The Warrior King: Book Three of the Seer King Trilogy (36 page)

“At first, that is exactly what we wanted you to be,” Cymea said. “Then things changed once more, and some theorized that you might be the best, perhaps the only, weapon to destroy Tenedos. I was approached, since I’d had some dealings with you, even though it was long ago and for a very brief, very unpleasant time.

“They wanted me to go to you, with Jakuns and others, and see what would happen if we offered a measure of help.

“You, of course, told us to fuck off, as traitors. Some of the Tovieti thought that should doom you; others, like Jakuns and me, were impressed.

“When you were trapped on the Latane, it was obvious we had to support you and your army, because the Peace Guardians were nearly useless and sooner or later Maisir would come back into Numantia.

“I volunteered to lead the relief ships.

“Little did I know that things would change as they did.”

She looked at me, waiting for a response. “Well?”

“Umm,” I said. “That’s a great deal to think about. But I, for one, am damned glad what happened, happened.”

“So am I,” Cymea said. “And I hope I haven’t said anything wrong … I mean, wrong for whatever’s going on between us.”

“How could you?” I said, mostly being honest. “I said the truth shouldn’t be able to ruin anything that shouldn’t be ruined, didn’t I?”

“No,” Cymea said. “You said nothing like that at all.”

“But I should have.”

“Not necessarily,” she said. “No one expects great oratory from a demoniac monster of a soldier.”

“Demoniac monster, is it?”

Cymea yawned and nodded.

“Your doom is sealed,” I growled, and pulled her down on the bed. “We demons are double-dicked, you know.”

“Very good,” she said. “For I’d really like to love you, for you to love me, so I can believe my brook-running mouth didn’t ruin anything.”

She might have wanted to say more, but my lips were on hers, my tongue curling around hers, and her arms came up and around me.

• • •

Once we were mewed up by a storm at an abandoned inn, and this was the most magical time. There were a few chickens who foolishly thought they could evade an experienced field soldier such as myself, and they went into a pot with some potatoes, not-too-ancient carrots, and spices we found in a grown-over garden behind the inn. The amateurs who’d looted the inn hadn’t been thorough, and I found, hidden behind a board in one of the inn’s cellars, three bottles of wine for Cymea.

There was a small cascade and a pool behind the inn, and I discovered, in the stables, a wine barrel that’d been cut in half, intended to be used as a horse trough. Cymea and I rolled it to the cascade, and she used rain gutters torn from the building to channel water into the cascade, while I built a great fire, heated cobblestones, and then dropped them into the barrel. When the water was steaming, we got in and soaked, jumping occasionally into the frigid pool. I made herbed tea for myself and spiced hot wine for Cymea.

I’m afraid things got a little silly, and by the time we remembered the chicken stew, the pot had boiled almost dry. But we added more water and had a very passable chicken soup.

I wished I could have wandered this country for the rest of my life with Cymea, without goals, without plans. But that could not be.

• • •

The farms became less plump, the farmers less friendly, and I knew we were drawing close to the army.

We found a widely rutted road many horsemen and wagons had used and followed it.

On a hilltop, I spotted the vast smokes of my winter camp, and we started toward it.

“Damastes,” Cymea said, and I turned in the saddle. “I love you.” I smiled, and a nearby bush spoke:

“Neither of you move. State your business and keep your hands away from those swords.” A bearded man with a ready crossbow came from his hiding place, and two other bowmen backed him.

We were home.

• • •

The army’s headquarters was in a trading village, not unlike Paestum, and I hoped, as we rode through it, I’d be able to keep it safer than I’d managed for that town.

It felt as if we’d been gone forever, but not even a time had passed since we’d killed Bairan.

The few days with Cymea had been wonderful, but now they were gone, to be put aside with other memories of days not soaked in blood and death.

Kutulu had taken over a large inn, and we dismounted, were greeted with cheers, and went inside.

Kutulu was studying a map, Yonge by his side, and Svalbard lounged on a bench at the rear of the room.

The hillman eyed us.

“What took you so long? We’ve been here since yesterday.”

