Demon King (62 page)

The cavalryman would curse, hurl his heavy saber into some bushes, abandon his saddle where it lay, and lurch onward as an infantryman, but one who had no more idea of how to form a line or attack a redoubt than of how to fly. A cavalryman thinks of himself as better than his unmounted fellows, and so, afoot with the commoners, it was easy for him to give up hope. And that was something, in those terrible days, no one had very much of.

But some lived. Strong men did, and I do not mean those with bulging muscles, for many of them saw yet another icy hill to clamber up, whimpered, and slumped to the roadside as not, while a puny, scrawny boy from Nicias’ gutters gritted his rotten teeth and went on — another foot, another league, another day.

Men with faith lived, and it didn’t seem to matter what they believed. Some were religious, which is a rarity in Numantia, insofar as true religion goes. Or they had faith in family, wife, even, I suppose, although I know of none, in themselves. A man’s friends, his squad-mates, if he still had any, would be his strongest bower, chivvying him on when he wanted to stop, cursing him, even striking him when his soul weakened. A league farther it would be turnabout, and his turn to scream, swear, and cry at one of them, and together another league would creep past.

I lived, I think, because my oath would not let me die as long as men who depended on me still lived.

And because of Alegria.

Beyond that, beyond her, I lived because Saionji had not yet tired of japing with me.

• • •

I woke, without knowing what woke me. Alegria coughed, a deep, racking cough. I sat up in our blankets, scrabbling for flint and steel.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you sick?”

“No. I’ve just got a cough.”

My heart turned. “How long have you had it? Why haven’t you told me? Why haven’t I noticed?”

“Because you’ve had other things to worry about. And it’s only been … a couple of days or so.”

I struck the steel.

“Don’t bother with a light,” she said hastily.

But I persisted, and our tiny lantern flared, illuminating the cave-like interior of our carriage, blankets hung over the windows to try to hold in some warmth. Alegria hid something under the covers.

“What’s that?”

“Just a handkerchief.”

I pulled her face close, saw its utter paleness in the flickering candlelight, then saw something worse. There was a hint of blood at the corner of her mouth.

“Let me see that handkerchief.”

“No!”

“Dammit, show it to me!”

Reluctantly, she did. It was wet with blood.

At dawn, I took her to the imperial caravan, before the army began to move. The emperor’s own chirurgeon examined Alegria, against her protests of good health.

“Yes,” he said, and his tones were artificially hearty. “Not the first such I’ve seen. I’ll mix up some herbs, and I want you to make tea three times daily. That’ll give you some relief from the coughing.”

I followed him to his carriage.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s been going around for about a week now. The first case I noticed was after we had that little set-to last week. In that village.”

I tried to remember. But there was always fighting.

“The one with two temples,” he said. “We used both for hospitals for the two days we were there, before Tribune Linerges broke through.”

I vaguely remembered it.

“That’s when it materialized.”

“How long does it take to recover?”

The chirurgeon gnawed at his lip, looked away.

“I asked a question,” I said sharply.

“Sorry, Tribune,” he said, unused to being commanded. “I don’t know. I really haven’t had the time to follow up on things like that. There’s far worse matters to fill my hours.”

“How much worse can it get?” I asked.

The man looked around the encampment — the dirty snow, the bundled men, the dark sky — then at me. “I’m sure your lady will recover,” he said. “Keep her in a carriage, and make certain she eats. She’ll have as good a chance as anyone.”

I was afraid to press him, afraid I had my answer.

• • •

We marched on, bodies strewn in our path like a carpet. They’d always be stripped, and now it was commonplace for them to be half-butchered. I made sure, when I was invited to eat something in my rounds, that I inquired about the source of any meat offered. But most didn’t. They couldn’t — there simply wasn’t that much food.

Even I, the highest tribune in the army, went hungry. One or two days at a time wasn’t worth a single complaint around a fire, and was sure to elicit a sympathetic reply such as “you overfed fat bastard.”

I came back from a long patrol, out in the cutting snow for almost a week trying to find the gods-damned Maisirian Army, and almost cried when someone handed me a blackened, half-roasted, half-burned potato he’d dug from a farmer’s field and roasted in a tiny fire. It tasted better than a many-coursed banquet.

