The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (59 page)

“You are going to name me as general of the army, and you are going to say the Rule of Ten has full confidence in my abilities to destroy Chardin Sher, end this civil war, and bring peace to Numantia.”

“And if I don’t?” Barthou said, his chin bulging red in anger.

“If you don’t, I doubt if the army will permit you to leave Entoto alive,” Tenedos said. “But I am willing to take my chances that I’m right. Are
you?
If you are, get on that platform and repeat what you told me.

“Are you so stupid you believe those riots we suffered through recently were completely brought about by the stranglers or by Chardin Sher?

“You did as much to create it with your stumbling excuse for ruling, you and the rest of the Rule of Ten.

“You created the morass, you ordered the army to march into it, and now you are trying to step on its fingers as it tries to claw its way out.

“No, sir. The army will not obey your command.

“I give you one turning of the glass to consider your choices. One choice could well mean an open revolt by the masses, and if there is one, the army will turn away from Chardin Sher, content to deal with him another time, to confront their real enemy who repeatedly stabs the only hope Numantia has in the back.

“That is your first choice.

“Your second is to do as I ordered. Then you can return to Nicias holding the power you arrived with, and be certain the Kallian shall be brought down and crushed in the dust. But you cannot make this choice and then renounce it once you reach safety. In Nicias, you will, you must, satisfy each and every demand I shall have for the army’s rebuilding. I want that very clear in your minds.

“Consider your choices well, gentlemen. Your very lives may depend on it.”

He set a small half-hour glass on the desk in front of him and stalked out.

Tenedos swore he had no magical eavesdropping devices in the tent, and I must believe him, but I would give a fair amount of gold to know what happened among those four men while the sands trickled.

Tenedos said there were angry shouts, and once or twice one or another of the Rule of Ten stormed out, only to be called back before he could get ten feet.

Time ran out, and Tenedos returned.

“I knew I held victory when I saw their faces. Scopas looked worried, but a little confident, sure that he had chosen right, and power would not be taken from him. Barthou and that other corpse-looking fellow, Timgad, well, they were like schoolboys who’ve been whipped and told by the master they must confess to stealing apples to the entire lycee, pouting, sulky-faced.”

“What of that general, Indore?”

“Why, being what he was, he had the same politely interested expression as he did when he walked into the tent. That man could murder his parents and then ask mercy of the judge for being an orphan!”

Two hours after that, Speaker Barthou, flanked by his two fellows, Indore having conveniently absented himself, climbed to the platform and, holding out their hands to quell the cheers, named Seer Laish Tenedos general of the armies of Numantia.

That done, they fled to their carriage and drove it out of the city as if demons were after them, never pausing until they reached “safety” in the palace in Nicias.

Now the real work would commence.

• • •

All Numantia responded to the shock and shame of the defeat, and supplies, money, weapons, and recruits poured across the country, on foot, on horseback, by boat.

The recruiters we sent out had to turn men, and even a few hopeful women, away, some of them in tears.

Numantia had scented chaos in the riots, and feared the biggest monster of civil war still more.

Chardin Sher must be stopped.

Tenedos called a meeting of all senior officers.

“This shall be very short, gentlemen. I intend to make changes in this army, changes that shall turn it into a modern, sophisticated fighting force.

“There shall be no more Imru Rivers, not as long as I lead you.

“Obey me, and you’ll find glory and riches. Disobey or hesitate, and I’ll break you like sticks.”

His gaze swept the room, and men looked down or away.

One man waved his cane enthusiastically. It was General Hern, sitting most uncomfortably in his plastered leg. “Sir, let me be the first to say I’ll gladly march under your orders. I’m damned if I was comfortable following that garrison soldier Turbery. You lead, sir, and I’ll follow. If this damned leg won’t let me sit a horse I’ll ride in a cart like a milkmaid!” There was a bit of laughter — Hern was highly thought of, and would certainly keep command of the Left Wing.

Tenedos’s eyes continued sweeping the room. One man not only met his gaze, but stood, his pose defiant. It was that brawling swordsman, Domina Myrus Le Balafre, commander of the Varan Guards.