March out!” I ordered, and drums thundered, bugles sounded, horses stamped, and officers and warrants shouted. At the head of the column, behind our banners, was Domina Thanet and his newly renamed Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers. “Not bad,” I told Linerges.

“I had them do a bit more than shine brass while you were out playing hero,” Linerges agreed. “The bugles are almost keeping the same tempo, aren’t they?”

“I wasn’t referring to the music,” I said, “but to the soldiery.”

“Eh,” Linerges said. “It got boring, sitting around doing our knitting, so we had to do something to take up the time. A little square-bashing fit the bill.”

Linerges, Cymea, Sinait, Kutulu, and I, with our staffs, were atop a hill, and the army was moving past, almost in review, below.

“We’ll see how they’ll do when blood’s the issue,” Linerges continued. “I’m impressed by nothing until then.” He looked forward, where Yonge and his skirmishers, behind the scouting cavalry, swept the line of march.

“It’s almost a pity,” he said, “that we haven’t a month or so before we begin the campaign.”

“We’re halfway through the Time of Dews now,” I said. “Tenedos has always liked to start campaigning early.”

“Still,” he said. “After your game playing with the Maisirians, I’d like to stay in one place and let all those fat-cheeked young recruits who can’t wait to serve under the banner of Damastes the Fair flock in.”

“They’ll find us if they’re serious,” I said. “Armies mark the line of march rather thoroughly.”

Time
was
what we needed, but time was what we didn’t have. Time would give the ex-emperor space to build his spells and develop his strategies.

My own was simple — march north, along the east bank of the Satane, while Tenedos held the west bank. I hoped to link with the Council and their army somewhere around the Latane Delta, then cross over and hammer Tenedos into defeat. I made no strategy more deliberate than that, waiting to see what circumstances would offer.

I gigged Swift to where Kutulu sat uneasily on his horse.

“Any further developments?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Two more agents came in early this morning. All they did was confirm the other reports.”

Tenedos was rounding up villagers — old men, women, children, everyone — throughout the area he controlled. No one had any idea what his purpose was, but I knew it couldn’t be good, remembering how his magic fed on blood. Until I knew what this meant, I kept this from my commanders, so they wouldn’t begin worrying before the proper time.

I rode back to Linerges. “Shall we join the dance?”

• • •

We met no opposition until we reached the Latane and turned north, and then no more than a handful of Tenedos’s long-range skirmishers, as much spies as soldiers. Some we killed, some we captured, some fled with the news we were on the march.

I didn’t worry, for I knew, despite Sinait’s best spells, Tenedos’s magic would already have alerted him.

As we moved, we rebuilt the heliograph towers, so we had constant communication, when the weather allowed, with our rear in Kallio. That doesn’t sound like much, but it was one small step to restore order, to remind Numantians they belonged to a single nation.

The weather was chill, and it showered occasionally, which kept the trail dust down, but I could feel the new life in the land, the Time of Births coming hard upon us, and hoped the new year would finally bring peace to Numantia.

Our peace.

• • •

“A question, m’lady?” Cymea and I were riding apart from the rest of the group. “Two questions, actually, somewhat idly put, to pass the leagues.”

“You have but to ask, sirrah,” she said, “and I’ll possibly answer, perhaps even with the truth.”

“How
did
Jakuns take the news that you and I have decided to keep company?”

“As any sensible person would, when a wizard tells him something he hates, and he would rather not chance her wrath and be changed into a hearth spider.”

“Can you do that?”

“No, but you don’t have to tell him that. Seriously? Not well. But perhaps he feels I’m seducing you into our ways, instead of the other way around.”

“That leads me neatly into my second question. Why
did
you seduce me, as you said?”

She giggled. “I saw the bulge in your trousers.”

“Seriously.”

“If I must.” Her smile vanished. “I could probably come up with three or four reasons, things I saw you do. But I’ll give you two.

“The first was a very long time ago, after my brother had been … killed.”

“I didn’t mean to bring that time up.”

“But it is. So be quiet and listen to me,” Cymea said. “When I was securely bound, and your soldiers were taking us back to Polycittara, away from Lanvirn, you kept looking at me with a worried expression.

