Demon King (25 page)

The first to become pregnant, another rumor suggested, would be the emperor’s new bride. I wondered if there were women foolish enough to attempt to fob another’s work off as the emperor’s, and shuddered, knowing Laish Tenedos would use every sorcerous test to make sure the child was truly his, and bring the most terrible punishment on anyone trying the cowbird’s game.

The next change came early one morning. My household guard was drilling in the courtyard, and I’d just finished my daily morning exercises. Marán was drowsing awake, alert enough to watch my press-ups and murmur “Very sorry, Baron, but the lady appears to have moved,” when I heard a carriage in the drive. I pulled a towel about me and went to the windows. The carriage’s door opened and Amiel Kalvedon got out and hurried up the steps. I wondered why she was calling on us at this hour. She, even more than Marán, loved the midnight times, and seldom rose before midday.

There were hasty footsteps in the corridor, and before I could reach my dressing gown, the door came open and Amiel was inside. Her eyes were red, and she wore no makeup and a heavy cloak. She saw Marán, burst into racking sobs, ran to the bed, and threw herself in my wife’s arms, not even noticing my near nakedness. I wondered what in the hells had happened, and determined, uncomfortable as any man when a woman cries, to slip away and unravel the catastrophe later. But Amiel saw my cowardly move.

“No. Please, Damastes. Don’t leave.”

So I didn’t. But I did put my robe on, and sat, uncomfortable, until Amiel brought herself under control.

“He threw me out,” she managed to sputter. “Out of my own house. That bastard! That lying, opportunistic, bed-wetting son of a bitch!”

Marán made soothing noises, and little by little, between outbursts of crying and swearing, Amiel told us that Pelso had come home at dawn, more than a little drunk, and said their marriage was over and for her to be out of their house within the hour. He’d have her things sent wherever she wished, but he said “he could stand this farce no longer and had to be with the one he truly loved.”

I’d often wondered if it were possible to maintain a marriage like Amiel’s and Pelso’s, and cynically had thought not. In fact, I’d wondered why, if they wanted to sleep with anyone they met, they’d bothered to take vows at all. I’d asked Marán once, and she said that they really liked each other’s company and were the best of friends. More than evidently the “friendship” was over.

We got Amiel calmed, and I had soothing teas brought up, and we found out the final blow had been struck when Pelso’s lover’s brother, the governor of Bala Hissar, had let it be known he wished his sister married and was willing to settle a large sum in gold on her groom.

“So the shitbutt cast me aside. All I’ll have is what he’s good enough to give me,” she said through gritted teeth, torment now turning to rage. “All that my father gave as a dowry, all that we’ve gained through our investments — all that will be his and his alone. I’ll have nothing.”

“I think not,” Marán said. “I know some people who’ll have a talk with him. I consulted them when my own marriage ended. I doubt he’ll want this matter to become as big a broadsheet scandal as I might arrange.”

Amiel started crying again, moaning about having no one and nowhere to go.

“Don’t be silly,” Marán said. “You’ll stay here now. With us. Isn’t that right, Damastes?”

Certainly she hadn’t needed to ask me, when I remembered how good a friend Amiel had been, from our very beginnings. I sat down on the bed and began stroking Amiel’s shoulders.

“This is your home now,” I said gently. “From now until you die, if you wish.”

So it was that Amiel, Countess Kalvedon, came to live with us.

• • •

The emperor sat motionless at his desk, the top of which was made of various colored woods forming a map of Numantia, sealed in a clear glass. Behind him on the wall hung an ornate sword and, beside it, an equally flamboyant wand. Two braziers, taller than a man, sent red flames swirling up toward the chamber’s high ceiling, flames that never smoked or emitted heat.

The emperor’s face was stern, hard. “Sit down,” he ordered, and I obeyed. There was only one thing on his desk, a standard heliograph message form, some pages long. “Here. Read this. It came from King Bairan yesterday near dusk.”

I read it once, then again, more carefully. The document was amazing. Bairan opened with a greeting using all of the emperor’s titles. He had finally received word from the frontiers about the terrible incident in question, the unfortunate fight between soldiers of our armies. He said various explanations had been offered, and he was satisfied with none of them. He’d ordered a royal commission of inquiry, which would provide a true and complete story within a time, perhaps two. But in the interim, he wished to extend his fullest apologies to the emperor and to the Numantian Army. The Maisirian unit had been restricted to barracks and would be dissolved. Its men would be broken to the ranks and sent to other units. The three officers in command had been hanged as common criminals. As for the native auxiliaries, he’d have them tracked down.