Some of the Maisirian women who’d become bed partners of soldiers stayed with their lovers where they fell. Others found new mates within the hour. I remember one general who’d happened on a very pretty girl in Jarrah and seduced her. She’d foolishly gone with him when we retreated, fearing her countrymen would kill her when they reoccupied the city.

When the general found the girl to be pregnant, he threw her out of his carriage and said if he saw her again, he’d put her to the sword. The man who told me the story said she’d stood beside the line of march like a statue, eyes staring in disbelief, tears in a frozen runnel down her cheeks.

The rear guard came on her half a day later, crouched beside the trail. Her face, dead eyes still wide, stared up the roadway, after her lover.

• • •

The first sign of catastrophe was the high shrill of our lead horse, as he lost his footing on the curve. He pulled the pair behind off the icy road, and the carriage slid gracefully with them and tumbled into the deep ravine.

At the top of the low hill we were climbing I planned to have the carriage pull over, unsaddle Brigstock, tie him to the rear of the coach, and slip inside for an hour’s sleep. It was snowing, getting worse, and I dreamed of holding Alegria and the warmth around me in a few moments.

Instead, I watched a wooden box holding all I held precious go a-tumble down the rocky slope. I was out of the saddle and scrambling down the icy rocks, somehow not losing my footing. The carriage hit the bottom of the ravine, smashed through a frozen rivulet, and lay still, on its side. The body of one teamster was impaled on the winter-frozen spear of a tree stump, and the other lay crushed under the wagon itself, screaming. His screams stopped just before I reached him.

I jumped atop the shattered box and pulled at the door. It came off in my hands. There was no movement in the darkness, then a pile of blankets stirred, and Alegria’s tousled head peered out.

“Am I alive?” Alegria asked, then spasmed in coughing.

“Yes. Oh, gods, yes,” and I was down in the carriage, holding her close.

Please, gods, I prayed. Name your price, name your sacrifice. But don’t let her die. Please. I’ve seldom prayed to you, feeling that if I went to you in good times, you’d never listen when things were bad. Take me if you wish, but let her live.

The Lancers helped us take what was salvageable and clamber back to the top of the hill.

A gust of wind hit Alegria, and she shivered. “It’s … good to be out,” she said, attempting good cheer. “Stuffy in that coach. It’s time I got some exercise, anyway.”

I paid no attention, but looked down the trail, through the now-heavy snow. An ambulance creaked toward us. I waved it down.

The driver didn’t recognize me in my filthy greatcoat and my long-unburnished helmet. “Full up,” he shouted. “No room for nobody, not officer, not man. Out’n the way.”

Svalbard jumped in front of the horses, grabbed one’s halter and pulled it to a halt. “For th’ First Tribune, you’ll fucking stop!” he shouted.

“Sir! Sorry, sir. What do you need?” the man stammered, coming out of his frozen stupor.

“We lost our carriage. Is there room for my lady?”

“Sir … she’d be more’n welcome, but there’s no room for her to fit. Sir, I wasn’t lyin',” the man said, knowing I could kill him if I wished and no one would stop me. He clambered down and yanked open the door of the low carriage. I flinched, smelling drying blood and sickness. There were half a dozen men packed in the interior, which was more like a coffin than anything else.

“Go on, driver,” Alegria ordered. “I’m healthier than any of these men. I can walk.” Then she promptly disproved it by bending double in a spasm.

“Here,” a man said, and pulled himself from the carriage. “I’ll not ride when a great lady is on foot.” His uniform was in tatters, and he wore a Maisirian cloak, cut at the waist so he could walk. He had the emblem of the Seventh Guard Corps pinned to the cloak’s side, and a bandaged left leg. He put weight experimentally on the leg, fought back a wince, tried again, and managed a smile.

“Hells, sir. I’m ready to go back to my comp’ny. If there’s a comp’ny to go back to.”

I knew what I wanted to order, but could not.

“Driver, I said move on,” Alegria ordered.

The man climbed back to his seat.

“Now, you,” she said, turning to the Guardsman. “Get back in.”

