The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (61 page)

Come at once. Bring your wedding gown.

L
OVE IN
W
AR

I bowed deeply over the hand of the Countess Agramóme, who curtsied and whispered, “It is permitted for the bridegroom-to-be to kiss the bride.” I needed no further encouragement, and pulled her into my arms. Behind me, soldiers cheered and on the riverboat I heard laughter, but paid no heed to either.

But my tongue barely moved between her lips before she pulled her head back.

“As I recall saying once before, sir, you
do
take advantages,” she whispered.

“You have no idea the liberties I plan to take,” I said.

“Here? On the dock?”

“Standing up with my boots on and a brass band playing. Gods, but I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, my Damastes,” Marán said. “I cannot believe that we’ve been so fortunate, and that a great general such as yourself is willing to have a poor soiled woman from the country as your bride.” She laughed and gently removed herself from my arms. She was even more beautiful than I’d pictured her, even here, standing on a splintered wooden dock, wet from the first downpours of the Time of Rains. She wore a high-bodiced dark purple velvet dress that followed the lines of her body to midcalf. She wore laced boots and a teal green, shimmering jacket that matched her wide hat.

“Now, if you’ll give me a hand with my baggage.”

She needed more than a hand; she needed a working party, which I’d brought in the form of an escort — four men from each of the regiments I now commanded, plus a full column from the unit I’d always consider “mine,” the Ureyan Lancers, all in full-dress uniform. Thank my personal godling Tanis I’d remembered to bring a couple of freight wagons as well, although they were high-piled by the time the detail had finished and her two retainers sat on the sprung seats in front of Marán’s trunks.

“Are you planning to stay until next spring?” I wondered.

“This, darling, is the way nobility travels. Actually, most of the better sort in Nicias are
terribly
scandalized I didn’t bring more than two maids, but was brave enough to travel into the hitherlands without a complete staff.” She laughed. “Now do you see what you are letting yourself in for? Now we must do all things properly.”

“I assume part of that ‘properly’ is that we shall be very proud to be the parents of a thirteen-month child?”

“No one will ever dream to wonder such a thing of an Agramónte,” she said. I wanted to take her into my arms and feel our baby next to me, but I could not.

I was about to inquire, but noticed there were soldiers approaching, so chose my words delicately. “Is … everything all right?”

“You mean the heir?” Marán said, evidently not caring a bean for what anyone thought. “He’s a perfect child, so far. Hasn’t spoiled my figure, and I seldom get sick as the midwife I consulted warned me to expect.”

Newly promoted Captain Bikaner, whom Domina Petre had made the Lancers’ adjutant, saluted. “Sir. We await your pleasure.”

I returned the salute, and took Marán’s arm.

“The carriage awaits.”

Her eyes widened as we left the dock, and she saw what I’d brought.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said. “But what is … was it?”

As we walked closer, I told Marán what little I had been able to find of its history. Sometime in the far past, some high nobleman or -woman had visited the tiny city of Entoto, and there’d been a special carriage built, which had been carefully maintained over the decades, which one of my staff legates, on a private scrounging mission, had discovered. Entoto’s head of council had cheerfully loaned it to me, and I’d had men polishing, painting, and cleaning since the day I’d heard Marán was on the way. It was enormous, almost as big as the Numantian coronation coach I’d seen in a museum in Nicias. But where that was red and gold, this was black and silver. The coach body sat on two four-wheeled trucks, the wheels taller than I am, and there was room for outriders and guards atop. I’d managed to find eight white chargers to pull it, and they were curried as finely as if they were about to enter a show ring.

Horseman Karjan, whom I’d decided to promote back to lance, held the door open, and we climbed up the steps and he closed the door.

The inside was as large as the exterior suggested, with soft leather seats at the front and back, and servants’ pull-down seats against the doors on either side. The windows were glassed, with curtains. There was almost enough room for me to stand, and there were four lanterns to give light, and, hidden in the floor, chests to hold wine and foodstuffs.

