than fly to join that great soul of his ancestors, the soul in the vial passed into the demon.
The demon shuddered, closing his eyes as a new mind took control. Had the demon not been caught up in the change after the victory, he would not have succumbed so easily to the demand to free the soul in the vial, and had he not been so disoriented, that other intelligence would not have been able to achieve dominance. The mind now in charge of the demon reserved some essence in the vial and replaced the stopper. Some of his essence must remain apart from the demon, an anchor of sorts against the demands of demon lust and appetite. Even with that anchor, withstanding the demon’s nature would be a continuous struggle.
Seeing through nonhuman eyes, the newly formed creature inspected the wards again, and, rather than destroy them, he chanted an ancient Saaur summoning of magic and strengthened them. The creature could only imagine the rage of Tugor when the next messenger exploded into flaming agony upon attempting to pass into this realm. The setback would not keep the demons from entering this realm forever, but it did gain this new creature valuable time.
Flexing talons, and then arms that seemed suddenly too long, the creature wondered about the third race who lay dead upon the floor. Was it ally or foe to the Pantathians and their dupes, the Saaur?
The creature put aside such considerations. As the new mind, made up of the demon and the captured soul, melded into one, knowledge unfolded. It sensed at least one or two mindless demons wandering these halls and galleries of stone. It knew that the wards had protected the little demon as he rode the back of the captain through the rift, and that the captain had been stunned, robbed of wit and rendered animal-like, no matter how powerful. But the creature that had once been a demon knew that eventually, as the other demons already here fed and grew in power, cunning, then intelligence would return. And with memory would the need to return to this cavern and destroy the wards, opening the way.
First the creature must hunt down those demons, ensuring that did not happen. Then would come another search. ‘Jatuk.’ The creature spoke the name softly aloud. The son of the last ruler of the Saaur on the world of Shila would rule here, over the remnants of the last Saaur host, and this creature had much to tell him. As the melding continued, the demon’s nature was controlled and contained, then fused with that other intelligence. The father of Shadu – who now served Jatuk – took control of this false body and moved toward a tunnel. The mind of Hanam, last of the great Loremasters of the Saaur, had found a way to cheat death and betrayal and would now find the last of his people to warn them of the great deception that would doom another world to destruction if not halted.
Erik signaled.
The soldiers knelt just below his position in the gully watching as he silently motioned where he wanted each of them. Alfred, now his first corporal, gestured from the far end of the line and Erik nodded. Each man knew what to do.
The enemy had camped in a relatively defensible position on the trail north of Krondor. About three miles up the road was the small town of Eggly, the objective of the invaders. The enemy had stopped their march before sundown, and Erik was certain they would launch an attack just before dawn.
Erik had watched them from his hidden vantage, his men camped a short distance away while he decided his best course of action. He had observed the enemy erect their camp and saw they had been as disorganized as he had suspected they would be; their pickets were placed poorly, and were undisciplined, spending as much time looking into the camp to chat with comrades as actually watching for an enemy approach. The constant glances in the direction of the campfires were certainly diminishing their night vision. After gauging the strength and position of the invaders, Erik knew his choices. He had decided to strike first. While outnumbered by at least five to one, his men would have the advantage of surprise and superior training; at least, he hoped the latter was true.
Erik took a moment for one last inspection of the enemy’s position. If anything, the pickets were even more inattentive than they had been when Erik had sent for his company. It was clear the invaders thought their mission one of minor importance, taking a small town off the beaten track, while major conflicts would be raging to the south near the capital city of Krondor. Erik was determined to teach them that there were no minor conflicts in any war.
When his men were in place, Erik slipped down a small defile, until he was almost within touching distance of a bored guard. He tossed a small stone behind the man, who looked without thought. As Erik knew would be the case, the man glanced back into the camp, at the nearest campfire, which blinded him for a moment. A soldier sitting near the fire said, ‘What is it, Henry?’
The guard said, ‘Nothing.’
He turned to find Erik standing directly before him, and faster than he could shout alarm, Erik hit him with his balled fist, catching him as he fell.
‘Henry?’ said the man at the campfire, starting to rise, vainly trying to see into the gloom beyond the campfire light.
Erik attempted to imitate the guard’s voice. ‘I said, “Nothing.”’
The attempt failed, for the soldier started to shout alarm and pulled on his sword. But before he could clear the blade from his scabbard, Erik was upon him like a cat on a mouse. Grabbing the man by the back of his tunic, Erik pulled him over backward, slamming him hard into the ground. Putting a dagger at the man’s throat, he said, ‘You’re dead. No noise.’
The man gave him a sour look, but nodded. Softly he said, ‘Well, at least I get to finish my supper.’ He sat up and returned to his dinner plate, while two other men blinked in incomprehension as Erik circled the campfire and ‘cut’ each of their throats before they realized an attack was under way.
Shouts from around the camp announced that the rest of Erik’s company was now in force among the enemy, cutting throats, knocking down tents, and generally creating havoc. The only prohibition Erik had put on them was no fires. Although tempted, he thought the Baron of Tyr-Sog would not appreciate the damage to his baggage.
Erik hurried through the struggle, dispatching sleeping soldiers as they emerged from tents. He cut a few ropes, trapping soldiers inside as the canvas fell upon them, and heard shouts of outrage from within. Throughout the camp, men cursed as they were ‘killed,’ and Erik could hardly contain his amusement. The strike was fast and he was at the center of the camp within two minutes of the start of the assault. He reached the command tent as the Baron came out, obviously half-asleep as he buckled his sword belt around his nightshirt, and clearly displeased by the disruption. ‘What have we here?’ he demanded of Erik.
‘Your company is destroyed, my lord,’ said Erik with a light tap of his sword upon the Baron’s chest. ‘And you are now dead.’
The Baron studied the man who was sheathing his sword: he was tall, unusually broad across the shoulders without being fat, like a young blacksmith, with unremarkable features. His smile was engaging, however, friendly and open. In the firelight his pale blond hair danced with ruby highlights.
‘Nonsense,’ said the stout Baron. His neatly trimmed beard and fine silk nightshirt said volumes about his campaign experience. ‘We were to attack Eggly tomorrow. No one said anything about this’ – he waved his hand around the campsite – ‘business of a night attack. Had we known, we would have taken precautions.’
Erik said, ‘My lord, we are attempting to prove a point.’
A voice came out of the darkness.