But he wasn’t there.

“Where …”

Svalbard pointed to the edge of the road, where it dropped off into the ravine. I ran to it and looked down. I saw, dimly through the snow, a man, limping as quickly as he could, away from the road into the darkening
suebi.

“Stop!” I called.

But he never turned, never looked back, and a moment later was lost in the storm.

I never even learned his name.

• • •

The ambulance, with its sick and wounded, and Alegria, became part of our formation. The men in it were given some treatment by two of my Lancers, who knew a bit about herbalism.

We’d just pulled off to the side of the road, circled the half-dozen open wagons we had, set out pickets, and considered our miserable rations for the night, when the emperor’s galloper found me.

• • •

“How dare they!” Tenedos shouted, and spun a wand against the tent wall in rage. It wasn’t a question. “Gutless back-stabbing bastards! How in the hells could they betray their country so?”

The emperor had tried time and again to use his Seeing Bowl to reach Nicias, but without success. Finally he’d used seven of the most skilled Chare Brethren to force his spell. With that power, he’d successfully contacted one of the Brethren at the palace. They’d been trying to contact him as well, but without success, until the seer thought of summoning his two sisters, Dalny and Leh, “blood touching blood,” Tenedos explained.

The news from both sides was bad. There’d been an attempted revolt. Scopas and Barthou, the former members of the Rule of Ten Kutulu had warned of, had led it, backed by those same barons that had come to me for help and approval in setting up a private army, with Marán’s brother Praen. The group was now headed by Lord Drumceat, and had no more loyalty to Numantia or the emperor than before. I held back rage. I should’ve done what I’d threatened and had those traitorous sons of bitches arrested.

They’d gotten two of the parade units in Nicias on their side, and seized about half of the government’s buildings. But they’d made two errors, Tenedos explained: They hadn’t arrested the magicians, and they hadn’t bothered with two regular units camped outside Nicias awaiting ships to take them south to the war.

“There was a third mistake,” Tenedos finished. “They didn’t have any real leaders. So when they called for the people to rise up, the people went home.”

A day later, the revolt collapsed. But neither Scopas, Barthou, or Drumceat had been taken. They were in hiding, although every warden in the country sought them. Nicias, however, was safe. “At least for the moment,” Tenedos said.

“What did they want? What could they …” I’m afraid I was sputtering like an old fool.

“What did they want? Power, of course. How could they consider such an action? Easily. When the lion weakens, the others in his pack stalk him. Things aren’t going … as they should here. I assume rumors have gotten through. And not hearing anything from me since Jarrah could only have made matters worse.”

I gathered myself. “What of the Tovieti? Were they involved?”

Tenedos gave me a hard look, then grudgingly admitted: “No one mentioned them. Perhaps they had sense enough to realize only a fool would follow Scopas.”

I thought of how Tenedos had constantly ridden Kutulu about the men and women of the yellow cord, and told him to ignore anything else, and Kutulu’s warnings about Scopas and Barthou, but realized only an idiot would bring that up, or mention Kutulu’s name, although I desperately wanted to suggest that the Serpent Who Never Sleeps should be brought back from exile and given a free hand. Brutal though he might be, he’d at least guarantee the emperor’s back was safe. But, as I said, I wasn’t in the mood for imbecility.

“What can we do about it?” I asked.

“Nothing, now. Dalny broke down when I told her of her husband’s death. I suppose she might’ve actually loved the man. I ordered my Brethren to bring whatever Guard Corps that are anywhere close to trained from Amur and garrison Nicias.” Tenedos growled. “As if we won’t need them when we reach the frontiers. Leh will be named regent.”

I kept my expression blank, remembering the last time I’d seen the emperor’s sister — half-naked, being serviced by several Guardsmen.

“That’s not good,” the emperor went on, “but in these times we have to do with what we have. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep in touch, and the Chare Brethren won’t let her do anything completely absurd.
Damn
it, but I wish Reufern hadn’t been killed!”

I pointedly looked aside, and there was silence in the tent except for the wind whipping at the canvas.

“Oh well,” Tenedos said. “He would’ve insisted on coming with me, so it wouldn’t have made any difference.”