He’d further ordered all border units to withdraw two full days’ march back of the frontiers, to make sure another terrible occurrence like this wouldn’t happen. He promised to make generous restitution to the widows and children of the slain Numantians and would hardly object if reparations to the state of Numantia were required.

I whistled. “Sire, your diplomatic note must’ve been incredible. I’ve never heard of any king being this humble.”

“That’s what you think, eh?” the emperor said coldly.

“What else could there be?”

“Read the end of his message again.”

The last two paragraphs said the king was tired of the bickering about the border between Numantia and Maisir and would like to arrange a conference between the two rulers to settle the lines. In addition, it was time to consider the Border Lands, long a prickle to both countries, and devise a solution that would make everyone, except perhaps the bandits of those regions, content. It was time, the letter said, “for absolute peace to reign.”

“My congratulations, sir,” I said.

“You believe all that?” His tone was a sneer.

“Well … I don’t have any reason not — Yes, sir. I do. Shouldn’t I?”

“Now we see,” the emperor went on, “why sorcery is given to but a few who are capable of piercing the veil and seeing beyond words, seeing truth, seeing what is real.”

I blinked, wondering why I’d been rebuked.

“King Bairan sends this message, and might as well have crawled from the borders on his knees. He abases himself,” Tenedos said. “Why?”

“Maybe he’s afraid of provoking you?”

“Perhaps,” the emperor said coldly. “Or perhaps he’s trying to buy time to build up his army. Or perhaps he’s planning a surprise attack. My magics have sensed something building, something coming, something from the south. Or perhaps his hidden dagger lies in this prattle about a conference. It wouldn’t be the first time that a kingdom was betrayed under a flag of peace, would it?” Tenedos was barely controlling rage.

“No, sir,” I said, my voice neutral.

“Very well,” Tenedos said. “He chooses to hide in silk. We shall do the same. For the moment. Damastes, you remember that the post of general of the armies was never filled after General Protogenes’s death?”

Of course I did. It was gossiped about in the officers’ messes, and everyone wondered if the emperor were keeping that title for himself. Older officers said this was more important than it appeared, for a king who attempted to be all things would end by being none of them. It mattered not at all to me — the emperor controlled the army with or without the title, for we’d sworn an oath to serve him, and there were few fools in uniform who wished to return to the old days of puffery and nonsense.

“Tomorrow morning you shall be named to that post,” the emperor said. “I shall be studying this matter of Maisir even more intently than before and will need to spend a great deal of time in other worlds and times to touch the heart of this matter. I want the army to continue to be a smooth, fine-running mechanism and know you, as first tribune, will guarantee that.”

I knelt.

“Get up, you damned fool,” the emperor said, a smile pushing across his face. “All I’ve done is create more work for you … although I still want you to concentrate on building my Imperial Guard. I believe we shall need them sooner than ever, and more of them then I’d planned.”

Obediently I rose, saluted. The emperor nodded dismissal. I walked backward to the door, reached behind me, and opened it. As I went out, I glanced back at the emperor and saw his face darken. He held the heliograph transmission in both hands.

“You bastard,” he muttered. “You cowardly bastard! Trying to ruin everything!”

• • •

The delowa may be the only sausage ever banned for immorality. About a hundred years before I was born, the always-incompetent and generally laughable Rule of Ten looked around for something to be outraged about. The Festival of the New Year caught their eye.

Numantia has always celebrated the New Year with the first glimpse of spring. For one full day all work ceases, and most laws are ignored. Traditional customs are suspended or reversed. Lords dress and act like peasants, and peasants become ladies. Men become women, women men, and frequently they let their dress dictate their behavior.

One symbol of the festival is the delowa, and the first time you see one you realize the Rule of Ten wasn’t utterly foolish. It’s made of white chicken meat, egg yolks, bread crumbs, salt, pepper, parsley, chives, thyme, and savory. These ingredients are well mixed, then carefully stuffed in casing about ten inches long by two inches in diameter. The casing is string-tied flush at one end, then at the other the meat is patted into a taper, and finally the casing is tied off at that end with just a bit protruding. It looks very much like a man’s cock. The sausage is boiled, then smoked for a short time, then grilled by sidewalk vendors. The image is further encouraged by the special bun the delowa is served in, a cradle closed on either end. For spicing, a hellishly hot white sauce made from Hermonassan peppers is spread, and then the sausage is ready for the lascivious eater.

