Demon King (5 page)

“I was never the finest student, Seer Hami,” I said. “Too often my teachers were able to fuddle me, as often for their own pleasure as to bring home a point. I liked it little then, I like it less now. Please explain.”

The scholar peered at me. “I assumed, when the guards brought me here, you’d decided to have me killed.”

“Why would I do a thing like that? You may be a traitor, but you’ve done little except talk dissent.”

“Which it’s my understanding can get a man shortened by a head in these times.”

“Not by me,” I said. “Nor by anyone under my command. I need something else. But why do you think I planned to kill you? What is this skein you talked about?”

Hami drained his glass and smiled. “That is a good vintage, Tribune. Perhaps I may have another?”

I refilled his glass.

“The skein is the web of confusion about my fate. Consider it: I have refused to acknowledge the authority of the Seer Laish Tenedos, who’s styled himself emperor. I hold the rightful rulers of Numantia are the Rule of Ten.”

“
Those
incompetents?” I said. “Those that lived through the Tovieti Rising and the civil war have been put out to pasture. And why would you wish them to rule? They were as incompetent a group of dunderheads as ever sat a throne. None of them could pour piss out of a boot if the instructions were graven on the heel.”

“But they were the legitimate authority.”

“You think Numantia should have doddered down the path they were taking until we fell completely apart?”

“As a Kallian, I care little about what happens to the rest of Numantia. I found Chardin Sher’s rule dynamic, progressive.”

“How odd of you to say that,” I said. “He was certainly as much a dictator in this province as you claim the emperor is now in Numantia.”

Arimondi Hami smiled a bit. “That may be the case. But, to use language a soldier might, he may have been a son of a bitch, but he was
our
son of a bitch.”

“Who happens to be very dead,” I said. “Leaving, as far as I know, no heirs or relatives in the immediate bloodline. Would you have your kingdom ruled by any dolt who decides to seize the throne?”

The scholar laughed. I realized with a bit of chagrin that what I’d said could be easily misconstrued to apply to someone else who’d carved his way to a throne not long ago.

“I shall not further embarrass you and follow up on that,” he said. “Let me only say that I think Kallio should be left to its own devices, as I think all mankind should. Perhaps you’re right, and we’d end up ruled by some bloody-handed despot. I’ll freely concede that your emperor is far from the most unjust man I’ve ever read about.

“I chose to stand against him because I wish to see what could happen if the men of the sword were driven off. Perhaps other sorts — poets, saints, men of peace — would be chosen to rule instead.”

“I doubt that would happen,” I said. “Men of the sword seem predestined to succeed over men of words. The emperor himself needed the army to reach his throne.

“But we have gone astray. Continue explaining this web that you thought I was going to cut through.”

“My apologies. You’re right. I stand in implacable opposition to your emperor and am unwilling to hold my tongue as to what I think of his rule. Therefore, by his laws and lights, I am a traitor and should be executed.

“However, those who govern Kallio have had the sense to realize a murdered scholar also can provide an excellent martyr and rallying point. That is why I’ve been permitted to live and never even brought to trial.

“I thought, when I was summoned and saw these two, you’d decided on a soldierly solution of dealing with today’s problems today and tomorrow’s when they arrive.”

“I think, Seer,” I said, “you’re being very naive about soldiers, at least those who command.”

“Maybe,” he said, and I could hear disinterest in his tones. “I’ve spent little time with them.”

He drained his glass, rose, and, without asking, refilled it. I made no objection. If I could get him drunk, he might speak freely. I knew exactly what the emperor had meant when he told me to use any means necessary to get his question answered: There were torture chambers in the caverns below, and men, both Kallian and Nician, skilled at using the rusty-red implements in them.

“So I was in error,” Hami said. “I’ll admit, by the way, that I’m not terribly discontented with my lot. I’m well fed, I don’t have to worry about a landlord or tax collector, I have access to almost all books I need, save those that deal with sorcery, and my theories had already passed well beyond what’s in the grimoires. I’m well beyond finding my pleasures in a tavern or a wench’s arms, so that doesn’t matter. What, then, do you wish of me? I assume it has something to do with the fact we Kallians aren’t knuckling under to your emperor as we should.

