Demon King (36 page)

• • •

Yonge’s mood passed, and he reverted to his usual cheerily roistering self as we moved lower and lower toward the flatlands. Now we were truly in Maisir.

Everything smelled and felt different. Kait had been foreign, but very like the crags and ravines of the Urshi Highlands or the borders of Urey itself.

Trees rose around us, but now instead of the jungled growth of Numantia, these were high conifers, pines, cedars, whose branches whispered secrets of this unknown land as the wind blew through them. We saw bears, some larger than any I’d hunted in my own country, and the tracks of huge cats. The air was crisp, clean, and Nicias and my own problems seemed a world away.

Yonge, who normally walked slack — last man — in the column, came up beside me.

“It’s a pretty land, Numantian,” he said.

“It is that.”

“And do you know why?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s because there are no people.” We grinned at each other equably. “I’ve dreamed of building a little hut somewhere around here,” Yonge went on. “Pack in what few supplies I’d need — corn, salt, arrowheads, some seeds for the winter — then live on what I could fish and hunt.”

“A nice dream,” I said.

“And there’s only one thing wrong with it,” he said. “Which is?”

“This is Maisir.”

“So? I doubt if any of them would begrudge you the odd bearskin or salmon.”

“Perhaps there’s more to the story than that,” he said, looking mysterious. He clapped me on the back. “At any rate, Tribune Damastes á Cimabue, you’ve done well under my leadership, and I want to tell you that, perhaps, especially in view of the shortage of truly qualified men, you might, just might, be able to lead a patrol of your own. You can call yourself a scout, if you wish.”

He was joking, but I was touched, and took the title to heart. “I thank you, Tribune.”

He, too, turned serious. “So should I be suddenly called away, I know everything will be in good — well, perhaps not good, but at least not-too-palsied hands.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Aren’t you tired of asking me that question?” he said, and dropped back to his normal position.

• • •

The fog was thick, and we moved slowly along the trail. We walked quietly, boots and hooves muffled by the thick needles along the path. We rounded a bend, and they were waiting for us.

Fifteen men sat astride matching black horses. All wore dark armor. Spread out to either side was a rank of archers, shafts steadily aimed. I knew the men from engravings at Irrigon. These were Negaret, the border guards of Maisir.

“If you move, you will die,” a heavily bearded man said. “Keep your hands away from your weapons.” He walked his horse forward.

My men stood as motionless as I did — but Yonge had vanished! His zebu’s reins dangled to the ground.

“Give good report — or make your last prayers to whatever gods you have,” the bearded man ordered.

The tip of his lance touched my chest.

I am Tribune Damastes á Cimabue,” I announced boldly, “appointed ambassador plenipotentiary to the Court of King Bairan by the Emperor Laish Tenedos, in the name of Saionji the Goddess.” I added the last because I wasn’t sure these border guards had gotten word of who I was, and thought I’d invoke some protection, remembering the Maisirian’s vaunted piety. Indeed, I saw two of the horsemen flinch at the dread mention of the destroyer goddess. The bearded man looked disappointed, and lowered the lance.

“And how did you come?” he demanded.

“By boat, horse, and foot,” I retorted, and a Negaret snickered, getting a black look from his leader.

“I meant … But you will not tell me your route, eh?” I didn’t reply. “Very well. Perhaps I know it. I am Jedaz Faquet Bakr.
Jedaz
is my title, and means — ”

“Commander of the Threshold,” I said. “What we call Frontier.”

Bakr looked mildly pleased. “So you know of us Negaret, eh?”

“Not nearly enough.”

“Come, then. Let us learn and grow together.” He bellowed laughter. “I have been ordered by King Bairan, greatest of all monarchs, to await your arrival, to serve you in any way I can, and convey you to his officials at Oswy, where you will be greatly honored and taken to the capital of Jarrah. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Maisir.”

“I thank you,” I said.

“You’ll no longer need your horned beasts. Tell me, do your men ride, or are they
raelent
?”
Raelent
meant “less than men,” and I guessed to the Negaret that meant anyone on foot.

“They ride,” I said.