I pulled the speaking tube down from its clip in the ceiling, and whistled into it. I heard the snap of a whip, and the coach creaked into motion. In front of it rode fifty cavalrymen and behind us more. There were flanking outriders as well, fitting escort for one of Numantia’s noblest countesses.

We moved through Cicognara on the road that led to Entoto and the army’s headquarters.

Marán was looking about, wide-eyed. I took off my helmet, and laid it to one side.

“Now,” I said, reaching out and pulling her to me. Her lips opened, and our mouths moved together. I slid my hand up under her dress, caressing the sweet curve of her buttocks through her silk undergarments. But it only lasted for a moment, and once more she pulled away.

“I suppose,” she said, breathing hard, “you would like to fuck me, right here in this coach?”

“The thought had occurred.”

“I have a surprise for you, my love,” she said. She ran her hand down my chest, until it touched my erect cock, clearly outlined under the light fawn trousers I wore. She ran her fingernails up and down it “We are going to pretend we have never made love before, and are not going to make love until our wedding night.”

“Who decided that? Or is that another noble custom?”

“
I
decided it,” she said, her fingers still caressing me. “I want you all at once, then, when we’re both quite mad with passion.”

“I already am,” I protested.

“Then let me make it worse.” She bent her head and kissed the head of my cock through the material, then bit it gently, once, twice and my body suddenly jerked.

She pulled back in surprise, seeing the stain spread. “Oh dear,” she said. “You weren’t jesting.” Then she grinned. “At least there’s no question you’ve been faithful.

“But maybe you’ll wear dark-colored pants for the ceremony.”

“But what about right now,” I said, starting to laugh. “I’m too old to be showing off wet dreams.”

“What do you care,” Marán said. “You’re a general aren’t you? And about to be Count Agramónte. Tell everyone come stains are the required uniform.”

I snorted.

• • •

Count Agramónte. That evening, as I was trying to sleep, alone, in my tent, I considered. A general. And a nobleman, although Marán had explained that it was by courtesy, and was not hereditary, except so long as I stayed married to her, which I told her I had every intention of doing until I returned to the Wheel.

I’d sent letters, of course, to my parents, and wished they could meet Marán, and be here for the occasion. But that was an impossibility — I doubted if my letters would even reach our jungle estate before the ceremony.

I mused once more how the gods play their game, and how so much had turned on a single game of rõl.

• • •

Our wedding was proclaimed a day of feasting and celebration for the army, and General Yonge’s skirmishers had combed the country for delicacies, although I heard it grated for them to have to pay for what they purchased with gold rather than a sword-tip as they would in enemy territory.

Seer Tenedos had summoned me, and announced he would perform the ceremony, unless I wished otherwise, and named the site. I thanked him profusely, and said I could think of no greater honor. Neither Marán nor I had any particular religious bent, and cared little if a priest or a sage performed the ceremony.

“
You
do me the honor, my friend,” Tenedos said. He smiled wryly, and said something odd: “Now you see how I use all those about me.”

“Pardon me, sir?”

“Your marriage will be a great day for my army, something they’ll talk about for the rest of their lives, how Damastes the Fair, General of Cavalry, married just before the army marched off to subdue the rebellious Kallians. You see?”

“No sir, I don’t,” I said honestly, although now I do understand what he was saying and possibly even warning.

All that was beyond me, and, besides, I wanted to ask
him
if he was sure he’d chosen the right location.

“I have, indeed.”

“But — ”

“You just show up, O Nervous Groom. The rest is in the capable hands of a wizard.” And so it was.

• • •

Tenedos had chosen the strangest of all spots for the ceremony. To the north of Entoto was an enormous ruined cathedral, almost a palace. No one knew to what god it had been built; in fact, there were even stories that it had been constructed by the gods themselves, in the days before, when they sometimes lived on this earth.

I’d looked at it when we first retreated to Entoto, in the hopes we might somehow use it for military purposes, but had abandoned the idea, less for fear of sacrilege to forgotten deities than because of its decay.

