The Warrior King: Book Three of the Seer King Trilogy (20 page)

Not that my own army was perfect — but we would have the advantage, unless things went awry, of fighting from prepared positions when Tenedos arrived.

One thing I did admire — Tenedos had time and the magical resources to completely outfit his army. They wore black trousers and red caps or busbys, their jackets in various colors and combinations to mark the regiments.

I was still too far above the army to really “feel” what it was like and willed myself to move closer.

I heard Sinait murmur a warning.

At that instant, something struck “me” and sent “me” tumbling, as a falcon smashes a pigeon spinning toward the distant ground. I flailed like such a bird, seeing the sky above “me,” but saw nothing that could have struck me, but I was falling, and I sensed that unseen force coming in once more, and then there was a clatter as the mercury-filled bowl clanged to the floor, and I was back in my headquarters at the inn.

I didn’t feel any fear, but my hands were shaking as if I had the ague, my breath rasped hard as if I’d been running, and something was pressing down from the sky outside.

“That was foolish,” Sinait said sharply.

I started to snap, remembered my instructions that she was to always speak her mind to me unless we were in the presence of underlings. Sinait poured water, and I drained it, momentarily wishing I had a taste for spirits and the momentary lift they gave.

“Tenedos sensed you as you were drawn toward his soldiers,” she explained. “Or else he created a draw, such as a cataract can create a whirlpool, sucking any wizard into his grasp. An interesting counterspell, one that I think I can cast as well.” She smiled tightly. “Perhaps not strong enough to trap Tenedos, but any of his Corps of Wizards who are curious might find their souls sucked out of their bodies.”

I was curious, since that had almost happened to me.

“What happens to the soul then? The body?” I asked.

“The body becomes a husk,” Sinait explained. “I’ve not had it happen in my presence, thank Irisu, but I’m told it can breathe on for a time. But without food or water, it perishes like an ignored plant.

“The soul? Who knows? I’ve heard a master magician can keep that soul and use it as his errand boy. I’ve also heard that the soul drifts for a time, then, when the body dies, Saionji takes it back to the Wheel as if the person had died normally.

“Still other tales say that is where ghosts come from. If you believe in ghosts, which I do.”

“I’ve never been sure whether they exist, or whether they’re demons,” I said. “But that theory can’t be right, for there’s far more ghosts, or tales of ghosts, than of people being doomed by using Seeing Spells.”

“Who’s to say that’s the only way a soul can be cast adrift?” Sinait said. “And you’ve done an excellent job of changing the subject while your body recovers.”

I had. My hands were no longer trembling, and my breathing came normally.

But I still felt that presence outside the inn, hanging in the sky outside.

This was the second time he … or his magicians … had tried to kill me.

It was coming my turn, I hoped.

• • •

The enemy’s arrival was presaged with spells — uneasiness, fear, a general malaise. But these were common to all military magic, hardly worthy of a master like Tenedos and quickly dispelled by Sinait and her wizards, and, for me, always that sense of being watched.

I wondered what master spell or spells would be in the offing, for Tenedos would hardly chance everything on mere arms.

Unlike Sinait, I was fairly sure he wouldn’t call up that terrible demon that’d destroyed Chardin Sher. This war hadn’t produced enough blood sacrifice for Tenedos to have the power yet, and I’d done a thorough enough job of destroying his wizardry at Cambiaso for the spell’s ingredients to be easily reassembled.

Finally, and this was conclusive evidence, this first battle, even if Tenedos improbably managed a complete victory, wouldn’t be the end of the war. There was still Nicias to take and hold, and the inevitable reaction from Maisir.

Still, Tenedos managed to surprise us badly. And I was one of the contributors to that surprise.

His army split outside Paestum, about a quarter of its forces marching on south to oppose my soldiers, the remainder lining up against Trerice’s Guardians.

Tradition in a battle against a fortified enemy is for the attacking force to arrange its men in the chosen attack order, rest and feed them, then mount the assault, generally before or at dawn, to ensure enough daylight to finish the battle.

It was halfway through the afternoon before Tenedos’s forces were on line, so I knew nothing would happen before the morrow.

