Rage of a Demon King (Serpentwar Book 3)

The barman sighed, as if to say, ‘What sort of story am I going to have to concoct to explain away this mystery?’ but he nodded. ‘Good luck,’ he said.

 

They hurried behind the bar and through the door into the back room. Miranda led Macros down a flight of stairs and along a narrow hall. At the end of the hall was an alcove, separated from the rest of the hall by a plain curtain hanging from a metal rod. It was the portal Miranda had used when she had first entered the Hall of Worlds. They pushed aside the curtain that set apart the alcove, and as they stepped across the threshold, they were in the Hall of Worlds.

 

‘I know the long way to Honest John’s,’ said Miranda, pointing to the left. ‘Do you know a faster way?’

 

Macros nodded. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing in the opposite direction.

 

They hurried on.

 

 

 

 

 

William watched as the battle raged below his vantage point. The defenders at the docks had started firing upon the ships moving toward them. Cleverly concealed ballistas and catapults had sunk three ships that had approached too close, but the fleet still came on.

 

One of William’s most prized possessions was a spyglass, given him as a gift years before by Duke James. It had the usual properties of any good telescope, magnifying things to about a dozen times their normal size, but it also possessed an unusual attribute: it could pierce illusions. James, seemingly reticent to discuss its origins, had never revealed how he had come by the item.

 

He studied the approaching command ship and saw the hideous demon crouching amidships. Despite his revulsion, he studied the creature. All those nearby were being controlled by mystical chains and collars.

 

The expression on the demon’s face was difficult to read, for it possessed nothing remotely like human features. Pug had warned Prince Patrick, James, and William of what had occurred regarding the death of the Emerald Queen and her replacement by a demon, but that information was being kept from all but a handful of officers. William and James had decided that there was enough for the men to worry about without having them fear the might of a demon lord.

 

William turned the glass ninety degrees, and the demon vanished from view. The illusionary woman who sat there was regal and beautiful and in an odd way even more frightening in aspect than the demon, who wore his rage and hate naked on his face for the world to see.

 

William returned the glass to the position that let him see through illusion and the demon popped back into view. William put down the glass.

 

‘Orders,’ he said calmly, and one of the palace pages stepped forward. The squires were serving with the defenders along the wall, as aides to the various officers, and the pages were serving as runners. For a brief second William looked at the eager face of the boy who was ready to carry his orders wherever he was bidden. The boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years of age.

 

For a brief instant, William was tempted to tell the boy to run, to leave the city as fast as his young legs could carry him; then he said. Tell the dock command to wait until they’ve gotten close, then I want everything fired at that large ship with the green hull; that’s their command ship, and I want it sunk.’

 

The boy ran off and William turned to look. It was probably a futile gesture; the demon’s ship was almost certainly afforded the most protection of any in the fleet.

 

Reports came in quickly that the enemy fleet had landed up and down the coast, and units of cavalry had harried the northmost eastern gate. William considered his options and called for another messenger. When the boy voiced he was ready, William said, ‘Run down to the courtyard and tell one of the riders there to carry orders to the eastern gate. Seal the city.’

 

As the boy turned, William said, ‘Page.’

 

‘Sir?’

 

‘Take a horse and go with the rider; leave the city and tell Captain von Darkmoor it’s time to head east. You stay with him.’

 

The boy looked confused at being told to leave, but he simply said, ‘Sir,’ and ran off.

 

A captain of the royal guards glanced at the Knight-Marshal, who shook his head. ‘I might spare one of them at least,’ said William.

 

The captain nodded grimly. The enemy fleet was attempting to dock. Lines snaked out from the ships as those on the railings attempted to throw loops around the cleats on the dockside. Arrows rained down on any who did not shield themselves, and men of the invading army fell into the water, their bodies pierced by multiple shafts.

 

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