“Good. We brought horses.” He waved to his men, and two led saddled but riderless horses toward us. “Tell me, Tribune Damastes,” he asked, “what took you so long? We have been riding up and down picking our teeth for two weeks. Were the mountains harder than you expected?”

“Not at all,” I said. “We found them so entrancing we stayed to frolic in the snow as a holiday. My apologies for letting you get bored.”

Again Bakr shouted laughter. “Good. Very good. You are only the second Numantian I’ve met. I think you’ll make very good enemies when we fight.”

“But we aren’t at war,” I said.

“For how long?” Bakr said. “It’s always the nature of the strong to test their strength, is it not?”

I shrugged.

“I would have expected a more soldierly answer,” Bakr said. “We were told of your reputation as a warrior, and I expected someone far fiercer.”

“When I’m among friends,” I said, “there’s no need for ferocity.”

He looked impressed. “A warrior … and perhaps a man of words as well. Now, let us see how well you ride. Our camp is two hours distant, and let us see how much longer it takes us with our new baggage.”

• • •

We moved lower and lower through the foothills. As we descended, the rain grew lighter and then stopped altogether.

I examined the manner, dress, and weaponry of the Negaret with great curiosity. They came from wildly varying stock. Some were dark haired, some were blond, one had long hair as fair as an albino’s. They were tall, short, stocky, lean, and their complexions were equally varied. They wore dark armor, and under it a wild variation of clothing — fur vests, boots, leather pants, silks, heavy canvas — as if each man had outfitted himself at a different bazaar.

For weapons, each had a long steel-tipped lance. Their second weapon was either a curving saber carried sheathed on the back or scabbarded on the saddle, a short double-headed ax, or a hammer. They carried two daggers: one long and curved like a small saber, the second straight and single-edged, which was used for eating and close-in brawling. Some carried shields, from target-sized to conventional. The weapons were jeweled and their sheaths expensively worked, but their grips were well worn. All of the Negaret rode as if they’d been born on horseback.

• • •

We topped a rise and saw the Negaret camp. There were twenty huge tents scattered around a meadow with a pond in the center. The tents were octagonal, about sixty feet across, and made of heavy black felt. Above each tent was a second, circular dome of felt to absorb rain or snow.

The Negaret set up a great wailing cry as we drew closer, a cry that would carry for a league across the open prairies they called
suebi.
The cries were modulated in various subtle manners to convey simple messages.

As we rode up, men, women, children, came from the tents, looking at us curiously. The Negaret women wore multicolored garments of many styles. They were as weird in appearance as their men. They behaved boldly, as if the equal of the men, which I learned they were.

All was a babble of laughter, questions, and orders. Other parties rode in, until there were about two hundred or more Negaret merrily boiling around the camp. There was to be a feast that night in our honor.

“Tribune Damastes,” Bakr suddenly bellowed, “we have a problem, and I fear you, even though you are a great
shum
, are to blame.”

I gathered he was intending for the entire clan to be audience to this conversation, so I raised my voice as well, as someone who’d been called lord —
shum
— should do.

“Far be it from me, great Jedaz, to feel anything but shame for having caused a problem for my new friends. How would you suggest I make amends?”

“If we were proper Maisirians, we would spend the rest of the day singing devotionals to various gods for your safe arrival,” Bakr shouted. “And you and I would sit around complimenting each other on our charm and bravery. However, my people need meat, and, since it’s early yet, we wish to hunt. Tell me, oh great Numantian, would this shame you?”

“Greatly,” I said. “But you may make amends by letting us go with you. After we wash.”

Bakr yipped. “Good! Good! Of course you’re welcome. We’ll leave as soon as we refresh.”

• • •

Bakr came to me as I was making the acquaintance of the horse he’d given me. With him was a thin, white-haired and -bearded man. He was painfully thin and not particularly tall, but I thought his leanness was that of the greyhound, and that he might be well able to run with a horse until it foundered. “This is my
nevraid
, Levan Illey,” he said. I knew
nevraid
was Maisirian for “magician.”

“Will your men hunt with our riders?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “At least until they sight something. Then they’ll dismount and use their bows.”

