The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (10 page)

The rest of the machine was more prosaic, but to me just as wonderful. The treadmills turned wheels, and belts ran from those wheels to a larger one, jutting off the boat’s stem, just at the waterline and equipped with paddles. That drove the boat forward, and it was steered with long sweeps that extended from the deck back of the paddle wheel into the water. Commands would be shouted back to the steersmen from the ship’s commander in the bows, or, in the event of rain or wind, relayed by signals on pull-cords.

At dockside was the ship’s purser, and I arranged for my horses to be loaded, passing a silver coin I could not afford to make sure Lucan, Rabbit, and the two pack horses were properly attended to. I was given a brass token with my cabin number, gave a copper to the lycee attendant who’d accompanied me to the dock, and went aboard.

The cabin was neat but small, and on the lowest deck. Even so, it cost dearly, far more than I would be paid in a Tune. Since my possessions fit in one saddle-roll and four leather bags, I had more than enough room.

I went back on deck, and waited for departure. Next to the docks was one of the landings used for bathing. Long steps led into the brown river, and people swarmed down them. Some were most modest — I saw an entire family clad from head to foot in white robes trying to cleanse itself and yet remain modest Others wore a cloth around their loins, but most were as they came into the world.

In the throng were rich and poor, merchant and thief, and I was reminded that no man can show wealth when he’s naked, and, also, unfortunately, that most of us, unclothed, prove the first man or woman who sewed leaves to form a belt had a smattering of good sense.

There were exceptions, I noted a young girl, nude except for a thin silver chain about her waist and a bright smile she turned on me. I winked, she beckoned, I sighed and indicated I was trapped just as horns blasted, the gangways were pulled aboard, and we churned away.

The
Tauler
was worthy of her boasts, and we raced south as if demons were after us. The first few days took the longest, requiring careful navigation as we passed through the huge delta that fed the sea through hundreds of mouths. There were islands no bigger than the single bush that grew on them, and ones I thought as big as Cimabue. The islands were heavily settled, and I wondered, with a shudder, what all these people could do, where they could flee, in the event of a flood. I suspected I knew the answer, and thought on more cheerful subjects.

Once out of the delta, we could move faster. The Latane River was huge, stretching from horizon to brown horizon as it rolled down to the sea. There were many other boats about, from small skiffs to fishing craft to ramshackle barges that were home to huge families. There were trading ships and other transports like our own that the ship’s horns hooted at familiarly.

The only time I was in my cabin was to sleep — otherwise I was on deck, marveling at this great and lovely country of Numantia I had sworn to serve.

My fellow passengers were mostly of the monied class, and so I kept to myself. A few times men offered to buy me a drink, and I accepted gladly, since I’d made a private arrangement with the barmen that no matter what I ordered I’d be served a glass of recently boiled water, with that wonderful rarity ice, and a twist of lime, which looked for all the world like some lethal concoction of distilled prune pits or some such.

I made no attempt to make friends, since I was more interested in what I was seeing than in conversation, and I generally dined alone and early. I also had a great deal of reading to do, having purchased books before I left on the history of Urey, the Border States, and even one thin volume on the Seventeenth Lancers themselves. It was a task I did not like, but I knew it was less onerous than appearing a complete fool when I arrived in Mehul.

I remember walking along the promenade deck and seeing a magician entertain a family. The sage was one of the entertainers the ship’s owners provided, which included minstrels, players, and mimics. The family was young, and wore their best clothes at all times, clothes that were just a trifle out of the current style. I guessed they’d either saved their money for a holiday, or else this passage had been a present from a richer relative. There were four of them: two boys perhaps three and four, their father, who was about my age, and their visibly pregnant mother.

The magician was quite gifted — a fat, jolly man who prattled on while his hands worked wonders. He took a small toy, a tiger, from one of the children, and turned it sequentially into a cat that meowed, a dog that barked, a zebra that whinnied, and then into a full-size tiger, its mouth wide for a roar. Before either of the children had time to be frightened, the roar became a kitten’s meow, the boys laughed, and the magician handed the toy back. The father turned, saw me, and ducked his head in acknowledgment of my superior class.

