The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (53 page)

The raid was, thus far, outstandingly successful, more so as the prone men groaned back to life and sat up. I was privately less content — I’d hoped the Kallian Malebranche would be among the Tovieti, but he was absent But then I saw the fat, bearded man who was the Nician leader of the sect lying bound on the floor, and next to him the Marchioness Fenelon, who glared hatred at us all.

I thought Tenedos would be happy, but he was looking about, worried. “Hurry,” he said. “I sense something. Something coming.”

We needed no urging, and in seconds had the bound men and women carried over-shoulder, and our own casualties were assisted back up the tunnel.

Then the ground rumbled and shook, as it had before, and I looked about, for signs of that fearsome mole-monster. I saw nothing, but the ground rumbled harder, bricks groaned and shrieked, and I heard the gush of water as the passageway was torn open and river water began to pour into it.

We went up the ramp at a run, the roaring torrent just behind us, and burst out into the night and safety, nothing behind us to show signs of the smuggler’s cave but a dark, swirling pool.

The ground kept shaking, the wooden dock creaking, about to tear apart.

I looked downriver, toward the sea, and saw Thak!

I don’t know where he’d hidden himself — underwater, in some warehouse or burrow or perhaps there was a door into his world somewhere out there.

On he came, clawed hands stretching for us, ready to crush, ready to tear, as he had in my nightmare, and I heard that screeching of unoiled metal and high shrilling I’d heard before in the Tovieti cavern in the Border States.

Now he was not orange and sun colors, but darkness and moonlight. Thak gathered enough light from the stars and sliver of moon to send darting slashes of illumination across the water and buildings as he crashed toward us. I heard cries of terror and joy as men and women saw their god, their destroyer.

A few of my men, those who hadn’t been in the cavern and seen the demon before, were wavering, about to flee.

“Stand fast!” I shouted, and my shout brought them back into the chains of discipline, and they dropped our captives and made ready to fight, pinprick knives against a monster.

Tenedos was busy opening that case. Flashing bits of light revealed those bits of glass, held somehow within the confines of a smaller circle and triangle.

Tenedos took a fragment in each hand, and stood, holding his arms toward Thak, who was now no more than a hundred yards distant, his hellish keening louder in expectant triumph. Tenedos began chanting, and his voice boomed across the river, louder even than the demon’s death song:

“Little voices

Little spells

Spells that broke

Spells that smashed.

You are an echo

An echo of another

Who in turn

Reflects another’s voice.

Now come

Come together.

Touch your brother.

Feel your brother.

You are one

You are mine

Mine to hold

Mind to send.

You are mine

I fathered thee

Now you must obey.

“Ahela, Mahela, Lehander

“I hold you

I order you

I send you.

Seek your target

Seek your enemy.

Seek it out

As you were taught.

Strike now

Strike hard

Strike as one.”

I don’t quite know how to explain what I saw, but something rose from that case, just as I belatedly understood what the spell was, that each of those bits of glass had been the result of a shattering spell cast by one of the Chare Brethren, combined by Tenedos as symbols to create one enormously powerful incantation, which had smashed that marble statue in its test.

What I saw was barely visible, shimmering like heat above a fire, but this had a form, a shape, a rough V. I saw it, then I saw it not, but felt a wind rush, and barrels on the dock between us and Thak were bowled aside as the spell rushed toward its target.

Thak must have seen or sensed doom rushing upon him, for he reared back, holding up his hands in front of him. But the spell struck true, the crystalline “singing” crashed into discordance, like a million, million goblets crashing onto stone, and then it cut suddenly, and Thak exploded, exploded like a huge stone that had been cut by a master jeweler, examined and found flawed, and smashed with a great hammer in a fit of rage.

There was a rain of fragments, fragments that vanished even as they fell, and then Thak was gone.

“Now it is over,” Tenedos said in the stillness.

C
IVIL
W
AR

But it wasn’t over. Not yet. There were still Tovieti to hunt down and destroy. Once again, Elias Malebranche had slipped away. Kutulu could find no traces of him in Nicias. Tenedos shrugged. “He’s fled to his last bolt-hole. He … and his master … don’t realize it, but their time has run out.”