“Good,” the
nevraid
said. “I have an idea to make their day more rewarding. We Negaret hunt from the saddle, but it will be easy to accommodate your soldiers. Perhaps, Faquet, you could have a rider take them about half a league to the south of the herd? There’s a rocky outcropping there, the one that looks like a fat man squatting, and the herd will run past it when we attack.”

Without waiting for an answer, he bustled away.

“How does the
nevraid
know what path the animals will take?” I asked.

“Because he’s a
nevraid
,” Bakr said in some astonishment. “Can’t
your
magicians perform such a task?”

I’d never heard of any.

“Tsk,” Bakr said. “Hunting must be chancy in your land. Pardon me.” He called for a lieutenant and gave him orders. A few minutes later, my five were mounted and rode off with three escorts.

“Now, as for you?” Bakr said when he returned.

“I’d prefer to ride out with you, then hunt on my own.”

“As you wish.” Bakr grinned. “You are a most unusual man for a diplomat, Tribune. Going hunting … letting your escort ride off … not worrying about being in danger.”

I answered honestly. “I’m not a godling, nor are any of my men. If you intended us harm, do you think the six of us could do much more than worry you for a few minutes?”

Bakr nodded thoughtfully. “Since I’ve evidently proven I’m not an assassin, let us hunt.”

• • •

We rode to where the antelope were supposed to be and dismounted below the hillcrest, and three men crept up to the top. Illey spread his map on the ground, holding it down with rocks marked with magical symbols. The scouts slipped back. The herd was there — about forty of them.

“Good,” Bakr said. “Don’t take the leader. Kill no yearlings, either. Take young bucks and any female without offspring. One per man.”

We mounted. I unlimbered my hunting weapon, something I’d made from items borrowed at the camp, a weapon I thought the Negaret might find interesting.

“Now!” Bakr shouted, and we charged over the ridge at the gallop. The antelope saw us and stampeded. But then I heard a fierce roar, and two lions bounded over the far hillside. The antelope skittered aside, and for a moment I forgot them, cursing myself for having no better weapon to face charging man-killers. But the lions wavered and vanished and I realized it was Illey’s magic.

I lashed my horse into a harder gallop, picked one buck, horns curving almost to his back, from the pack, and forgot the others. He ran hard, but my horse was running harder. I rose in my stirrups and readied the weapon I’d made. It was four iron balls, each in a tiny net, each net at the end of a leather thong. I whirled it twice about my head by one ball, then sent it spinning away.

I’d spent days and weeks learning how to do this, as a boy, after my father told me about the trick he’d seen used by desert tribesmen in Hailu. It looked easy, but wasn’t, and I had gotten many rapped knuckles, a thumped head, and several lost snares before I felled my first guinea fowl.

The balls flew out, whirling at the ends of their thongs, and whipped about the antelope’s back legs. It pinwheeled onto its back. I pulled my horse up and slid off, dagger out as my feet touched ground.

The antelope thrashed to its feet, but too late, as I was on it. It swept once at me with its curved horns, then I was inside its guard and slashed its throat. Blood spurted, I sprang back, and an instant later the animal was dead. I bled it out, cut out the musk glands on its inner thigh, gutted it, saving the liver and heart, and used grass to wipe out its body cavity. I managed to shoulder its bulk — I guess the dressed buck weighed just under a hundred pounds — and staggered toward my horse.

Hooves thudded, and Bakr reined in. He dismounted, took the beast’s forequarters, and helped me load it. My horse neighed once, but didn’t otherwise object.

“You hunt like a wild man, Numantian,” Bakr said, and there was approval in his voice.

“I’m hungry,” I replied.

“So are we all,” he said, and pointed. Here and there, across the plain, were dismounted hunters, cleaning their kills. There was a rocky mount not far away, and I saw my men below it, busy at the same task.

“Not bad, Shum Damastes,” Bakr said. “Perhaps the gods heard my jest and made it true. Perhaps there
are
things to be learned from you.”

• • •

The meal that night was so memorable I can still name most of the dishes. It was chilly but clear, and several of the tents’ rain covers had been pitched together for a long pavilion. A fire pit was dug to the windward side, and dry wood emitting no smoke laid, so we were quite warm. On the other side were cooking fires. I thought it admirable that, while the women cooked, the men served, and women sat as equals among us.