Embarrassed, I returned the salute and moved on. As I walked back toward the stern I mused about the sense of remove I’d felt watching these people who were living a life I’d never know, one as strange as if they were from one of the other worlds the Wheel surely must touch.

As we went south, the land grew sparser and drier, the cities fewer, and the farms farther apart and scraggly. The people on the banks or in boats were poorer; their clothes were no longer the rainbow hues of the north.

We stopped for supplies at a port that was little more than a long dock and a scatter of buildings. I went ashore for a walk. At the end of the pier squatted a man, the poorest of the poor by his rags. Beside him sat a girl, perhaps nine or ten. Both of their faces held the patient wisdom that poverty gives: There is nothing more the gods can do to me, and the only blessing I shall find is when the Wheel turns. I dug for a coin in my sabertache, although the man had not yet made a beggar’s plea.

“Kind sir,” he said, as his eyes focused, recognizing that another stood before him. “Would you buy my daughter?”

I don’t know why I was surprised, since I’d seen men and women surreptitiously offering their children in Nicias’s tawdry backstreets. But I was.

“No,” I said. “I’m but a soldier. I’d have no place for her.”

“She would be no trouble,” he said, as if I had not spoken. “She is a good girl. She’s never sick. She has most of her teeth. She doesn’t eat much, either. She knows how to sew, and I’m sure you could find someone to show her how to cook.

“She even can be …” and the man let the pause hang, “… good to you. Better as she gets older.”

He elbowed the girl, and she attempted to put on a smile, such as she’d seen one or another of the whores of this byway paint on. But I saw the fear behind it clearly.

Perhaps I should have struck the man, or something. I did not, but dropped a silver coin in the dust near him and hurried back to the
Tauter,
reminded that Numantia may be a great country, but it was, and is, carrying a horrid burden of despair and poverty.

I wished then, and wish now, that all of us were rich, or at least lacked for nothing. But I suppose such contentment would bore the gods and make them rouse Umar and start over, to make a more fascinating world for their amusement.

As the second week drew to a close, I was weary of traveling, and my bones needed hard exercise. I thought of running up and down the decks, or climbing the teakwork, but thought I probably already behaved enough like Vachan not to need to act more like a caged monkey.

The Latane was now clear, blue, and the land around it green and rich again. We had entered that most blessed of lands, the state of Urey. The river divided again and again, but each branch remained navigable. From atop the third deck I could see, dim in the distance, the mountains that marked the end of the small state, and the beginnings of the Border States. Here is where I would be blooded, and make my name.

We docked, and I saddled my horses and set out through the city on the road that would take me to the Seventeenth Lancers’ home in the garrison city of Mehul.

I’d expected to find a beautiful city, but instead I found a magical place. It was very old, and it had been a summering place for the kings of Numantia once.

Elsewhere in Numantia was heat; here it was cool, a pleasant breeze blowing down from the mountains and stirring the trees of the many parks in the city. The trees themselves were of a type I’d never seen, sixty feet in circumference, with multicolored leaves big enough to use for umbrellas in the gentle rains that fell occasionally.

In the center of the city, rather than a palace or a grim fortress, was a garden, where fountains rose and sang among pillars of black marble, worked with gold, and the water ran laughing down cascades into small pools.

Canals stretched through the city, connecting the district’s many lakes. Huge multistoried buildings, old beyond age, stretched up, their balconies and lattices arabesques of beauty, and flowers growing on their roofs.

There were sidewalk cafés, and I smelled roast duck, spiced fish, chile-drenched corn, and other delights.

The people seemed uniformly cheerful and friendly. While of course there were beggars, they looked as if they’d bathed and been fed within the week, and even pled their cases as if they were respectable men and women working a trade, asking no more than their due.

