The Seer King: Book One of the Seer King Trilogy (69 page)

I took the flask with the potion and the drawing stick from my pack, and hurried to the center of the keep. I took a deep breath, calming myself, then carefully drew the figure as I’d been taught.

I finished within a few moments.

I opened up the flask, and upended it over the center of the symbol I’d made. I gagged; the potion smelled worse than anyone could imagine, the stink of burning corpses, the reek of fresh-spilled blood, the moldy odor of long-forgotten tombs filling my nostrils.

Then the flask was empty.

Tenedos had told me I must flee as quickly as I could once the spell had set He said he would feel it begin to work, and begin his own casting from outside the walls, but we must be away from the fortress before the incantation took effect, or face the same doom he hoped to bring on Chardin Sher.

We hurried back through the corridors, making more sound than we had before. A door opened, a woman peered out, saw the three of us, and slammed and barred the door as we neared, yet I heard no outcry.

We retraced our steps, and I marveled I was able to remember them so precisely, and found the stairs leading up to the inner wall. Atop it, Karjan, the false sentry, still paced his rounds.

Gladly he doffed his helmet and cloak, cast the spear aside, and we tied a rope to one of the crenels and went down that sloping wall into the reservoir.

The icy water hit and burned at my wound, and I knew I’d have the grace of not feeling pain for only a short time longer.

The rope we’d left hung down into the water, and we pulled our way upward. I was very glad we’d taken the time to knot it at intervals before descending.

We untied it, ran to where the wall cracked, doubled a rope around one of the crenels, and slid down it to the end, pulled one end of the rope until it fell down to us, then crawled into the crack.

We were about to climb down in a normal manner, but I heard a roar. At first I though the storm was building, but then realized the sound came from everywhere, from
inside
the wall as well as beyond. We had to take a great chance, and hammered three iron nails into the stone, looped a rope around them, and tugged. They held firm, and we used the rope to backwalk down as we had before, although the chance of a peg pulling free and dropping us to our deaths was very great. My leg throbbed agony, but I ignored it.

The nails held, and again and again we did the same, while the clamor grew and grew, and we could feel the wall vibrating. Once a peg pulled free, and Karjan almost fell, but he caught himself and continued down.

I looked down, and saw to my amazement that the ground was no more than thirty feet below us. One more rope-length, and I reached for more nails. The wall around me was shaking harder and harder, and we’d run out of time.

“Jump!” I shouted, and we sprang out into the blackness. We fell and fell, and I braced for the crack of breaking bones when we landed.

But I landed in muck, sliding and tumbling away from the wall, covering myself from head to foot. I found my footing and ran as hard as I could, limping, the other three in front of me. Karjan came back, threw his arm around my shoulders, and we ran on.

I was afraid to stop, afraid to turn and look back. Trees rose in front of us, and I saw our front lines, and a sentry, fear making his voice quaver, challenged us.

Yonge shouted the response, but I don’t think it would have mattered, for the man was gaping at the fortress.

Now I allowed myself to stop, my lungs searing, and see what we’d fled from.

The ground was shaking, as if in an earthquake, and the thundering was deafening. I saw flames flickering from the stronghold above us, as if the stone itself was burning, yet was never consumed.

The ground rumbled again, and I lost my footing and fell, and then a bellow reverberated through the night.

A monstrous figure rose through the flames, stretching, growing, and I saw its V-mouth
gaping,
fangs glistening. I saw arms, four of them, each ending in claws, and I swear I could see, even at this distance, that all of them held men, their screams unbearable against the din.

The demon, the force, bayed triumph at the skies, finally holding complete thrall over its kingdom, and lightning flashed down from the heavens and bathed it.

I heard a whimper, and saw Karjan on his knees, head bowed, praying, and knew there was no shame in it I also knew the gods could not be listening on this night.

The monster turned, gazing about, its arms thrashing against the stone walls, smashing them and sending them tumbling, and again the demon screamed its joy, and the storm echoed its howls.

The beast grew and grew, and I feared Tenedos had unleashed true chaos, and wondered if this could be a male manifestation of Saionji.

At that moment a bolt of pure energy, a searing blue, as blue as the finest summer day, came down. It was not lightning, but appeared like it.

