Demon King (31 page)

“I’m sure you two will devise some scheme,” I said. I yawned. “I can’t tell you how nice it is to be home.”

“But not for long,” Marán reminded me. “There’s the Feast of the Corn. We’re to leave tomorrow.”

“Marán,” Amiel said, and her voice was very tentative, “I don’t think I’ll be able to come with you.”

“What?” Marán said in surprise. “You must! We’ve had everything set for weeks now!”

“What’s the saying?” Amiel said. “Man proposes, Jaen disposes? Yesterday a seer confirmed what I already knew.

“I’m pregnant.”

Marán spun, sitting up, and I slid out of her, unnoticed. “You’re
pregnant
?” she said, in rigid shock.

“A time and thirty days now. The seer and I calculated, and it happened on Festival night, the first night the three of us were together.”

Marán stared at her friend, and for an instant what might’ve been unutterable hatred flashed across her face, but it was gone so quickly I wasn’t sure I’d seen correctly in the candlelight. She took a deep breath.

“This
is
a surprise.”

“I hoped I was just late,” Amiel said. “But really, I knew better. Isn’t it funny, Damastes, all the times Pelso and I tried to make a baby, we failed. Then you succeed on the first attempt. I guess your seed is strong.”

I hid my wince. Amiel had said exactly the wrong thing, considering all the times Marán and I had tried to create a child.

“So,” Amiel said after a time, “that’s why I won’t be able to go to Irrigon.”

“I don’t follow,” I said. “You’re not that pregnant. Did the seer say there was some problem?”

“Oh no,” Amiel said. “My health’s excellent. But I’d like a few days to recover from the chirurgeon’s ministrations.”

“What?” Marán said.

“I’m already an embarrassment,” Amiel said. “This would make things worse.” She shrugged. “So I’ll deal with it. I had to once before, long ago when I was a girl.”

“You mean … have the baby aborted?” Marán said.

Amiel nodded. I started to say something, but held my silence hard.

“Don’t you
want
the child?” Marán said sharply.

Amiel smiled, wistfully. “Of course I’d like a babe. A child of Damastes the Fair? A man who’s welcomed me into his house, treated me always as a friend, and loved me better than anyone I can remember? The seer said she’s certain it’s a girl. Who wouldn’t wish such a baby? I’ve wanted one for the last few years, feeling my time was running short.”

“Then have the baby you shall,” Marán said firmly. She recollected my presence. “I’m sorry, my husband. I didn’t even think of asking you.”

“You didn’t need to,” I said, and was honest. We’d have the child we’d both wanted now, and I didn’t give a rap for what anyone said or thought. Not that I had any choice, not if I wished to look at myself in the shaving glass.

“Amiel, we told you once you were welcome here,” I said. “Welcome now, welcome forever. We shall go on together. As three.” I stretched out my hand to Marán. Amiel clasped our hands in hers, tears running from her eyes.

“Thank you. I didn’t dare even think … Thank you. Thank you, Jaen, Irisu.”

“The emperor sealed Damastes and me in marriage,” Marán said. “He prayed to the gods and goddesses our union be blessed. I pray to those same gods for the three of us.”

“As do I,” I said huskily.

“And I,” Amiel whispered.

“Now let us secure our alliance,” Marán said. She tenderly took Amiel’s head in her hands and kissed her, long, deeply. The two lay down, their legs twining, rubbing against each other as their passion grew. Marán took her lips from Amiel’s.

“Damastes, come love us. Love us both. And when you come, come in us both. Now we are three for all time.”

• • •

The two women rode behind me, talking excitedly about the decorations for the nurseries in our three palaces, whether it would be better to have them all the same, or do them in different styles so the child could learn variety.

Karjan was beside me, and flanking us were twenty of my Red Lancers, again commanded by Legate Segalle.

I was feeling a little hungry, a lot thirsty, and was looking forward to our midday meal. We’d been traveling for some days, and had crossed onto Agramónte land two hours ago. It’d become Marán’s and my custom to stop in Caewlin for a meal. It was a wonderful little village, with maybe a hundred or so people, just a few days from Irrigon. There was one merchant — who sold everything from spices to peas, generally on credit against the harvest — a village witch, and an excellent tavern known for its country ham, its fresh-baked bread, ales brewed on the premises, and its salads, spiced with herbs grown by the owner. We’d helped build her garden with exotic herbs from the capital, and now it threatened to devour the tavern.