I’d set my headquarters just outside Paestum and summoned my commanders for a final conference.

Tenedos attacked immediately.

Trerice was reporting on his dispositions when drums snarled and trumpets blared. An aide galloped up, reported that Tenedos’s left flank was marching out, in an attempt to flank the Guardians.

Trerice vaulted into his saddle before I could give him orders. I swore, grabbed an officer, told him to ride after Trerice and tell him to be wary — the maneuver might be genuine but most likely was a feint. He should bend his right back — refusing the flank — as a precaution, but no more, and stand fast until the real attack was clearly begun.

I don’t know what happened to that officer — he never returned, so I don’t know if Trerice received my orders or if he got and chose to ignore them.

Tenedos cast his first spell then, and sounds shrilled from nowhere. They began intolerably high, so men shouted in pain, clasped their hands to their ears in the vain hope of shutting off the agony. Other sounds boomed beneath those first screeches, sounds so low we felt them in our bones, through the ground, instead of with our ears.

Horses were rearing, screaming.

I saw Sinait in the center of a dozen magicians, some with wands, some just waving their hands. I could do nothing here, so rode forward, fighting to keep my own mount.

As I cleared Paestum and reached a low hill, Tenedos’s armies marched forward, and as they closed, arrows hissed toward us.

A second spell came then, and men screamed, clawed at themselves as if attacked by bees. I felt a sharp pain in my cheek, pulled a tiny dart from it, realized these darts were the attackers. I shouted for a galloper to go back to Sinait and report the spell, then the dart vanished in my hands, and I called the man back. Sinait had already broken that conjuration.

But the sounds kept slamming, high, low, and I had to fight dizziness. Two men ran toward me, eyes wide in terror, and I blocked them with my horse, sword in hand. They stopped short, realized the known was more dangerous than magic, and shambled back to their positions.

That took my eyes off the developing battle for an instant. When I turned back, I cursed, seeing Trerice’s line sweep out from its left, toward the feint, against my orders. He left a hole between my men and the Peace Guardians, and that was just what Tenedos had wanted.

Tenedos sent the center of his line into that gap. I snapped orders, to Trerice, to the officer commanding my right flank, to Rast Indore, to close the hole. I ordered reinforcements over from my left to bolster the center.

Then there was nothing to do but wait. I dearly wanted to grab a lance and charge into the middle of the fighting but couldn’t allow myself the luxury.

Time crawled as Tenedos’s elements reached our lines and the free-for-all began, a swirling madness. Units were sucked into the maelstrom, and other formations came after them.

I sent a galloper for Sinait and her magicians, and they were on their way.

Far across the dusty melee of the center, I saw Trerice’s lines, pulling back,
away
from the battle to form a C-shaped formation, keeping their own flanks safe, but leaving the gap open.

Tenedos sent his second line in to exploit the advantage, and I hit his flanks hard. But his commanders refused the bait, pushing forward.

I ordered Sinait to come up with a spell, any sort of spell, and her teams tried, casting incantations of terror, dust storms, stinging insects.

But Tenedos and his Corps of Wizards shattered most of those aborning, and his men scented victory.

I came back to myself, realizing the shadows were long and the sun had dropped below the horizon, and my army and that of the Guardians had been split apart.

I galloped back to my headquarters, ordered my commanders to me. I sent the cavalry to fill the gap in the lines, ordering them to light torches for the men still on the battlefield to fall back on.

Svalbard brought me a clay pot, and I saw, in the dimness, water beading. I realized my voice was no more than a croak, and I hadn’t drunk anything for hours. I drained the pot, told him to bring more, collected my thoughts as my officers rode in.

I had Sinait cast a Spell of Silence around the haggard men to make sure Gojjam or his wizards weren’t eavesdropping, and, remembering Sinait’s lip reader, held a hand in front of my mouth when I spoke, explaining the reason I looked like a country gossip.

There were three choices: to hold our positions, expecting an attack by Tenedos at daybreak; to prepare an attack at dawn to link up with the Peace Guardians; or to fall back toward the Latane River, two days’ march distant.

