Demon King (47 page)

Her breath rasped as she ground her hips against me, squeezing me with her inner muscles as she did. I almost came, and had to force control as she moved her leg back until it touched mine. She swung around until her back was to me, lifted her legs to either side of mine, leaned forward, hands on my ankles, then stretched her legs out slowly, and I was in a soft, tight vise and jerked upward, no longer able to hold myself. She lifted herself off my cock, slid back up, took me in her mouth as I caressed her with my tongue, and then we both rolled as our bodies convulsed and my mind drowned in warm wetness.

Sometime later, I came back. “Great gods,” I managed to say. “That’s too much like work. I think I need a splint. What do you think I am, a gymnast?”

“Shut up,” she said. “I was the one who had to do all the work.”

“If my cock ever gets hard again, which I don’t think it’s going to,” I said, “I’m going to show you one of
my
favorite positions. All it requires is a winch, twelve feet of timber, two hundred yards of rope, and sixteen sheep.”

“Bluffer,” she said. “But I do know where there’s some very soft silk cord. If you’re interested.”

• • •

It was three weeks before we heard from Nicias, and I’d begun to be concerned, although I shouldn’t have been, knowing the still-vile weather and the other problems communicating with Numantia presented. But there’d been so few problems thus far, and I’ve always believed luck is a fixed sum, and there is only so much to be spent.

I fretted, and the Time of Dews dragged past.

It was the fortieth day of the time when we finally received word. The emperor had approved the treaty. He’d have a few of the most minor changes to make, and then we could make arrangements for his trip to the border and the grand meeting between the two rulers.

I think everyone in Jarrah went a little mad. There were parties from the highest to the lowest, and no one seemed to have anything for anyone other than a smile and a cheery greeting. The temples were packed, and thankful prayers went up to Umar, Irisu, the special gods of Numantia and Maisir, and almost any deity worth praying to.

Except Saionji. Her flashing swords, her pale horse, would not be called upon.

• • •

Three more weeks passed, and a hasty message came from Nicias. The pirates who roved the coast around Ticao, the province bordering my own Cimabue, had joined together and landed in several places, not as simple raiders, but as conquerors, declaring themselves the founders of an independent country. They had two powerful sorcerers, and the emperor himself had to take charge of the expedition sent there.

The message was full of apologies, reassuring us nothing had gone wrong. As soon as he destroyed these villains, he’d return to Nicias and sign the treaty, and couriers would carry the document south.

I conveyed the message to King Bairan and Ligaba Sala, letting them read the decoded raw text to make sure no one was suspicious, although there wasn’t any cause for wariness. Even a Time shouldn’t cause any problems.

• • •

Lord Boconnoc announced that the fourth day of the Time of Births would be an embassy holiday, and anyone wishing to sample Numantian cooking was welcome. It was merely a pretext to be mildly homesick, and attempt to construct some Numantian dishes from Maisirian materials and long-hoarded delicacies.

There were no more than ten or fifteen Maisirian guests at the embassy that night. Everyone was gathered in the main ballroom, having a glass of good Varan wine before dinner. I, of course, was drinking water. Alegria found the wine a bit tart for her tastes — Maisirian wine was far sweeter than any Numantian vintage, but asked if she could have another glass.

I grinned, and was about to get it for her when the ballroom doors smashed, and a dozen armored soldiers stormed through. Behind them twenty archers trotted in and formed lines along the walls, arrows nocked, bows half-raised. There was utter, complete silence, then a woman sobbed once.

King Bairan stalked into the room. He wore black armor and held a naked sword.

“What … what is …” Ambassador Boconnoc stammered.

“Seven days ago, the army of Numantia crossed the Maisirian border, without any declaration of war,” he boomed. “We received word of this treachery today, and a message the Maisirian town of Zante has fallen and been sacked by your barbarians.

“This is a deed of the greatest infamy. You Numantians betrayed us, with your soft words of treaties, especially you, Damastes á Cimabue, falsely swearing you and your dog of an emperor ever intended peace.