All that remained were huge stone steps leading up from the rutted dirt road, and the four stone walls that stretched toward the heavens for more than 100 feet, crumbling at the top, but with never a buttress or reinforcement to keep them from falling. The windows were arched, the glass long shattered, and the floor of the single chamber was covered with arcane scripts that men said were epitaphs for those buried underneath.

There were more than a thousand soldiers in formation around the church, and behind them cookfires for the feasting and barrels of wine and beer for the drinking to come. It was an unhappy trooper who found himself stuck with duty on this occasion.

It had stormed hard that night, but the rain stopped for a moment as I rode up to the ruin.

I dismounted and handed the reins of Lucan to a soldier — newly promoted Lance Karjan had been invited as my guest, and waited within. I was to one side of the steps, and Marán walked into view on the other.

She wore a white gown of silk with lace paneling, with a long train being carried by her maids. She’d curled her hair in ringlets that outlined her face, with a lace headcovering that fell around her shoulders.

She looked afraid, and somewhat lost. I felt pity for a moment — she was one of the only three women in the vast horde of men, far from home and family, and then felt a swell of pride at her courage in coming to me, in being willing to wed a mere soldier, far beneath her in class.

Tenedos appeared at the head of the stairs, spread out his hands, and began chanting in an unknown tongue. As he spoke, thunder growled, and I felt the patter of rain.

From nowhere girls danced, young girls, wearing the white outfits of spring, and they had baskets of flowers that they cast in front of Marán and me as we walked toward each other. I do not know if they were apparitions called up by Tenedos or if they were the virgins of Entoto, although I’d seen no girls that fair in my visits to the town.

I saw no band, but music swelled as we met, turned, and started up the steps.

Over the music I heard commands being barked, and a saber guard marched out of the rain. The orders were shouted by General Le Balafre. The soldiers marched toward us, sabers shouldered, then, on command, crashed to a halt, turned, and their sabers flashed out to form an arch. Each man wore the sash of a general. The army was giving us its highest honor.

I swear it was raining, and the sky was gray, but from somewhere shot a beam of sunlight, and the polished blades shot facets of light about us as we entered the ruin.

Thunder crashed, and rain poured. It should have been chill and miserable in the roofless devastation, but it was not.

Tenedos’s magic turned the raindrops into drifting flowers that spun and twisted as they floated toward the stone floor. I smelled their perfume as we walked forward.

Tiny braziers formed a corridor we walked up, and from each of them coiled a different-colored plume of sweet smoke, an army of hues far vaster than the burner could have conceivably produced.

Men and, yes, women filled the room. Some of them I knew, and had personally invited — Yonge, Karjan, Bikaner, Evatt, Curti — others I was proud to have served with. Others I knew not. Marán gasped inadvertently, recognizing someone who was in reality far distant, then I almost followed suit, because I saw, for only a few moments, Marán’s friend Amiel, then the faces of my father, Cadalso, my mother, Serao, and my sisters.

Later I received letters from them, saying they’d dreamed they were at my wedding, and were able to describe it exactly.

Tenedos stood at the end of the chamber, and we stopped just before him.

He bent his head in prayer:

“I am the Seer Laish Tenedos,” he said, and his voice boomed through the chamber, “asked by this man and this woman to join them in matrimony.

“I pray to the gods of Numantia their union be blessed. I pray to Umar” — his voice fell silent, and I wondered if he’d had the courage to silently call upon Saionji — “and Irisu. I call upon Aharhel to name these two with favor to her subjects. Let those gods who rule the elements, Varum for water; Shahriyas for fire; Jacini for earth; Elyot for air, bless them. May Isa, our own god of war, grant them safety from his fierceness. May Jaen give them the powers of love, both in ecstasy and in comfort. May our own god of Nicias, Panoan, bless them. Let their own gods smile, Vachan, wise monkey god of Cimabue; Tanis, who watches over the fate of Damastes and his family; Maskal, god of the Agramóntes, all, all, heed my prayer and grant your boons to these two.

“So we pray, so we all pray.”

He lowered his hands, and there was silence. Then he spoke once more.

“This day is sacred as the day when a man and woman wed. These two are Marán, Countess of Agramónte, and General Damastes á Cimabue.