The Rule of Ten tried to ban not only the festival, but its symbol as well. The result was that the nobility were mostly forced indoors with the wardens and officials and ignored what was going on around them, while the masses ran riot, doing vast amounts of damage. After that year the ban was never mentioned again, and things returned to happy anarchy.

“We are,” Marán announced one evening after dinner, “going to celebrate Festival three days hence as it’s never been celebrated before.”

A smile came to Amiel’s lips, something that was very welcome. She had been trying hard to be her usual cheery self, but with infrequent success.

Marán had followed through on her promise, and the men of the law had attacked Pelso like rabid weasels. He must have been surprised at their ferocity, for he and his ladylove fled the capital for the temporary anonymity of Bala Hissar.

“I’m game,” I announced, then reality struck. “But there’ll be a bit of a problem.”

“Problems exist to be overcome,” Marán said, in her most royal manner.

“Excellent. Attack this one: There are certain people in Nicias who do not wish either you or I well.”

“The Tovieti,” Marán said.

“Yes. So if we go out, we’ll have to have a great clanking set of bodyguards with us. I’m sorry.”

“H
mm,” my wife said. “Well, what had you planned?”

“Not much,” I said. “I thought I’d work until dusk. Then maybe we could invite half a dozen friends in for dinner and watch the fire-play and apparitions on the river afterward.”

“How
fascinating.
Lady Kalvedon,” Marán said, “bear you witness to the fact my husband, once in the forefront of frolic, has turned into a pooptitty.”

“A pooptitty?” I snickered. “What, pray, is that?”

“Look you in the mirror,” she said. “Come, Lady Kalvedon. We women will, as usual, save the day.” She took her friend’s hand and stalked out.

I thought wistfully of the festival, and how I’d only once been in Nicias at Festival with my wife. But no one ever said, as the soldiers put it vulgarly, generalling was all bangles and blowjobs.

• • •

That night Marán announced, quite smugly, that she’d solved our problem. She refused to say how. I thought I’d subvert her and find out from Amiel, but all her friend would do was giggle and say I’d see, and it would be even better than Marán had predicted.

• • •

“Oh ye who lack faith in the true magic,” Seer Sinait intoned, “now ye shall weep bitter tears.”

“And then carouse until dawn,” Marán put in. They were behind my seer, trying to stay straight-faced. Sinait carried a small case of instruments and a tiny flask. She set both on the table, opened the case, took out chalk, and drew on the library floor.

“This is not a spell,” Seer Sinait said, as she marked figures inside a strange triangle with curving sides, “so much as an anti-spell. We use hyssop, slippery elm, squaw vine, yellow dock, goldenseal, and others. But where these herbs are generally beneficial for vision, we will cast a spell of polarity. If you three would now stand at the points of this figure …”

We obeyed, and Sinait stood in the center. “The words I use have power,” she chanted, “power of themselves, power to give, power to take. Let not your ears hear what I say, lest these words take power over you,” and as she spoke I was suddenly deaf. Her lips moved, but I heard nothing. The sound from the crowds already thronging the riverfront outside was gone. I remained deaf for several moments, then she took a small, leafy branch from a belt pouch and swept it in measured gestures at us, and hearing returned. “Now, each of you come here, and let me touch you with this ensorcelled branch. First you, Damastes.” I obeyed, then she summoned the other two. “That’s that,” she said briskly.

“What’s what?” I asked.

“That’s my protective spell,” she said. “Quite a good one, too. It’ll take a master magician to see through it, and he’ll have to be concentrating. I think you’ll like its effects. When someone looks at you, they’ll not recognize you, even if they’re a close friend. They’ll think, dimly, you resemble someone they know, but of course it can’t be you. A stranger will not be interested at all, and his or her eye will seek to pass on, to more interesting sights. Of which I doubt not there’ll be plenty on this night,” she went on. “Now, however, if you do wish to be seen, all you have to do is whisper ‘Pra-Ref-Wist,’ preferably without laughing at the silly words, and the person you’re looking at will recognize you.”