On the lakes I saw drifting islands of flowers, black-faced swans, and moored houseboats, each with wonderfully carved decorations in many kinds of wood stained in rainbow hues. Behind each of these houseboats, which were almost 100 feet long, was a smaller, canopied craft fitted with cushions, perfect for a lazy idyll on a warm day like this. This, I thought a bit wistfully, would be a perfect place for a lover and a long holiday.

I rode on into the countryside. The land was very green, rolling farmland, broken by forests and lakes, each inviting the fisherman, boatman, or swimmer.

It was said that all men have two homes — their own and Urey — and I knew it was true. What that province is now is yet another example of the doom the Emperor Tenedos — and, I must admit, myself — brought to our country. Mourn, Numantians, the glory that was Urey and is no more.

But that day I swear even the dust Lucan’s heels kicked up smelled sweeter than any other.

I understood why Urey, although under the protectorate of Numantia, was also claimed by the neighboring province of Kallio and even, along with the Border States farther south, by Maisir, although at the time no one thought they meant their assertion to be taken seriously.

I rode on, toward Mehul. If Renan is one point of an equalsided triangle and Sulem Pass is another, then the third point, to the west, is Mehul. It guards not only Sulem Pass, but another fearsome area, the Urshi Highlands, as well. They’re also part of the Border States, but the legend says the men who live there are those who are too fierce for their brothers in the rest of Kait, who keep the same customs and speak much the same language, to tolerate. Certainly they’ve caused the army and the people of Urey as much grief over the years as any raiders who boil out of Sulem Pass. This I would learn well within a few weeks.

I camped that night beside a stream, and stretched out my bedroll under the stars, listening to, far in the distance, the belling of a maned deer as I drifted away.

The next day, I rode into Mehul. The town is a fairly typical border settlement, with perhaps three or four thousand people, most of them working directly or indirectly to support the Lancers.

Their camp is five minutes’ walk beyond the town. It’s been there for generations, time enough for the saplings planted in the dim hope the regiment might be there long enough to cut them for kindling to grow into great plane trees that give welcome shade during the Time of Heat. The barracks are of stone, with wooden interiors and tile roofs that shed heat and let the water run off freely during the Time of Rains.

The grounds are perfectly kept, from green lawns to seasonal flowers, which might be expected when you realize there are several hundred men who are only a lance-major’s frown away from being ordered to trim the grass with nail-clippers.

There are, or were anyway, around 700 lances in the regiment, assigned to six troops and headquarters. The troops were Sambar, which is for scouting; Lion; Leopard; Cheetah; Tiger; and Sun Bear, which rides in support of the four combat troops. Each troop contains four columns of twenty-five, which are numbered and
always
referred to by the ordinal or it’s time to buy the mess a round.

I rode in, reported to the regimental adjutant, and was assigned to Three Column, Cheetah Troop.

The next few days blurred past in a haze of happiness, as I was given necessary weapons, uniforms, the Spell of Understanding for the local languages, equipment, and met my fellow officers, and most important of all, the men of my column. I can still name them all, even the ones who did not choose to follow me later as members of my household guard when I rode with the emperor.

They also brought the only fear I had: fear that I’d somehow fail them and myself, and bring needless deaths. Fortunately, my father had told me every one of the stages I’d go through in my first command, and had warned me to leave well enough alone, admonishing, “Do not start fiddling with your column like a spinster who constantly arranges her sitting room and is never satisfied,” and instructing me, “At the beginning, be no more than a presence to your men, and a pupil to your warrants.” I tried to obey him.

I also knew full well that I was the youngest, newest member of the mess, and so kept well into the shadows, staying silent unless spoken to, and then making my answers as brief as possible.

Some of the other junior legates chaffed me, trying to find a weakness. I responded in kind, but stayed a bit remote, practicing another of my father’s preachings, the one that said the cheery man who first befriends you in a new post will borrow money, steal your gear, and finally abandon you in battle. Friendship isn’t a spring flower, he went on, but grows like an oak. He warned me there were of course exceptions, just as there are, he added, in love.