“I mean no offense,” he said, meaning offense and waiting for a moment before adding the obligatory “sir,” “but I follow those who can lead me.

“Even though you did well after the Imru, you’re still a wizard, a politician, I’ve heard, a man who makes great speeches.

“Well, shit on speeches and those who make ‘em! We’re always the poor tuckers who have to clean up afterwards.

“So why should I follow you, Seer? I give not one damn if you tear away my sash of rank. I’ll soldier on, for someone else, as I have before.”

“No you won’t,” Tenedos said calmly. “For you’re a Numantian.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the days when a freelance blade could find an army to fight in without regard to the colors he was under are gone.

“The time has come, sir, when you are either a Numantian, or an enemy.

“Stand with me, or stand against me. There is no other.”

His gaze burned into Le Balafre’s for long moments, a stare as harsh, as compelling, as the one he’d given me when we’d first met, in Sulem Pass.

The domina broke, and looked away.

“I’ll … I’ll stay. Sir. And serve well.”

“I never doubted that, my friend. Not for an instant. You’re too brave a man not to.”

And with those simple words any grumbling among the commanders became impossible.

• • •

Not that there wasn’t grumbling, in fact it was as loud and protracted as any I’d heard. Even beyond a soldier’s gods-given privilege to complain, there was some reason.

Men who’d soldiered for years in a unit were suddenly transferred to a new, unknown formation. Experienced men were needed to give a backbone to those regiments shattered or obliterated in the battle or to brand-new units, which were daily being formed. Some of the complaints were muted because promotion went with these transfers, and not promotions of a single grade, but of two and even three ranks.

The only formations left unscathed were the thirteen elite units that’d been called to Nicias, including the Lancers. Tenedos would use us as his spearhead and his right bower until the rest of the army was completely trained. Then, he said, we could expect to be rewarded for our sacrifice by suffering the same fate as the others, and we’d be given promotion and command of new formations ourselves. “This is true for every man, private, lance, or officer. This preposterous distinction of class that keeps a good man from reaching the highest ranks is gone. Let those who think accents or background or wealth matters find some other arena to prance around in.”

Tenedos said those who couldn’t fulfill the responsibility would be quickly returned to their old ranks and old units if possible.

This scheme was going to cause problems, and some deaths, he knew. But we’d have to accept them. “There’s a saying on Palmeras,” he said, “ ‘The easier the birth the lazier the man.’ ”

That reminded me of my own life, and I grinned, and told Tenedos to never mind when he asked. I was evidently going to be the father of the laziest Numantian in history, for Marán’s letters told of no troubles, no problems whatsoever, which reassured me, even though we were in the earliest stages of the pregnancy.

• • •

The second reason for complaints was the loss of discipline. The army before Imru, before Tenedos, had been strict, formal, tightly disciplined. That vanished, never to return, and it may sound odd, but I was glad, remembering all those stifling evenings in mess when I sat around forced to listen to boring men mutter on about events no one, not even they, cared about.

The new men changed all this.

I was outside my tent, not wearing my rank sash, and saw a formation, if that is what it was, shambling toward me. There were thirty or so of them, from the ages of fifteen to maybe thirty-five. Some of them were barefoot, even. Others wore tradesmen’s clogs or shabby boots.

It looked like they’d outfitted themselves from the discard heap, wearing everything from peasant smocks to tattered jackets and pants that would have been fine three or four owners ago, to one proud lad wearing nothing but a loincloth and a battered dragoon’s helmet without leather or horsehair.

What made them even more ragged-looking is that some of them thought they should arrive in uniform, and so wore bits and pieces of every sort of military wear, including one or two with Maisirian gear, which they’d gotten from gods-knew-where.

At their head was an average-looking man immaculately dressed in a sergeant’s uniform that was the pattern some five years before. If it had been his originally, he’d had a comfortable existence since then, for the jacket wouldn’t button, and the pants were kept decent by a patch of matching material to cover his comfortably successful gut.

He was calling a cadence, and the recruits were stumbling-ly trying to keep in step. He saw me, shouted attention, and saluted. Half of the yokels tried to follow, not yet having learned the only person who salutes is the senior member of a formation.

