Authors: Chris Bunch
Demon King
DEMON
KING
C
HRIS
B
UNCH
a division of F+W Media, Inc.
for
Danny Baror
&
The Studwells:
Craig, Jan
Gillian, Matthew, and Megan
Ten: Change in the Time of Dews
Fourteen: To Speak for the Emperor
Twenty-Three: Bloody Roads South
Twenty-Five: The Doom that Came to Jarrah
Twenty-Six: The Bridges at Sidor
Twenty-Seven: Death on the Suebi
Twenty-Eight: Betrayal and Flight
T
HE
G
OLDEN
A
X
The postilion’s sharp ears saved Marán’s and my lives. He heard the cracking as the great oak above us broke and toppled, and yanked at his reins. The team, whinnying surprise, veered into the ditch as the tree smashed down in front of our coach.
Marán flew across the compartment into my arms with a shriek, and I sprawled backward as the huge carriage teetered and skidded wildly as a wheel splintered. There were shouts of men, screams of horses, and I slid from under Marán, kicked the door open and rolled out, reflexively drawing the sword that never left my reach.
But there was no one to fight, and nothing to see except my regal coach lying like a hulk, its eight horses plunging to be freed, and a sweltering mass of cavalry as my escort milled about in confusion.
On a far hillside I saw a plume of dust as a rider galloped for safety.
There were cries of “sorcery,” “magic,” “get the bastard,” and Legate Balkh crying for volunteers to go after the would-be assassin, and behind that countermanding shouts from myself, Captain Lasta, and, against all rules, Lance Karjan, my bodyservant.
My wife peered out as her squealing maids ran up from their carriage behind.
“Are you hurt?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Just a little shaken. What happened?”
“Evidently,” I said, “the Kallians know of our coming, and have expressed their opinion.”
“But how did …”
“Come with me, and we’ll see if we can figure it out.”
I helped her out of the huge carriage that had been more a home for the last eight years than any of my palaces, and we walked to where the huge tree lay across the road. Magic was instantly and obviously the explanation. The tree’s trunk had been cut through cleanly, not rotted and split. I spotted a glint in the grass. I picked up a tiny golden ax, no more than an inch tall, just as the regimental commander of the Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers ran to me and saluted.
“Domina Bikaner, send a patrol to that hilltop. Tell them to look for a small oak branch that’s been cut in half.”
“Yessir.”
I continued examining the tree. “Look here,” I said. Marán saw where a small limb had been neatly cut. I would never have noticed except symbols were carved into the bark, symbols oozing fresh sap.
“I’d guess that was how it was done,” I said. “The wizard notched the tree trunk, put a tiny simalcrum of his sorcerous ax in the notch, then took the branch with him. The symbols on the tree make sure that the part can become of the whole, as Emperor Tenedos would say.
“He waited until the first troop of Lancers went past, knew our carriage for his target since it’s the biggest and plushest, and commenced to cutting the branch. When it split, the tree dropped very neatly. All that can be slighted is his timing.”
“I don’t see how you can be so casual about this,” Marán said. “The bastard could have killed us!”
“After the first dozen times,” I said, “ ‘could have killed me’ is quite as satisfying as ‘never even thought about it.’ ”
“Why didn’t you let the cavalry hunt him down?”
“Because I’ll wager he had a hundred or so friends waiting over the first hill. Magicians don’t scratch their butts without backup.”
“Tribune Damastes, you are far too clever,” Marán said. “Now … are you through being mad at me?”
The inn we’d stayed at the previous night had been vile, without question. The keeper had been surly, the rooms dirty, and the food so unpalatable we’d ignored it and eaten soldiers rations with the Lancers. Marán had summoned the keeper and told him, in some detail, what a worthless swine he was, and if it were hers to say she’d have the place razed as a health hazard and him whipped for general scalawaggery. The keeper was an incompetent and an ass, but he knew if Marán had been on her own lands she could, indeed, have ordered the building torched. The Agramónte name ran farther back in Numantian history than most laws.
