Demon King (24 page)

The other men in the room were older than Praen, but they were all of his class: well-fed, richly dressed countrymen of power and confidence.

Marán was the only woman present. I kissed her cheek and raised a curious eyebrow about what was going on.

“I’m sorry, Damastes,” she said. “But Praen sent me a note only this morning, after you’d left for the Palace of War. I sent a messenger, but he couldn’t find you.”

“I had some problems to deal with outside the palace,” I explained.

“Praen said it was very important for him, and these other gentlemen, to meet with you as soon as possible,” Marán said. “I told him you generally arrived home around this time, and the best I could suggest was that he could wait. He’s told me what it’s about, and I agree that it’s very, very important.”

I turned to Praen. “You are welcome in our house, as always. Some of these gentlemen I don’t know. Would you do the honors?”

Praen introduced me around. Count this, Baron that, Lord this, and so on. Some were old riches, some new. I knew most by title. They were rural, very conservative in their beliefs, among the last to give the emperor’s new reign more than lip service. I noticed few were drinking, although there were decanters and bottles aplenty.

“Gentlemen,” I said. “I know you’re all quite busy, so please let me know how I might be of service. We needn’t bother with niceties.”

“Would you ask your servants to leave the room, please,” Praen requested. I obeyed.

One man, Lord Drumceat, stood, holding a leather saddlebag. He took four small icons from it and positioned them at equidistant parts of the round chamber. “My seer enchanted these this morning,” he said. “Supposedly they should keep anyone, even the emperor’s Chare Brethren, from being able to overhear what we discuss.”

I felt a flicker of alarm — these men weren’t about to propose anything the emperor would disapprove of, were they?

Praen cleared his throat. “What we’ve come to discuss, Damastes, is a serious problem for Numantia. These are perilous times, and we think we might be able to help the emperor, who’s terribly busy with other matters.”

I said nothing.

“Have you heard of the landless ones?” he asked. “They’ve got various names, but around Irrigon they’re called the Broken Men.”

“I saw two when I last traveled to Irrigon.”

“There’s always been a problem with the bastards,” someone said. “People who know no law, no gods. Escaped slaves, a lot of them.”

“The count’s right,” Praen said. “And it’s getting worse. They’re not content to huddle in their warrens and thickets. Now they’re setting themselves up as bandits, in armed bands.”

“The shit-heels had the temerity to seize one of my villages,” another nobleman said. “Rousted out two of my overseers, put their houses to the torch, and told ‘em they’d have but a day to flee or they’d be for the flames, too.”

There was an angry mutter around the room.

“It’s common knowledge,” Praen said, “that the emperor’s concerned about … well, let’s say external matters. But something’s got to be done about these damned criminals, and done immediately. Let the rabble get the idea they can rise above their station, and Umar himself can’t bring them to their senses.”

“Like what happened ten years ago,” another lord said. “With those damned Toveeti or whatever they called themselves.”

“You know about them better than any of us, Damastes,” Praen said. “You … and the emperor … put them down.”

“There were some others involved,” I said dryly.

“But you were at the heart of the affair,” Praen said. “That’s why we came to consult with you.”

“I still don’t know what you want me to do,” I said.

“Nothing at all, sir,” Drumceat said. “But you’re the First Tribune. We want you to know what we’re proposing, and would like for you, when the time seems appropriate, to explain matters to the emperor.”

“I’m listening.”

“What happens if one of these Broken Men is caught on our lands?” Praen said. “Generally he’s just driven on, or perhaps taken to the nearest town, and the local magistrate deals with him.”

“Which is generally no more’n a taste of the whip, if that, and he’s hounded on to the next village, and then the next,” a man grumbled. “Steals a chicken here, guts a calf there, maybe finds a back door unlocked somewhere else. Sooner or later, he’ll run into a maiden, or a child — and what happens then? I say,” the man went on, “these people, although they’re more beasts, should be dealt with early on, and swiftly.”