It was still cruel, still nasty — the Tovieti who refused to vanish fought as bitterly as any fanged beast does when tracked to its lair. But we found them, and we killed them, although more soldiers died in the process. In these final days, Tenedos’s hellhound Kutulu was given his own nickname by the broadsheets: The Serpent Who Never Sleeps. The fear his name brought was to grow and grow.

Nicias, a city half in ruins, was at peace once more. Now would come retribution and blame. I privately expected the people of the city to turn against the army and especially Seer Tenedos after the brutal suppression. But they didn’t. He was once more a hero, a great man. I puzzled, but Marán, who I was learning was far more perceptive than her age might suggest, said she wasn’t surprised. “The people did things they don’t want to remember doing, so whoever
really
did what happened, well, they’re someone else, someone different. All the seer did was destroy those horrible, different people so the common people can be happy again.” I realized that yes, people did think, or rather not think, like that. So I merely shook my head when the army was cheered every time it rode out, and once again I was Damastes the Hero.

The Rule of Ten proclaimed a “time of healing,” and no doubt would have gotten on with rebuilding with never a finger-point of blame, a convenient policy since they were far guiltier for the riots than any Tovieti or Kallian. But Tenedos would have none of that. He called for a tribunal, but the Rule of Ten quickly responded that they’d have hearings on whether or not that should be allowed.

Perhaps the matter might have ended there, but once again the Rule of Ten’s ineptness showed.

Nicias was starving to death, even though food was coming into the city by the day in great barge-loads. The rice, the meat, the fruit were being off-loaded into warehouses … and there it sat. Unless, of course, you had the right amount of gold. The rich, as always, ate well.

Once more the city rumbled with disquiet. This time, Tenedos didn’t wait for the Rule of Ten to fumble with a response. No one had rescinded his special orders, and so he sent out elements of the Frontier divisions with orders to smash into the warehouses and take the food. He set up distribution centers throughout the city, manned by other soldiers, and the city ate — for free. Tenedos was no longer a hero, but a demigod.

Nicias’s profiteers whined loudly to the Rule of Ten, but they were frightened to stand against Tenedos.

Again Tenedos called for the tribunal, and the Rule of Ten was forced to give in. They took the opportunity to let him hopefully hang himself, and named him head inquirer, supposing, I guess, he’d muck up matters and show his incompetence. How they imagined a man who’d spent as much time in public debate as he had would ruin things was beyond me.

Their second weapon, calling for the tribunal to meet in camera, was blunted; Tenedos announced the hearings would be held in the city’s greatest amphitheater. All would be welcome to come and see, and judge for themselves.

The Rule of Ten fumed but could do little. Their utter incompetence was very clear now — they still hadn’t been able to name replacements, but buried themselves in bickering, with Barthou determined to find acolytes even more toadying than the ones slain in the riots. Scopas, according to Tenedos, tried to stand up to Barthou, less, the seer thought, from patriotism than from the desire to make sure his own powers weren’t lessened.

But the date of the tribunal was set, less than a week distant. Two things of interest happened during that time.

• • •

Marán had returned to her home beside the river. One morning, I received a note, asking if I could attend her at a certain hour. Unusually, she asked me to leave my horse at the public stables a block away, and come to the rear of the estate, where there was a small back entrance. A servant would be waiting.

There was but one door in the huge blank expanse behind her mansion. I tapped on it, and the door swung open. A rather plain-faced woman I thought I’d seen serving tidbits at Marán’s salon told me to follow her. I saw, in front of the house, a long line of freight wagons, and heard men shouting.

The woman led me in a circuitous path through the gardens of the house, to a rear entrance, and through the kitchens. The scullery workers and cooks were very busy, too busy about their work to pay me the slightest mind. The woman bade me wait for a moment, peered through a door, then said, “Hurry,” and we scurried across a bare corridor and up curving back stairs to the solarium where Marán and I had danced to the secret music of our hearts.