I should have noted something wrong as we came around the final tree-lined bend, for I saw no playing children, nor heard the lowing of cattle or the gabble of geese. But part of my mind was on my stomach, and the rest on how I could further improve the Guard Corps.

Then we rode into desolation. The village had been utterly destroyed. The neat thatched roofs were gone, and torn brick lay open to the uncaring sky. Caewlin had burned, and then rain had drenched the fire. The windows of the tavern were shattered, and its door had been pulled from its hinges and lay in the yard. Men had torn down the nicely painted fence around the garden, and then horses had trampled the plants. Bodies were scattered about, some animal, more human. They’d been dead about a week, I estimated, long enough to bloat and blacken into thankful unrecognizability.

Amiel gasped, Marán swore, but it might as well have been a prayer.

My soldiers’ lances were down, ready, although there was nothing to fear, nothing at all but death and the dry buzz of flies in the spring silence.

“Who …” Amiel’s voice trailed away, then came back more strongly. “Who did this? Why?”

Legate Segalle pointed at a tree that had a wide stone bench around it, a tree that had been the communal meeting place. Nailed to it was a battered, swollen head, barely recognizable as human. I couldn’t tell if it had belonged to a woman or a long-haired man. There was a dagger driven into the tree below it, and around the dagger’s grip a yellow silk cord was tied.

“Tovieti did it!” he said.

“No,” I said. “The other way around. Somebody thought
these
people were Tovieti. I suspect I know who the murderer was, or rather who ordered these deaths.”

Marán looked away, then boldly met my gaze. “If they were Tovieti,” she said, “then they got what they deserved.”

“Tovieti, mistress?” It was Karjan. “Y’ think
she
was Tovieti?” He was pointing at the corpse of a baby, facedown in the dust. The top of the infant’s skull was crushed, and there was a dark stain against the tree.

Marán’s face flushed with rage. “You,” she snapped, “be silent!” She spun on me. “Can’t you keep your retainers in hand?”

I looked pointedly at the child’s body, then at Marán. She stared back, then her eyes dropped. We rode on in silence.

• • •

The rest of the journey was quite different from the first part. Marán and I spoke only when necessary, and Amiel also held her silence. When we stopped at an inn, we slept in separate chambers. The trip seemed interminable, but at last we rounded the curving river road and saw Irrigon.

There were thirty horses tied to a rail in front of the main house. They were still saddled, and showed signs of hard riding. One was a sleek thoroughbred I knew. There were cased bows on most of the saddles, quivers tied to the skirts. Some had spear cases under the stirrups, and many had bulging saddlebags, bags, and rolls that held obvious loot. My temper snapped.

“Legate!”

“Sir!”

“Dismount the Lancers for action! Kill anyone who threatens us! Four men, seize those horses!”

“Sir!”

Two men in armor peered out of the main entrance, saw my soldiers, and, shouting the alarm, ran out, pulling swords.

“Legate!”

“Fire,” Segalle shouted. Bowstrings twanged and the two skidded down the stairs, feathered shafts sprouting from their chests. Other men ran out of the house, shouting. My voice rang over all.

“Silence!” And silence there was. “All of you,” I ordered. “Lay down your weapons or die! You have a count of five! One …”

“Those men are mine,” another voice bellowed and Marán’s brother Praen came out. He wore riding gear, a steel waistcoat, and a sword belt.

“I ordered silence,” I shouted. “Count Agramónte, do not interfere with my men, or be prepared to face the consequences! Two! Three!”

Swords thudded to the ground, and men unbuckled their belts and let them fall.

“Your hands in the air,” I ordered.

“Damastes,” Marán said.

“I ordered silence!”

She obeyed.

“Legate, escort these men to that stone barn. Remove all animals and anything that can be used for a weapon. Secure and guard all doors until we can have them nailed shut.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I said, those men are under my orders,” Praen shouted. “You have no right — ”

“Count Agramónte,” I said, “I am an officer of the emperor. These men have committed a series of horrible crimes, and I propose to escort them to the nearest city, turn them over to the warders, and prefer charges, as I once promised you I would.”

“Charges of what? Killing vermin?”

“Murder, sir.”