“Yes,” Praen said, his face coloring with excitement. “Swiftly is the catchword. For our loyal villagers see these sons of bitches, and if nothing happens to them, why, they think how interestin', being able to live a life with no duties, taking what you want when you want it, and never a thought for the plow or the hoe. We propose, Damastes, to deal with these men, and their equally monstrous women, as they should be dealt with, the minute they’re found on our lands.”

“Without involving the law?”

“Law,” Drumceat snapped. “We know the law, the real law, better than any yokel of a magistrate with sheepshit on his sandals. Hells, Tribune, look around. We
are
the law of Numantia, really. Just as we’re the backbone of the country itself.”

There was a rumble of agreement. I looked at Marán. Her lips were pursed, and she nodded slightly, evidently in accord.

“Let’s see if I understand,” I said, feeling my pulse start to beat harder. “You want to set up what, private warders? Where would the men come from?”

“We’d use our best, most loyal retainers. Men who aren’t afraid of direct action. If we need more, well, there’re enough men out there who’ve been ex-soldiers we could hire, men who know how to obey orders.”

“All right,” I said. “What happens when your warders find one, or a dozen, of these Broken Men?”

“We search them,” Praen said. “If we find anything stolen, or if there’s been complaints in the district, we deal with them then and there.”

“Even if they’ve got nothing,” another man snapped, “we drive ‘em away from settled lands. Into the wastes, where they belong. Let ‘em stay there and breed, or die, or whatever they want, away from us, and away from our peasants we’re sworn to protect.”

“And the law — the warders, the magistrates — they won’t enter into this?”

“We don’t need them!” Praen snapped. There were a couple of half shouts of agreement.

I sought Marán’s face, but couldn’t read it. I waited for a few moments, out of simple politeness, for I could make but one reply.

“Gentlemen,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Thank you for keeping your proposal brief. I’ll be equally polite. Numantia is a kingdom of laws. When those are ignored by anyone, a ‘Broken Man’ or a count, we have anarchy.”

Of course what I was saying was somewhat foolish, since I was hardly innocent enough to think a slave or peasant ever receives the same justice as a nobleman.

“Let me put things simply,” I went on. “There shall not be any of these ‘warders’ allowed on any lands I am responsible for. If any intrude, I shall take all of them,
and those who command them
, into custody. I will take these prisoners to the nearest magistrate and prefer charges against
all
of them, charges they’ve violated imperial justice and committed low treason, which the law punishes most severely.

“I will not report what went on at this meeting to the emperor. As you said, he has more than enough on his table at present. At least, I shall do nothing unless I am forced by circumstances to take action.

“That is all I have to say, or want to say, on this absurd matter, and I advise you to forget about this idea, for your own sakes. I thank you for thinking of me, and wish you well.”

I swept the room with my eyes, willing anyone to stand, to meet my eyes. Praen did, for an instant, then looked away. Only Marán gazed back calmly. In silence, the men rose, were given their coats, and left. Praen was the last to go. He looked at me, as if he wished to say something, then went out.

Marán had not moved. I waited for her to say something. Long moments passed, but all she did was stare, expression unreadable. Finally she rose and walked out. I felt a sudden chill, and a feeling that this house was not mine, at least not this night.

I returned to the Palace of War, ate a bowl of soup in the guard room, and slept on my office cot.

• • •

The next day, it was as if the meeting had never happened, at least from the way Marán behaved.

That night, Kutulu came for dinner. Instead of coming on horseback, he arrived in a coach. I don’t know how it was outfitted within, but from the outside it looked like just another prisoner transport carriage.

Marán had thought she might play matchmaker and had invited one of her acquaintances, a very pretty blond froth-head named Bridei dKeu. But Bridei, usually a great babbler of cheery nonsense, seemed struck with terror in the presence of the Serpent Who Never Sleeps, and he took little more notice of her than one of the servants.

Marán and I tried to keep the conversation going, but it wasn’t until I thought of talking about crime that Kutulu warmed up. He told us about some cases he was familiar with. He wasn’t a storyteller, but rather a reciter of cold facts, as if testifying in a law court. Thank Tanis we’d finished dinner before he began, for his stories were utterly compelling, if for no other reason than that they were of the bloodiest and most subtle murders.

