Demon King (64 page)

Only Svalbard, Curti, and I, and a handful of others, realized peace wouldn’t be at hand, but rather the savage mountains of Kait, the murderous hillmen and their evil Achim Baber Fergana. Every rock would hide death, every pass an ambush. But I said nothing.

On a clear morning, we saw the walls of Oswy.

And, in a great arc to the east of them, the Maisirian army, ready once more for battle.

• • •

“I know of no other army capable of such a feat,” Tenedos said. “Which is why the Maisirians will be utterly bewildered when we pull it off.”

The emperor had proposed a bold tactic to the tribunes and generals assembled in his tent: We should turn right, or east, as if preparing for frontal battle. But, masked by sorcery and the weather, we would continue moving, marching parallel with the enemy lines until we were about to attack Oswy instead of the Maisirian army. If we took the city, we could resupply, and hold the Maisirians off until the weather broke and we were able to march on.

Such a flank-exposing maneuver is terribly hazardous, but such maneuvers had been rehearsed in peacetime, and carried off. The question was whether we were still capable of such cleverness.

“If we do not succeed?” Herne asked skeptically.

“Then we’re no worse than if we’d stood and fought,” Linerges said.

“Not true,” Herne said. “For if we form battle lines now, we’ll have our reserves properly positioned. And Your Highness’s plan, with all due respect, will leave our support elements open to attack from the west, from what the Maisirians will think to be our rear.”

“The Negaret to the west will be busy,” the emperor said. “I’ll have certain sorceries for them to concern themselves with.”

“It’s terribly chancy,” Herne said, still unconvinced.

“Not for you,” Linerges said, half-smiling. “Your units are just ahead of Damastes’s in the line of march, and I doubt if any Maisirians will dare hit the demon Cimabuen, or even strike close to him. Most likely, if they scent our plan, they’ll smash into me.”

“I’m worried about our entire army,” Herne said sourly. “Hit us anywhere in the column, and the army’s cut in two, leaving me and
General
of the
Armies
and
First Tribune
á Cimabue surrounded.” I noted the sarcastic emphasis he put on my rank, and knew he had neither forgiven nor forgotten my redistribution of his wealth.

“Perhaps
you
have a plan,” the emperor said.

Herne hesitated, took a deep breath. “I do. But you will not like it, Your Highness.”

“I like very little these days,” Tenedos said. “Try me.”

“I suggest we attempt to negotiate with King Bairan.” Everyone looked at him in amazement.

“He’s shown little interest in talking,” a general in the rear said bitterly, “only in slaughter. And I can’t blame him, since he’s got us on the run. So why talk?”

“Because no one, not even the Maisirian king, could want any war to go on to annihilation,” Herne said.

“Who makes that guarantee?” Yonge muttered. Herne ignored him.

“Let me surprise you,” Tenedos said. “I have tried to contact the king, but his sorcerers keep blocking any attempt I make.” There was a shocked murmur, and I came out of my glumness long enough to wonder what terms Tenedos had devised, and why no one had heard of this before.

“Try another route,” Herne said. “Not magical, but direct. Our First Tribune’s dealt with him. Send him out under a flag of truce.”

“The hells,” I spat. “The only way I want to see that bastard is at the end of a lance. I’ll not — ” I caught myself, seeing the emperor’s look. “ — Play diplomat. Unless the emperor orders me,” I finished weakly.

“And I’ll give no such order,” Tenedos said. “Tribune Herne. Don’t slacken now. We’re almost clear of Maisir. Bear up, man. Once we cross the border, and have time to take a breath and regroup — then you’ll realize how weak your idea is.” Strangely, his tone was almost pleading.

Herne stared at Tenedos for a long moment, then nodded abruptly. “I hear and understand what you’ve told me, Your Highness, and withdraw my suggestion,” he said, suddenly formal.

“Very well,” Tenedos said. “Gentlemen, return to your units and order them for the march. And remember … the end is very near.”

• • •

Linerges drew me aside as we left the tent. I feared he was trying to do for me what I’d failed to do for Myrus, and, frankly, I wanted no bucking up, thank you, I was quite content following the weird I’d chosen. Sooner or later death would take me in this monstrous land, and I’d find rest for a time before Saionji summoned me to be judged for my evils and cast back into the world’s muck. I thought I might make the first move.