“You can’t do that!”

“I assuredly can and shall,” I said. “Further, I may well choose to prefer charges against their leader.”

“The hells you will! These brave men are soldiers, and they’ve been helping me rid the land of traitors! Tovieti! Don’t you realize the good they’re doing? Or are you one of the yellow-cord men yourself?”

“Legate,” I said, “this man is clearly disturbed. He is on property he has no right to be on without my leave. Take two men and escort him off these grounds.”

Segalle hesitated, then said, “Yes, sir.”

“You have a choice, Count,” I said. “Leave Irrigon of your own will — or tied across the saddle of your horse!”

“You son of a bitch!” Praen said. But he came down the steps quickly, and took the reins of the thoroughbred from the soldier holding them. He pulled himself into the saddle, then glowered. “You’d better rethink your decision, Cimabuean,” he said. “For you don’t know the hornet’s nest you’re bashing around!”

He didn’t wait for a response, but spurred his horse into a gallop.

“Legate, assist your men,” I ordered, then dismounted and went inside, not waiting to see what Marán and Amiel were doing.

• • •

Marán found me in the library. “I can’t believe what you just did,” she said. “Treating my brother … my own brother, like he was a common criminal.”

“Exactly what he is,” I said, trying to hold my calm.

“So you feel free to do as you wish, ignoring any promises, any oaths you might have made,” she snarled.

That did it.

“What oaths, my lady?” I shouted. “Are you assuming that because I married you, I’m under some sort of obligation to kiss the ass of anyone who carries the name Agramónte? Or that I’m supposed to ignore any crimes your thug of a brother chooses to commit? An oath? The only oaths I can remember taking are those to the emperor to serve him well, and a vow of marriage to you.

“I’ve never broken either, nor thought of breaking them. I’ll remind you of my family’s motto: We Hold True. What’s yours? We do whatever we want? Is that what it is, Countess? Is this what you call honor? I piss on your honor, your dignity, if you think the name Agramónte somehow entitles you to kill anyone you wish.

“Do you remember that baby, Marán? Remember the baby you lost? Do you think that baby’s mother had a moment to mourn, to scream, before she was cut down by your fucking brother?”

Marán’s eyes were cold, hard. “Praen called you a son of a bitch,” she hissed. “And you are!” She stormed out.

• • •

I had to go to our tower for a change of clothing. The door to our bedroom was closed. Amiel was huddled on a couch outside. Her eyes were red, her face drawn. I said nothing to her, nor she to me. I went into my dressing room, and got what I’d come for, and came back into the anteroom. Amiel gazed at the closed bedroom door, then at me, and her eyes welled once more. The door clicked shut behind me.

• • •

The next day the Feast of Corn began. The small village beyond Irrigon was packed, and tents were set up for a league on either side. Every village in the Agramónte reach had sent at least one representative, plus there must have been a hundred hawkers and merchants with trays or booths. The first day wasn’t a feast, since the elaborate dishes and dancing could only begin after the corn was planted. Before the seed was sown, we would eat only unleavened bread, no meat, and raw vegetables without salt.

When the seeds were in the ground, and seers had cast spells to notify other village wizards to begin planting, the real merriment would begin — five days of feasting, dancing, and celebration.

Our duties were quite simple, in spite of what the emperor seemed to think. We would merely offer a prayer for the success of the sowing, then stand by and look noble and approving while a respected seer ordered a maiden, chosen for her virginity and beauty, to sow the first seed. The Agramóntes were expected to mingle with their people for the whole of this day, and so, about two hours after dawn, we left Irrigon for the village and the midway.

Marán behaved as if I didn’t exist, I reciprocated, and a miserable Amiel brought up the rear. We wore gaudy finery and were expected to be unarmed. However, it was absurd to go into that throng without any weapons, so I had a sleeve dagger hidden, and, in my belt pouch, a particularly nasty little device Kutulu had given me. It was a knuckle-bow, with a slender, spring-actuated dagger in the grip, locked in place by a stud worked by the thumb. In addition, I had Karjan; Svalbard, a monstrous Lancer who’d been with me since Kait; and two other Red Lancers. I’d considered having them wear Agramónte livery, but my stomach roiled at making honest soldiers wear the garb of murderers, and so the four wore undress uniform, with hidden knives.