Marán and Bridei drank a little too much wine as they listened, and Kutulu himself had two glasses. He was no more a drinker than I, for the drink had an instant effect on him, bringing color to his sallow cheeks and further unloosening his tongue.

Suddenly he stopped. “It is late,” he said, “and I have much work on the morrow. I shall leave.”

Bridei said she, too, must be going. Their carriages were brought around. Bridei started toward hers, then stopped. “Oh dear,” she said to her man. “I promised Camlann I’d stop by after dinner, but it’s far too late for that. Kutulu, could I trouble you to take me home, while I send my carriage to my lady friend’s house to offer my apologies?”

“Ummm … yes. Of course,” Kutulu said.

Bridei turned to her coach driver. “Very well. Tell Camlann I’ll be sure to stop by tomorrow. Then return home.”

The coachman looked utterly bewildered, as if hearing all this for the first time, then nodded. “Yes, Lady dKeu. Certainly.”

Bridei went to Kutulu’s coach, and waited. It took a moment, but then he realized what she was waiting for, held out his hand, and helped her into the carriage. He was about to follow her, but stopped.

“Thank you, Countess Agramónte.”

“Remember, I’m Marán?”

“Yes,” he said. “Marán. A very pretty name for a very pretty woman.”

I was astonished.

“Damastes, my friend,” he went on. “Let me give you something to think on. Something you might find useful in time to come. You remember what happened at Zante?”

Of course I did — the massacre of the imperial cavalry.

“Let me give you something to think on,” he said. “I must be most circuitous. It was said, you’ll recall, the incident in question happened ‘near’ Zante? ‘Near’ was not quite how it was put in the first reports,” he went on. “It was, in fact, more than ten days’ travel south of that city.”

He didn’t wait for a response, but stepped into the carriage, and without waiting for orders, his driver tapped his reins and the coach pulled away.

“What was that about?” Marán wanted to know.

I wasn’t sure.

She shrugged and turned to look after Kutulu’s carriage. “I thought I was a failure,” she said. “But … do you think bloody murder is the way to Bridei’s heart?”

I put what Kutulu had told me aside for the moment. “I don’t know if it was her heart that was taken,” I said.

“Thank Jaen she can’t keep a secret,” my wife said. “For Kutulu will never tell us what happens between now and dawn.”

Marán started giggling and took my arm, and we started inside. “What tale do you think it was that so excited her? The one about the woman who poisoned three husbands and then her lover? Or the ax that seemed to have a life of its own?”

“More likely the poor bastard who was beaten to death with his own dildo.”

She laughed. “Well,
I’m
not at all aroused. But if you’d care to come upstairs with me, perhaps we could remedy the situation.”

“Gladly, my love. But give me five minutes first.”

We kissed, and she started up the stairs. Normally I would have watched her buttocks bob as she went, but my mind was elsewhere. I hurried to my library, unrolled a map, and sought far south and east from Nicias until I found Zante, deep in the Border Lands. I held fingers together, approximately the distance a cavalry troop would travel in a day, then moved them ten times that farther south. Cold shock ran through me. I checked my estimates against the map’s scale. Ten days’ journey south from Zante was well across the border into Maisir!

What in the name of all the gods was a Numantian patrol doing violating the border accords? The Maisirians had been well within their rights to attack them.

What was going on in those wastelands? Why was Tenedos lying to everyone, including me?

• • •

Another question that wasn’t answered was what happened between Bridei and Kutulu. All the woman would tell Marán was that she was very,
very
glad she’d come to dinner.

Two days later I put the last orders for the establishment of the Imperial Guard in the emperor’s hand.

Numantia took one more step toward war.

The coming year whispered change, and there were many listening.

The first was the emperor. Unofficially, he set his wife, Rasenna, aside. He hadn’t ended the marriage officially, but he’d ordered her to make an extended tour of the Outer Provinces.

There was still no heir, male or female. It had been whispered before that Tenedos was trying to solve the problem with any woman available, although of course one sufficiently noble to carry an emperor’s son, and I remembered the giggle I’d heard in Kallio. The rumor was now confirmed, and the number of women coming in and out of his quarters was a mild scandal.