“This was the act of bandits, not warriors, not diplomats, not civilized men. I therefore declare all Numantians beyond the law. As outlaws, you shall be judged, just as your foul emperor shall be judged after his army is destroyed.

“But none of you shall live to see that day. Take them away.”

If it weren’t for the barred windows and balconies, my cell could’ve been taken for a luxurious, if threadbare, apartment. At the king’s order, all of us in the embassy, Numantians and our Maisirian servants, were manhandled, not gentled, into wagons, and rushed through the streets of Jarrah. I don’t know who had told the populace, but they were out in force, shouting obscenities and threats and pelting us with garbage. Twice they tried to charge the carts, screaming for our deaths, and were driven back by our escorts’ whips. I was grateful for my love of finery, for I’d slipped my belt from my trousers, and held its slack end doubled about my fist. The buckle was about a pound of solid gold, and the belt set with heavy gold reliefs. The first madman that leapt onto our cart would’ve needed a new face. But the soldiers held them back until we reached Moriton.

Jarrah had many prisons, even more than Nicias, and we were taken to the most dreaded. It was the Octagon, and was completely impregnable. Outside the eight high walls of the cells was a spear-wall no one could break through, a spear-wall of exotically curved glass spikes. Next was a vertically walled ditch, more than thirty feet deep, with ten feet of muck to drown in at the bottom. There were pacing guards on the outer wall every fifty feet, and their watch was changed every two hours. Few who entered the Octagon’s gates left. This was where the king’s most infamous enemies were mewed up, until Bairan decided what agonies would best serve to show his displeasure.

We went through a gate in the outer wall and, surrounded by guards, were prodded off the carts. They herded us over a slender bridge that reached across the ditch and curved up and over the glass spikes, then down into the Octagon itself. I paid little mind, because I was looking for Alegria. I hoped she’d been able to hide or flee in the frenzy, but feared the worst — that the king had decided to make her an example because of her involvement with me.

The Octagon’s chief warder, a thin, white-haired man with a smile suited for a skull, whose name was Shikao, told us the rules, which were quite simple, in spite of the half-hour drone it took to recite them: Obey any guard instantly or be very sorry you hadn’t.

I was asked if I had a servant. I didn’t know if it would be a good idea to name one, but before I could decide, Karjan stepped out and shouted, “I am the one.” Shikao motioned, and a warder shoved Karjan toward me. Then we were pushed and harried to our cells. I was on the top floor of the five-story prison. The other Numantians were on the same floor and the one immediately below. “Our” Maisirians were imprisoned on a lower floor across the courtyard.

By now, my wits were returning, and I paid close attention, for a prisoner should always be planning his escape. But since I wasn’t exactly a hardened lag, I saw no opportunity, nor do I know what I would’ve done had I spotted one, with only a city of enraged people and three hundred leagues of enemy territory between me and safety, not to mention what would happen to my fellows.

There was an inner and an outer door to my cell, with a ten-foot-long archway between them. The warders opened one, escorted Karjan and me through, locked it, then opened the inner door. There was a long main room, two small bedchambers off it, a jakes, and an alcove, for Karjan. The bathroom and the servant’s alcove were curtained. The rooms were lavishly furnished, with battered, once-expensive furniture. Faded tapestries clung to the walls. There were three barred windows and two balconies opening onto the inner courtyard. The balconies could be closed off with folding wooden doors in bad weather. This would be my world until King Bairan ruled it was time for me to leave it.

I should have sent for pen and paper and immediately fired off a protest to the king about our unjust and, by the usage of diplomacy, illegal handling. But there were other matters concerning me, such as the Emperor Tenedos’s second betrayal. Unlike the first, this needed little thought to comprehend.

What he’d done made quite a bit of sense, although understanding didn’t lessen my rage. The Emperor Laish Tenedos had, quite deliberately, played me as a fool, to take in King Bairan, Ligaba Sala, and even the
azaz.

Everyone knew I was irretrievably honest, not known for dissembling or being a good liar. So Tenedos said he wanted peace over all else, and I believed him, believed him as my friend and my emperor. Also, I was his most senior tribune, his best cavalry commander, head of his entire army. Only a fool would send such a man into the hands of the enemy if he intended war. And so the ambush was laid for Maisir to stumble into.