“At first, I thought you were afraid I’d attempt to escape; then I studied your face more carefully. Even though I hated crediting you with any humanity, I saw you were worried about me. About what you feared might happen to me once we reached the imperial dungeons.”

“I was,” I admitted. “But I never thought my face was that easy to read.”

“Damastes, my love,” she said. “Do not ever give up soldiering to become a traveling trickster.”

“So much for masculine pride,” I said. “What’s the other reason?”

“That first night, when we came to attempt a truce of sorts, and you refused to give up Kutulu. There were six of us, and you still told us to get fucked as traitorous scum.”

“Sometimes I don’t use the kind of words a general’s supposed to, I guess.”

“Or maybe those are the words a general
is
supposed to use,” she said. “At least a good one. Things like that make sure there’s no possibility of being misunderstood.”

“I’m blushing,” I said. “So you thought I was brave?”

“Oh, not at all,” Cymea said. “I … we already knew that. I was taken by your charming stupidity. In your position, I would have agreed to anything we wanted, then shouted for the guards as soon as we left, if that was your intent. Doing it that way increases the life span, you know.”

“Your reasons get more and more appalling,” I said. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“Poor baby.” She reached across, patted my gauntleted hand. “The truth is always a harsh mistress. But I do love you, you know.”

“And I you.”

• • •

The northern reaches of Kallio aren’t as fertile as the rest of the state, and in some parts almost as barren as Tagil and Amur. A week on the march, and we were forced away from the Latane, tributaries and wide sloughs making it difficult to keep to the banks. We wound our way around the obstacles, through sandy soil and rolling hillocks. There was little on the map ahead of us except a dot of a village, not named, just on the river. I planned to stop there and consolidate my forces.

Tenedos should be not that many leagues distant on the other side. I hoped to be able to send couriers past his lines to Nicias, to tell Barthou and Scopas to have Trerice march south and join me.

I was riding at the head of the army, enjoying the clear, cool air, chatting with Cymea and Lasleigh.

“So,” I said, “when all this is over, and we’re victorious and covered with laurels, what will you do then? Go back and rebuild your estates, with whatever gold and honors a grateful government bestows?”

He shook his head solemnly. “I doubt if I’d be suited to slip back into country bumpkinry.”

“Why not? That’s what I intend.”

Lasleigh stared in disbelief. “I’ll only go back to my estates now and again,” he said. “Probably I’ll purchase a house in Nicias, for convenience.”

“Convenience?”

“I think, once we’ve won, there’s a place for me in government,” he said solemnly.

“In what capacity?” I asked, amused. “Inspector of Wayward Girls?”

“You jest, sir. I’m one of those who’s keeping himself pure until he marries,” he said, serious as always. “I would like to assist in restoring the monarchy.”

Both Cymea and I looked at him in considerable surprise.

“Why not?” he asked defensively. “This Grand Council isn’t any different than what my father told me about the Rule of Ten. Who else could there be but a king?”

“A council,” Cymea said evenly, “is what you make of it. If it’s made up of representatives of the people … all the people, not just the nobility, then we would have a vastly different nation.”

“Yes,” Lasleigh said, his voice scornful, “yes, we would, wouldn’t we?”

Cymea gazed at him coldly, let her horse drop back until she was beside Sinait, began a deliberately casual conversation with the wizard.

“A bit of advice,” I said. “It’s not wise to make an enemy out of a magician, even when she’s on your side … for the moment.”

Lasleigh began to reply, caught himself.

“Sorry, sir. You’re right, sir.”

“Go on about this monarchy,” I said, mildly interested, letting the miles pass under Swift’s hooves without notice. “The last king died over two hundred years ago, and his son not long afterward. I looked at the records, a long time ago when I was first stationed in Nicias, and there’s not even a pretender. Who should be king? Or queen?”

“I think we should have to have a nationwide examination … dammit, that’s not the right word,” Lasleigh said. “Some kind of selection process, and who’d be the judges I don’t know. Once some possible candidates have been picked, properly noble, of course, then let the country choose its own king. The Wizard Cymea’s got a point there — why shouldn’t people have a voice in who governs them, at least at first? It could be you, sir.”