“I hope, Cyrillos, you aren’t planning to tell me you’ve realized The End Is Near, and are giving me the ownership of your stores, for I’ve no sense at all when it comes to commerce, and they’re better left to your wife.”

He surveyed me wryly. “I was going to try to cheer you up,” he said. “But if you’re capable of even wormy sallies such as that one, the hells with you. Go on and die. As for me, I’m immortal, in case you haven’t figured it out by this time.”

I looked closely at him, and couldn’t tell if he was still trying to be funny or had gone mad. “Careful,” I said, “the gods might be listening.”

“No,” he said seriously. “No, they’re not. Or, anyway, the gods that give a shit about us aren’t. The only one who might be is the emperor’s prized whore Saionji, and who cares, for she intends nothing but evil for us anyway.”

And I thought I was becoming an unbeliever, or, rather, a non-worshiper.

“Careful,” Yonge said, coming up from behind us. “Your curse might change things.”

“For what? The worse?” Linerges laughed boisterously, the harsh laughter of a warrior beyond fear, beyond hope. “Anyway, Damastes, do me a favor and don’t die tomorrow. We’re running short of tribunes, and I’m afraid the crop the emperor might name next would be terrible drinking company.” Linerges barely drank at all. He smiled once more, clapped me on the back, and hurried toward his horse.

“So he thinks he’s immortal,” Yonge mused. “Why not? Someone has to be, sooner or later.”

“What do you think?” I asked, making sure no one was within earshot.

“About what? The emperor’s plan? It’s possible. Maybe even good. Not that I care,” Yonge said. “For I came to bid you farewell, Numantian.”

“Come on, Yonge. This sort of claptrap only works for mummers. You’re too devious, sly, and duplicitous to die, at least honorably in battle.”

“Thank you for the compliment, my friend, and I hope you’re right. I mean I’m leaving the army.”

“What?”

“I said, long ago, in Sayana, when you were a legate and I was a native levy, I wished to learn about Ureyan women, and whether they were more interesting if they had a choice as to bed or no. I’m content with my knowledge that they are.

“I also said I wished to study honor. Now I know all I wish to on the subject. And on its opposite.” He turned, looked back at the emperor’s tent, and spat scornfully. “So I’m quit of my sash and the army tonight.”

“You can’t!”

“I can,” he said firmly. “My command is either dead or parceled out to other officers, so there’s no one to care whether I shout orders or put my thumbs up my arse and walk on my elbows.”

“Where’ll you go?”

“Back to Kait, of course. And I doubt if there’s anyone, either Numantian or these dogs from Maisir, who’ll even see me, let alone be able to stop me.” I knew he was right there. “So I came to say good-bye, and to thank you for what we might call an interesting time. Perhaps I’ll see you once more, although I doubt it, this side of the Wheel.

“So I’ll give you two favors now. The first shall be a surprise, when you find out about it, in the fullness of time.

“The second requires some meditation, so imagine you’re some sort of dirty holy man with fleas, an unwiped arse, and able to think of great things and tell us peasants what they mean.”

“All I’ve got is the shitty ass and fleas,” I said, suspicious of all this.

“Then think harder than you have before. Remember, long ago, after my skirmishers were almost destroyed at Dabormida, when I came to you, drunk, and said my men were sacrificed, and I didn’t know why?”

I was about to snap something about that being many corpses and campaigns ago, but I saw Yonge’s deadly seriousness. “Yes,” I said. “I remember.”

“Well, now I think I know the answer,” he said. “And I suspect you can come up with it as well. I’ll give you one clue: Why did the emperor, back at Sidor, insist on the Varan Guard’s sacrifice? He called it a diversion, but what was it diverting? We had already crossed the river, and were known to the Maisirians. Why did he let them die without sending a spell? Why, come to think about it, did he send such a small unit out in the first place? Why didn’t he send more men with them?

“More questions,” he said, holding up a hand for my continued silence. “Why did he wait to cast his Great Spell until the Guardsmen were already on the bridge? Already on it, already dying? There, I think that’s more than enough, so I’ll leave you.

“One other thing that just came to me as I talked. Remember the demon that destroyed Chardin Sher?”

I shuddered. In spite of all the horrors I’d seen, that mountainous four-armed V-mouthed demon was the worst.