“You know,” he continued without prompting, and I realized the wine was hitting him, “I was a friend of Mikael Yanthlus, Chardin Sher’s wizard, at least as much as he allowed a friend. Mikael was a man who was only interested in power and sorcery, and anyone or anything who didn’t add to his knowledge of either was a waste of time.

“I thought him the greatest sorcerer of all time. But I was wrong. The Seer Tenedos was his master. Although I wonder what price was paid.”

“Price?”

“I’ve read accounts of what happened in that final siege, and even talked to survivors of that awful night when the demon rose out of the mountain to destroy Chardin Sher and Mikael. Where do you think he came from?”

“I don’t think, I know,” I said. “He was summoned by the Seer Tenedos.”

“And at what cost?” Hami said, peering owlishly at me.

Tenedos had answered that before I volunteered to creep into Chardin Sher’s castle with a certain potion. I decided to tell Hami what the seer had told me that storm-ridden night.

“The emperor said that the force, the demon, required him to show some degree of sincerity, that someone he loved had to perform a service,” I said. “He said I was that someone, and so I did what was wished.”

“He told you no more?” Hami asked skeptically.

Tenedos had also said there’d be a greater price, but one that didn’t have to be paid for time to come. Perhaps I shouldn’t have told Hami this, but I did.

“What do you think that will be?” he said, a debater’s smile on his face as he followed up on his opening.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I know as little of demons as you do of soldiers.”

“Fairly put,” Hami said. “I don’t, by the by, suggest you remind the man who styles himself emperor about what we’ve been talking about, for horrors such as he summoned strike heavy bargains, and the magicians who strike such bargains generally don’t wish to be reminded of them.

“And I’m running on, and this has little to do with what you called me for.”

I asked him the emperor’s question: Why was all imperial magic being blocked, as a man’s vision is blocked by a fog bank?

He stroked his chin, picked up his wineglass, then set it down untouched.

“The war between Kallio and the rest of Numantia shook this world and beyond. There was greater magic used by man than ever before in history. Even I could sense this, with what small talent Irisu gave me.

“Before I was arrested, after the war ended, and brought into this dungeon I found great difficulty in working even minor spells. I assume I was in the backwash of greater energies than I can understand or evoke myself, energies, echoes if you will, from the confrontation between Mikael Yanthlus and the Seer Tenedos. And I can still feel them. The sounding of those days hasn’t disappeared yet.

“That would be my primary theory,” he went on, his dramatic tones fading into those of a pedant. “There might be another explanation, and this will shake your seer-emperor a trifle, and that is that there’s another great wizard in the world who wishes him harm. Perhaps someone previously unknown, in Numantia, or maybe someone beyond our borders. I can’t say,” he said. “But if you wish to give me access to certain materials, I could experiment.”

I laughed. “Seer Hami, I’m not so green-as-grass looking, so I’m most unlikely to let you work any spells of any sort.” I rose. “Thank you for your time.”

The man hid a smile of his own, then got to his feet, a little unsteadily.

“We should do this again. You have good taste in wine.”

• • •

Contrary to what the Kallian advised, I told the emperor exactly what had happened. Halfway through my report, the mercury image blurred, and I thought we’d lost contact, but the emperor’s image became steady once more. When I finished, he sat motionless, his face a blank. I cleared my throat, and he came back to himself.

“Hmm. Interesting,” he mused. “So there
is
something out there. Very, very interesting. I’ll wager it’s in the present, not the dead past, though.”

“You have a clue, sir?”

“I certainly do. But it’s not within Kallio, so you needn’t worry about it. That’s for me to deal with in the future. The very near future.”

After a time, I chanced it: “Sir, may I ask another question?”

The emperor’s expression grew cold. “I assume about this price the Kallian spoke of?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may not. Not now, not ever. Damastes, you are a good soldier and a better friend. You are the last because you don’t step beyond the limits of the first. Not that that bookish fool would know anything of what must be done, what must be paid, in the
real
world.”

He suddenly stood and strode out of the chamber.