Marán was the only one in the room, and the woman bowed once more and left. I started to embrace her, but something in the way she was standing said I should not.

“Come here,” she said. “Look down there.”

I gazed down on that line of wagons, piled high with books, tables, wardrobes, and other furniture. Teamsters busied themselves packing the vehicles, and there was a man supervising them. It took a moment, for I’d met him but once, then I recognized Marán’s husband, Count Hernad Lavedan.

“He returned four days ago, and attempted to enter. I had my servants drive him away, and ordered him to have all his possessions out of here by this day or else I would have them piled in the drive and burnt.

“The last is being loaded at this moment.”

I saw that Lavedan was holding a small case in his hand, and remembered the small ship model he’d been so proud of. He handed it to one driver, who put it carefully on the floor of the wagon. The other teamsters were climbing into the wagons, and I faintly heard the cracking of whips. The wagons snaked out of the driveway and drove away down the street.

Count Lavedan walked to his horse, stopped, and looked up at the house. For a long moment he stared, and I fancied he could see me. Ironically, I felt like flinching, even though I didn’t fear him. I suppose it was because I still felt it was his wife I was in love with, and I was a trespasser. Then he mounted, and rode off, not looking back.

Marán stared after him, until he turned a corner and was gone.

“Now I live alone,” she said, her tone flat I couldn’t see her face, but knew it held that strange expression of a puppy awaiting punishment.

After a while, I said, carefully, “You don’t have to — unless you wish it.”

She turned to me.

“Damastes, are you sure of what you are saying? If you move in here, you’ll be revealed as the cause of my husband’s shame. He knows I’m having an affair — he told me so — but I don’t think he knows with who yet.

“The Lavedans are a powerful family, and I know he’ll go after you with every device he can imagine, and try to destroy you and your career.

“Am I worth that?” Her expression suggested she didn’t think she was.

I could have answered reasonably, saying I’d already reached a far greater rank than I had dreamed of and was content. I could have said, after the acclaim the rabble showered on me, that I doubted if the count, a man who had cut and run during the crisis, would, at least for the near future, be a danger. Even later, what could he do at the worst, but have me reduced to my former rank of captain and sent to one of the Frontier regiments, my constant dream? I could have answered logically, but, instead I said, “In a soldier’s words, fuck him and the horse he rode in on.”

A tiny smile touched Marán’s lips, then vanished.

“You might make another, more dangerous enemy,” she went on. “I don’t know what my family will think of all this — I sent a long letter to Irrigon after I’d returned, not naming you, of course. I don’t know if it was received, and am about to compose another one, since I’ve had no reply.

“I’m sure they’ll feel the Agramónte name is disgraced by my behavior, and may well seek revenge on the evil cocksman who brought me down. Are you prepared for that? I must add the Agramóntes are vastly more powerful than the Lavedans have ever dreamed.”

I made no answer, but took her hand, and led her to the side of the room, where a thick rug lay. My eyes never left hers as my fingers undressed her, very slowly. I removed my own clothes. I kissed her lips gently, then bent farther and kissed her nipples. Her breath tickled the back of my neck.

I laid her down gently on the rug, knelt over her, and she brought her knees up and apart. I kissed her clitoris, and ran my tongue into her. She shuddered, and her hands moved in my long hair as it fell across her thighs. I moved upward, and my cock glided into her, as if of its own will. We moved together, both of us with our eyes open, slowly, the wave lifting us gently, then breaking and I felt her throbbing around me.

“I guess,” she said, after our breathing slowed, “that’s an answer, isn’t it?”

It was more than an answer, it was the beginning of a pact.

We lay comfortably together.

“I’m having carpenters and painters in tomorrow,” she said.

“There’ll be no traces left of him when they’re finished. Do you wish to have anything to say about the redecorating?”

“How can I? This is your house, not mine.”

“If you live here, my Damastes, it is ours.”

I kissed her. “Very well. I have but one request. We should have but a single bedroom. Make it this one, if you would, here where we danced. I love the sun on our bodies.”