“I came to fight,” Domina Thanet said. “Not to defend. I think we should try to get through to those gods-damned Guardians, worthless though they are, for we’re outnumbered, and they’ve got to realize the emperor, sorry, ex-emperor, will want their hides worse than ours.”

Svalbard rumbled wordless assent.

“I agree,” another officer said. “In part. But not with pulling the Guardians’ butt out of the blaze. Fiddle ‘em, as they say. Let’s hold here, and let Tenedos come to us.”

“No,” a third said. “We need the Guardians, even for nothing else but to take an arrow intended for a better man.”

I looked around, counting heads as the argument continued. I’d guess it was about half for one side, half for the other. I was pleased that no one suggested retreat.

“Very well, then,” I said. “We’ll attack, for I can’t stand sitting and waiting either.” I gave orders to move troops from my left flank across the army to my right flank, risky but necessary; and to prepare for an attack at dawn to link with the Guardians. The problem was, Tenedos would be a complete fool not to sense the obvious.

I asked Sinait if she could prepare an illusion that my center was in chaos, with troops moving back and forth, appearing about to fall apart. She shook her head — she hadn’t the skill. I didn’t think she or anyone other than possibly Tenedos or the Maisirian War Magicians would have been able to create an impenetrable fantasy of that size and decided to attempt the deception naturally. I sent more aides, suddenly realizing I’d almost stripped my headquarters bare of aides, to the commanders of the center, ordering their men to light torches, and move around erratically. I had no real hope they’d understand what I was trying, but anything was better than just waiting.

As the last rider galloped away, a grim-faced Kutulu slipped into the tent. My hand was on my sword when I saw him, for he was dressed in an imperial uniform.

“I’ve been through Tenedos’s lines into the Guardians’ camp,” he said, without preamble. “Things are in worse shape than I’d imagined.”

“They generally are,” I said. I began to pour him a glass of wine, but he shook his head and filled a goblet from my water pitcher.

“Indore was killed in the attack,” he said. “Trerice has taken over his wing as well as overall command of the army.”

“What are his plans?”

“I don’t think, at least from what I saw, that he has any,” Kutulu said. “Probably form a line where he is now, and pray. They’re swarming about full of panic and damned little sense.”

“I know you’re not a tactician,” I said, “though I suspect you’re better than most of the officers I have. Do you think he can hold long enough for me to break through and relieve him?”

Kutulu scratched a stubbly chin. “Maybe. But not if it takes too long. The Guardians were all a-mumble about how can anyone fight against magic, particularly the emperor’s, and I don’t think — ”

A wind roared outside, and the tent swayed. I knew it for magic and we ran out.

Smoke and fire flared from the imperial lines, and then an enormous man grew from nothing. It was Tenedos, wearing battle armor, carrying a wand in one hand.

“Soldiers of Numantia,” his voice boomed. “We have met in battle this day, and I have taken the field. You fought bravely, but you must not fight any longer.

“I summon you, as my lawful subjects, to surrender. You must not fight on, or I shall be forced to send the most awful demons to rend you.

“Throw down your weapons. If anyone, enlisted or officer, tries to stop you, strike them down. Then come across the lines to me. I promise, as your emperor, there shall be no punishment, not for rebels, not for Peace Guardians.

“Surrender now, and find an honorable place in my army. There has been enough damage done, and there is a great battle coming, when I shall need every man, when we must strike against those traitors in Nicias who call themselves Councilors and daily bow to the Maisirians.

“Come, my people. Come back to your emperor. I summon you to fulfill your duty as brave Numantians!

“Come now, or face the most terrible punishment I can devise!”

He held out his wand, and I heard, along the lines, the moan of despair.

Then the illusion blurred for just an instant, refirmed, and Tenedos folded his arms. He blurred a second time, then spoke once more, and if the cadences of his speech were different than they should have been, no one except myself and possibly Kutulu noticed.

“Come now,” he said once more. “For you know what I have to offer. Death. A miserable death for all of you, just as I destroyed your brothers and fathers in Maisir. Join my army, so that I may utterly ruin Numantia and bring it down in flames, despair and — ” Very suddenly, the figure vanished.

“Irisu dancing on his hat,” I swore. “I didn’t know Sinait could do something like that.”