Perhaps I should have pressed the question, then or later. Numantia was my country as well as his, and as commander of the armies this was something I should have known. Instead, a little frightened, I put the matter out of my mind.

The gods failed me at that moment: Irisu the Preserver; Panoan, god of Nicias; Tanis, my family god; Vachan, my own monkey god of wisdom — they turned their backs.

The only god present was Saionji, and now, in my mind, I can see her gleeful capering as she anticipated the horror to come.

I’d been in the field with one of my justice patrols, and been well satisfied at how the young legate handled matters, even though he was quite nervous with me in attendance. It was a long and dusty ride back to Polycittara, and I was more than ready for a very hot bath, about three pounds of barely cooked beef, and six hours of uninterrupted sleep. The bath and the steak I could have, but there was paperwork waiting that would keep me awake until past midnight, so I wasn’t in the best of tempers.

There were two surprises waiting. The first was Landgrave Amboina, sitting at ease in our reception room with a glass of wine, chatting amicably with my wife, and the other was a huge painting leaning against the wall. Amboina stood and bowed, while Marán gave me a quick and formal kiss on the lips.

“The landgrave has a present for us,” Marán said, “and was kind enough to keep me company while I was waiting for you.” She turned and indicated the painting. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

I don’t know if beautiful was the word for it. Awesome certainly was. It was about ten feet long by eight feet high, in an ornately carved wooden frame that was stained black and a very dark scarlet. I guessed I was grateful I was now rich enough, courtesy of the Seer Tenedos and my wife, to have several palaces with walls large — and sturdy — enough to hang the piece.

In the foreground was a moil of humanity, from peasants to lords, in marvelously tiny depictions of the life of Numantia and many of our provinces, from the jungles of the west to the high deserts of the east. Behind this landscape was the Wheel, turning, ever turning. To one side was Irisu, judging; to the other was Saionji, sweeping her taloned fingers across the landscape, bringing fresh deaths — and then rebirth — to the Wheel.

Behind all was a brooding, bearded figure that could only be Umar the Creator. Perhaps he was considering the splendor of what he’d created, perhaps about to destroy all and begin once more. Around these gods flocked many of their manifestations: the Guardians, with Aharhel the God Who Speaks to Kings in front, then the gods and goddesses of fire, earth, air, water, and many more.

I had to admire the hours, perhaps years, of work the artist had put into his work. But it, like other paintings and carvings, did little for me. If I am to love art, it should show something I am familiar with, perhaps a scene of a jungle farm in Cimabue or, better, a map from one of my campaigns. Such an admission no doubt brands me as a peasant, and so I am. Only music, of all the arts, has ever had power to move me.

I stared at this painting while dark thoughts grew within me. I turned back.

“It is very impressive, Landgrave. What made you choose to give it to us?”

Before Amboina could say anything, Marán spoke, and her voice was nervous.

“It’s called
The Judging
, and it’s by one of Kallio’s most famous artists, a man named Mulugueta, who died over a hundred years ago. There are already two of his paintings at Irrigon. Damastes, isn’t it wonderful? Won’t it look nice with the others at Irrigon … or maybe at the Water Palace?”

I took a deep breath. “Excuse me, my dear. But I still don’t understand. Landgrave, where did this come from?”

“From the estate of Lord Tasfai Birru,” the landgrave said.

“I know him not,” I said. “When did he die, and why did he choose to leave such a work to me? Has he no family or heirs?”

Amboina laughed tentatively, as if I’d told a poor jest. His laughter died when he saw I wasn’t joking. I decided I didn’t like him.

“He is still alive, Count Agramónte.”

“You may refer to me as Tribune rather than Count, since that title has precedence over all, especially in Kallio at this time.”

“My apologies, Tribune. As I was saying, Lord Birru is alive, although I predict he’ll return to the Wheel within the next two weeks. At present he’s held in this fortress’s dungeon, charged with treason. There’s only one verdict imaginable.”

“I see. And this belongs to him?” I asked.

“Belonged. It, along with the rest of his estate, will become the property of the state. After a percentage is sent to the emperor, the remainder will be disposed of by an official chosen by Prince Reufern. Of late, he has been delegating this rather exacting task to me.”