son in her memory, and you’ll make this
land a better place. If you choose to be King.”

“Choose to be King?”

“Aye. Didn’t that ever occur to you? You could lay all this down and walk away. You’ve been so worried that the people might
not want you, you’ve forgotten that you, too, have a choice. The choice has always been yours, Roderic. You could have gone
a long time ago.”

“But—”

“But you didn’t. That’s what I meant when I said you
were a Prince.” She gave him a crooked grin and pushed her sleeves further up her tanned forearms. “Come. The captains await.”

“Deirdre—” His words stopped her as she turned on her heel. “I haven’t forgotten our bargain.”

“No, Prince. And neither have I.” She winked at him over her shoulder and strode away, whistling.

Like the breaking of an enormous wave, the battle began as a red sun rose over the plain. As Roderic eased into the saddle,
the first of the scouts from the front lines galloped up to him. “Lord Prince.”

Roderic wrapped the reins in one hand. “Tell Lewis to hold his men in reserve on our left flank. Are the Harleys ready to
ride?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“Yes, Lord Prince. The Kahn is leading his men in the first assault on the other side of the ridge.”

“Good.” Roderic nodded. He spurred the horse on and galloped down the ridge. He caught Deirdre’s eye. “Well?” he asked as
he reined in beside her.

“Well, Lord Prince?”

He could see the gleam of battle in her eyes. Her stallion danced beneath her, and the wind whipped at her battle-plaid. “Ready
to win the battle?”

“Ready to win the war,” she returned. “Lead on.”

He raised his hand and shouted the order to advance.

The battle raged as the sun ascended, and the heavy heat was like molten lead poured from the sky onto the backs of the men.
In the middle of the morning, another messenger, holding a bloody side, lurched up the rise. “Lord Prince,” he gasped, “their
first line has broken, and
the second is breaking down—the road is open. It looks as though they’re retreating.”

Roderic glanced at Deirdre. “Follow with caution. I don’t trust Amanander.”

Like a flood, the troops swept over the plain, down the wide road bed, following the black-garbed soldiers to the very base
of Amanander’s fortress. On another hill overlooking the fortress, Roderic gave the orders to halt. “We’ll make camp here
for the night,” he said. “Make sure the men who cannot fight are sent back. We don’t want the wounded in our way tomorrow.”
He gazed grimly at the wooden walls rising before them. “Nothing will get in our way tomorrow.” With a feeling of satisfaction,
he went to rest.

It was close to dawn when something roused him He came awake with a start, reached for his sword, and sat up. Something niggled
at the back of his awareness, some detail he seemed to have forgotten or overlooked. The element of surprise had worked well
to their advantage; Phineas had been correct with his assessment of Amanander’s troops. Although they fought with deadly precision,
the greater numbers easily overwhelmed them, especially when coupled with surprise or unexpected counter-maneuvers. But hadn’t
it been almost too easy?

He rose and paced, wishing Brand or Phineas or even old Garrick was there. Or even Vere, for that matter. A dark figure approached.
Evan Lewis nodded a greeting. “Restless?”

Roderic nodded. “Hard not to be, I suppose.” The gray light intensified. Before Evan could reply, a high-pitched
scream rose over the camp. Roderic jerked his head in the direction of the sound. From his vantage point on the higher ground,
he could see the whole camp, the sleeping forms of the soldiers spread out, the few who stirred at that early hour.

“By the One,” gasped Evan.

Roderic squinted. Along the perimeter of the camp, a long line of dark figures were shambling into position. What light there
was gleamed on the edges of their weapons, and even in the dim twilit dawn, he could see that some wore the uniforms of the
King’s Guard.

“What in the name—” Evan breathed.

The missing information clicked into place. “The dead,” murmured Roderic. “The dead walk in his service.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, he was off, shouting for his sword, calling to the men. They bolted awake, reaching for
weapons, gathering in tight formation, as the dead advanced upon some unseen signal. Deirdre grasped his arm.

“We won’t win this way,” she hissed between clenched teeth. All around them the air was thick with bodies, the weapons flashing
in the growing light. “Our men cannot hold up under the onslaught—there’re too many—too many who do not die.”