“I’ll make a wager I’ll never be around to collect,” Yonge said. “I’ll wager you’ll see that fiend again. Not now. But later. When all seems lost. Now, Numantian, good-bye. And take good care.”

Before I could clasp him in my arms, try to argue or even say anything, he slipped away, around the imperial bodyguards’ warming tent. I went after him. But he wasn’t in the tent, or, when I circled it, anywhere around it.

So passed Yonge the Kaiti, by far the strangest of all the tribunes of Numantia.

• • •

I was in my blankets, pretending sleep as a calm, confident commander should, actually trying to blank my mind, trying to avoid thinking of the past two years of unrelenting sorrow and pain, when Captain Balkh woke me.

The news was as disastrous as it was shocking. The Twentieth Heavy Cavalry had lost contact with the rearmost elements of the five Guard Corps and their supporting elements, which Herne commanded, and had sent out a patrol. They found nothing — Herne’s positions had been abandoned.

He’d marched his entire force, almost twenty thousand men, due east, into the enemy lines. Heme, we learned later, had ridden in front with a white flag, shouting his surrender. I don’t know how he fooled his officers, whether he said he’d gotten imperial orders to take positions to the east before dawn, or if the
azaz
seized the moment and used his magic to fog the minds of our soldiers.

All that mattered was the gaping hole between my rear guard and the rest of the army. Minutes after I was roused, I heard the sounds of battle. The Maisirians had discovered the hole and were attacking through it. Herne’s treason was about to destroy us all.

I had to do something, and it couldn’t be anything predictable. An idea came, which at best might mean we’d be on our own in the
suebi
for several days, at worst … But I refused to think about that.

I sent Captain Balkh, wearing my helmet and with the Red Lancers, to the Twentieth Heavy, ordering them to fake an attack toward the Maisirians, as if I were leading an assault to link up with the rest of the army.

They were to strike until they hit real resistance, then fall back on the Seventeenth, which was to be an assembly point for our support units, the ragtag men who’d fallen to the rear, and those civilians prepared for a hard march instead of slavery or death. Then the entire formation would strike due west, away from the Maisirians, away from Oswy, with the Tenth Hussars leading the formation.

We would turn north after I’d broken contact with the Maisirians, circle east-northeast and rejoin the army at Oswy. It was a desperate hope, but the best we had.

• • •

The Twentieth Heavy Cavalry, even though they were decimated, their horses barely able to manage a trot, smashed into the Maisirians. The enemy had rushed forward with vast glee, looting what little there was to steal, and were swarming about, not yet re-formed, when the cavalry hit them. They fell back in amazement, shocked that the Numantians were able to mount a counterattack so quickly.

Before they could recover, the Twentieth withdrew as quickly as it had come. By the time they rejoined the Seventeenth, the Lancers were ready to move, and the column pushed out, away from the road, into the open
suebi.

It was hard going, and again men and horses went down, and civilian carts weren’t able to keep up, and so the panicked sutlers and camp followers had to grab what they could and trundle on afoot.

But this wasn’t the worst. The ambulances filled with our sick and wounded bogged or overturned as they tried to cross the deep ravines that intersected our path.

I gave hard orders: Abandon the train. Even Domina Bikaner gave me a shocked look before he saluted and went to see my orders were obeyed. But it was simple in my mind: Either they would fall into the hands of the Maisirians, or we all would. A handful of chirurgeons volunteered to stay with them, and while I admired their bravery and dedication, I refused to allow it. We’d need every one of them on the march. Men and not a few women cursed, screamed at us, as they saw men cutting the trails of the horses pulling the ambulances, but their anger was to no avail. An hour later, we marched away, leaving some of our honor and our hearts as we did. But compassion had no place in this wasteland.

• • •

Two hours later, as I was hoping my ruse had succeeded, our outriders reported Negaret patrols. I cursed — our movement would be followed and reported to King Bairan, giving him more than enough time to move troops between us and Oswy. But I had to continue the attempt, and ordered the Tenth to swing north.

Then came horror. The snow ahead of the Tenth’s screen heaved as though it were alive, as if great burrowing creatures were under it. The hillocks sped toward our men, then buried the lead elements as they screamed and tried to run, nightmarishly slow through the waist-deep snow. But no one saw or felt anything under the snow.