The uniformed man wore rank slashes.

“Sergeant,” I called, and the man brought his formation to a stumbling halt.

“Yessir.”

“How long have you been on the road?”

“Depends, sir. Some of us for a few days, some of us, like Cutch there, who comes from the far east, almost two weeks. But we’re eager to serve, sir.”

“Is that … was that your uniform?”

“Yessir. And so were the slashes, although I know I’ll have to cut them off when I’m sworn in.”

“Why’d you get out?”

The man hesitated.

“Go ahead.”

“Didn’t seem to be anything worth soldiering for, sir. So I got married. Settled down.”

“In what trade?”

“Tradesman, sir. But really I was more a peddler. My wife, Guiana, ran the store, filled the orders, and I tramped the country. I must’ve seen this country end to end, sir. Including a lot of Kallio. Maybe that’ll be useful.”

“It will be. So why did you reenlist? Times get hard?”

“Nossir. Store’s doing fine. Had to take over the two buildings on either side of it to make room for all the merchandise. I’ve got half a dozen assistants, five peddlers out on the road, and my wife and our boys can take care of matters until I come back.

“I joined up again for two reasons, sir, the same two as the other boys who’re with me. That damned Kallian is one, and the other’s the seer. Right, men?”

There was a rough cheer.

Now, here was a man who perfectly illustrated Seer Tenedos’s words about the constricts of rank. He was well spoken enough to be an officer, but under the old rules the rank he held was the highest he could dream of. No wonder he chose to return to civilian life.

“We’re glad to have you,” I said truthfully. “Soldier well, and there’ll be gold and fame for you all.”

“Thank you, sir. Might I ask who you are, sir, if you don’t mind my boldness?”

“Domina á Cimabue. Commanding Seventeenth Ureyan Lancers.”

I heard a murmur go through the ranks — my name must have spread beyond the lonely women of Nicias. “And yours?”

“Linerges, sir. Cyrillos Linerges.”

He saluted, and the men marched away into the never-satisfied belly of the army, to be ground up and turned into soldiers.

• • •

I tapped on the pole of Tenedos’s tent.

“Enter,” he said, and I pulled the flap aside. The seer sat at his field desk, reading.

“Sir, may I take some of your time?”

“Of course. Rasenna’s already snoring, so she’ll never know I’m not beside her. She’s getting used to my hours anyway. Come on in. There’s a flask of tea over there, and bring me a brandy. I think I deserve one.”

“Yessir. Sir, I brought someone I think you should meet.” I beckoned, and Mercia Petre entered rather shyly. I introduced him.

“So this, I assume, is to be more than social,” the seer said. “Very well. Captain, do you drink, or are you a prune like the domina?”

“Nossir. I’m an abstainer, too. Promised my father.”

“Gods,” Tenedos moaned. “I’m surrounded by prigs.” He appeared in a vastly good mood, and I was relieved.

“Sir, the reason we came here is because you’re in the middle of reforming the army, and we have some ideas.”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Not like ours, sir,” I said. “The captain and I’ve spent a lot of time working things out, ever since I met him when we first came back from Kait.”

“Ah. Another set of conspirators against the Way Things Are. You are both to be commended, although Damastes, I admit to some surprise, since I thought you were a man of deeds, not words.” He looked at Petre. “I call the domina by his first name since we’ve served together for quite a while. Don’t think I hold him and what he says in any less regard because of it.”

“Nossir,” Petre said. “He already told me that.” He was fumbling in his sabertache for the notebook containing our ideas we’d laboriously built up over the months. He started to hand it to Tenedos, who waved it away.

“Tell me first. Then, if there’s merit to what you say, we can work from there.

“Where’s the starting point for your army?”

“First, sir, we should abandon the baggage train. All it does is slow us down, like it did when I was riding into the Sulem Pass after you, or — ” I shut up, because Tenedos was waving his hand at me.

“I’m not quite a fool, Damastes, and I’d already figured that out. It’s already in my plans. But how, in your view, should the army resupply itself? Carry a limited amount of supplies and encamp when they run out, waiting for the victual-bearers to catch up?”