Not that I couldn’t blame my own stupidity. Why hadn’t I wondered why the emperor had suddenly changed direction after he’d saber-rattled for months about Ebissa, and his agents and broadsheets had made the Maisirians into demons incarnate? Shouldn’t I have found that single night of magic, that great discovery, a little suspicious coming from a man who was the master of spells and caution?

I reluctantly recognized Tenedos’s cunning in discovering a new invasion route, where he would find supplies for the army among the Maisirian settlers being moved into the
suebi.
That hand he’d played masterfully, especially after the Twentieth Hussars were attacked scouting that path into Maisir.

He’d built up units in Urey, so King Bairan paid more mind to the traditional path war and commerce took through Kait than to what was going on in Dumyat and Rova. My sincerity played into King Bairan’s desire for peace, and he’d moved his soldiers back from the borders, so no Maisirian patrols witnessed Tenedos’s preparations for war.

All Tenedos’s moves, from pretending to echo the king’s withdrawal of forces to hesitating over the niceties of the treaty, to the “pirates” of Ticao, were meant to give him time to assemble our armies for the invasion.

I wondered bitterly what final service I was expected to perform for my emperor next? Of course, to die as a noble symbol, here in the dungeons of Jarrah. I would die fulfilling my oath to Tenedos, the oath my family had never broken: We Hold True.

After all, there was little else but my pride left, since the only one who knew my honor was still inviolate was a thousand leagues distant, weaving a new web.

• • •

Again, I was grateful for my love of flashy garb. I pried one of the gold carvings from my belt and gave it to Karjan. He bribed a guard, and found out Alegria had been taken back to the Dalriada. Her moment of “freedom” was over. Now all that was left was the company of her sisters and the dark stone walls of the castle. But at least she would live.

• • •

They marched our Maisirian servants into the inner courtyard an hour after the morning meal. The thirty or so men and women huddled together, eyes darting about fearfully. But nothing happened, and they began to relax, and I heard their wondering voices.

Gates clanged open, and some forty armored men trotted into the courtyard. A servant walked toward them, asking something. Steel flashed, and a sword drove into his belly. Then the screams and the pleas for mercy began. But none were heard, and the swords and axes rose and fell.

From the balconies around me I heard Numantians shout curses, raging that our servants had nothing to do with what happened. But the killing went on, and none of the murderers bothered to look up. The screams softened to moans, tears. The killers went from body to body with daggers, and after that I heard nothing but their laughter and jokes. They dragged the bodies out, and all that was left was the spatters and pools of blood against the courtyard stones, scarlet darkening to black.

• • •

We waited for more horrors, but it seemed the king’s rage had been satiated for the moment. Or else, more likely, what was happening far to the north filled his mind.

We settled into prison routine — waking, eating, pacing the courtyard, eating, trying to find something to fill the mind in the long, numb afternoons, eating, and then lying down and praying for sleep.

The food was acceptable, but monotonous: bread and tea in the mornings, a weak vegetable stew at midday, and the same at night with bits of meat or fish in it. Karjan and I entertained ourselves for a while remembering, precisely, course by course, the finest meals we’d ever consumed. But that grew too painful as the weeks dragged by.

We exercised hard, pacing our cell endlessly, wrestling, straining our muscles, each man against the other’s pull, in improvised drills. We exerted our minds with a game Karjan contrived. Since we’d campaigned so long together, one would begin a description of a place, a fight, a parade, a person, and go on until the other caught him in an error. Penalty — a beer for Karjan when we were freed, an exotic sweetmeat for me. Then it would be the other’s turn to talk about the same subject, until he made an error. In this simple and stupid manner, we kept our minds supple.

The war was always a presence. We heard the dim sounds of marching men, army bands, clattering wagons, the neigh of horses and the clash of their hooves.

Even behind these stone walls, we were still able to hear news of the war. Karjan cultivated a friendship with one of the Maisirian prisoner-cooks, and he obligingly collected all the tales of the fighting.