Marán was behaving like an arrogant bitch, and I said so when the innkeeper had quavered away. That was foolish of me. When one is born to impossible wealth, and most of mankind exists as one’s servants or underlings, it’s not likely one will suffer fools, and besides her temper was almost as volcanic as mine.
“I am through being mad at you, madam,” I said. “Are you through snubbing me?”
“Perhaps.”
Men swarmed about our coach. Shouts came, and it was tipped upright and muscled back onto the road, and a spare wheel from one of the wagons in our support train was rolled up.
“Things appear to be well in hand,” she said. “Would the noble tribune care to join me for a walk into the woods for a bit, to stretch our legs?”
“I would.”
“Would the noble tribune mind departing from tradition and leave his bodyguards behind?”
“Would madam feel safe? After all, we are in Kallio now, and we’ve already seen what people seem to think of us.”
“You have your sword, do you not? How could I fear anyone with such a brave man beside me?”
“Aren’t you piling it a little thick?”
Marán giggled.
“I was wondering how long I could keep up that nonsense before you growled.”
She led me into the small copse beside the road. Lance Karjan started after us, and I told him to stay with the carriage. It was the height of the Time of Heat, very hot, and very still once we were away from the road, except for the scuff of our boots, the whisper of her long traveling skirt against the dry grass, and the sleepy sound of bees. Marán leaned back against a rock slab that rose diagonally.
“I love this time,” she said. “When I sweat it’s like my body’s oiled, all over.” There was a film of perspiration on her upper lip, and she licked it away, slowly.
“Isn’t that my task?” I said, my voice a little husky.
“It could be.” I came close and kissed her, our tongues curling around each other. Her blouse unbuttoned like a military tunic on either side, and fell away, her breasts pointing up at me, nipples firm.
She lazily moved her legs apart and pulled her dress up across her smooth thighs. She wore no underclothing. She let her head fall back against the rock, lifted her legs about the backs of my thighs.
“Yes, Damastes. Do it to me now!”
• • •
When we returned to the carriage, pretending innocence and ignoring our tousled clothing, I took Karjan aside and reminded him rankers generally did not make officers happy by countermanding their orders, as he’d done with Legate Balkh.
“Yessir. Should’ve let th’ pup ride off an’ get hisself killed, an’ a lot of better men with him. Sorry, Tribune. P’raps I’d be best takin’ off th’ rank tape an’ bein’ no more’n a horseman again, if th’ tribune wishes.”
I swore and told him I might be a tribune but I could still take him behind the stables and be the only one to walk back, if he wanted to reduce things to that level. He looked unworried. Karjan, who served me indifferently in peace and perfectly in war — saving my life on half a dozen occasions — despised rank, whether held by others or himself, and when promoted found the nearest trouble to get him reduced to the ranks again. I’d made him a lance-major seven times, and demoted him eight.
But I counted him part of my luck, part of the trappings I had as first tribune. Some called me Damastes the Fair, which embarrassed me, although I admit I liked to dress colorfully and sometimes designed my own uniforms. They also knew me by my bodyguard, the Red Lancers, tough men who’d seen combat on the frontiers before volunteering for my service. Their horses’ saddles and bridles were trimmed in red, as were their boots and helmets. Their lances were enameled red and, sorcerously, their armor was given a scarlet tinge, and their reputation in battle fit the name as well.
I also had the Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers, which I’d always think of as “mine,” for they were my first assignment as a legate. The emperor had grumbled when I told him I wanted the Seventeenth withdrawn from the frontier, but the task he was giving me was so difficult I could’ve had anything and anyone I wished.
I’d asked Marán to come not only because we’d spent far too much of our marriage apart, but for her redoubtable social skills. I hoped I’d be able to keep Kallio calm enough for her to have a chance to use them.
When the emperor and I had raised the monstrous demon that destroyed Chardin Sher and his dark magician, Mikael Yanthlus, that ended the revolt. Everyone knew it was over — everyone but the Kallians.
Again and again they rose against the just rule of the emperor, sometimes in organized manner, sometimes in mere mobs. Worse, every man seemed to think he was his own rebel leader. Kallians had always had the reputation of thinking themselves superior to other Numantians, but they’d also been known for their respect for the law, sometimes overly so. No more.