It struck the monster full on the breast, and it screeched, another bolt came down, the ground shook once more and the demon was gone, and we were staring at nothing but the night, the storm raging against the torn stones where a fortress had once reared proudly, but now there was naught but ruin.

In this manner died Chardin Sher, Mikael Yanthlus, their sorcerers, retainers, and advisers, although no bodies were ever found in the wreckage of the citadel.

The war was over.

R
ETURN TO
N
ICIAS

With Chardin Sher’s death, the rebellion vanished as if it had never existed. Kallian soldiers deserted their formations, threw away their weapons, and traded their uniforms and any money they had for a scrap of clothing that suggested they’d always been civilians.

Couriers galloped in from the east, carrying the congratulations of the Rule of Ten, and requesting Seer-General Tenedos to return home immediately for his triumph.

He refused, saying the victory belonged to all of us, and we would share in it equally.

We buried our dead, treated our wounded, and made our way back through Kallio.

At each village and town we were met with cheering citizens, as if we’d defeated some foreign army. Somewhat bemused, we marched on, wondering at the fickleness of man.

We diverted toward Polycittara, and its elders, in panic, declared the capital an open city. They offered tribute. The soldiers would get an appropriate medal, officers would get silver, and generals, Tenedos, and the Rule of Ten gold.

Tenedos announced that the Rule of Ten had decided they needed no more gold, and he would not allow any of his men to accept a tin medal from a former enemy. I grinned when I heard this, knowing Tenedos certainly hadn’t bothered to consult the Rule of Ten about the matter.

The Polycittarian leaders whimpered, and Tenedos said because of their intransigence the amount of the tribute was doubled, and if any further delay was made he would either double it again or allow the army three days of license in the city.

Within the hour wagonloads of gold, silver, jewels creaked out of the city’s gates toward us, and when the soldiery found out it was to go to them, rather than far-distant bureaucrats whose only muscles were in their penhands and asses, they cheered Tenedos as if he’d personally promised each of them a step up on the Wheel in their next lives.

Of course, being soldiers they quickly wanted more, and there were suggestions that we should take the gold and loot the city anyway, but Tenedos forbade it. There were rumblings of discontent, and one half-company deserted, determined to celebrate in their own way.

Tenedos sent the Lancers out after them before they could do any worse than destroy a tavern, burn a hamlet, and ravage two women, and marched them back to the army’s camp at lance point.

He called for representatives from each unit to assemble, had hasty gallows built, marched the entire half-company, plus its commanding officer, into the great square formed by the soldiers, and hanged every single one of them. That ended any further thoughts of freelance mayhem.

He summoned the city elders, told them what he’d done, said he could have required greater reparations, but he knew the Kallians would need their gold to rebuild. “Now is the time,” he said, “for all of us to remember we are Numantians. Our dispute is over, and we are one nation once more.”

We marched on, back the way we came. I felt satisfaction when we crossed the Imru River. We had avenged our defeat and our dead well.

Orders were waiting at Cicognara. Tenedos
must
leave the army and return to Nicias for his honors, or face the displeasure of his rightful rulers, the Rule of Ten.

Tenedos ignored their order, and sent out commands of his own by heliograph and messenger. All ships worthy of travel on the Latane River where to go immediately to Cicognara. He reiterated what he’d said: All the army would be honored in Nicias, or none.

There was no response whatsoever to his disobedience from the Rule of Ten. They huddled in Nicias, afraid of what might come next.

The ships arrived, wave after wave of them, everything from the speedy
Tauler
and her sisters to cargo lighters and yachts, their arrival marking the coming of spring, the Time of Births.

We streamed aboard ship, and set out. It may sound like we held to the harsh discipline of the war, but this was far from the case. As long as a soldier could stumble to a required formation and be able to stand erect for his duties the exact extent of his sobriety was ignored. At nightfall there was no roll call, nor did provosts comb the transports to make sure there was but one set of legs coming from under a blanket, since many of the ships had arrived with women or boys who were eager, either for free or for silver, to thank the army for holding the nation together. Meals were cooked by quartermasters, but if a man chose to eat elsewhere at the invitation of a grateful civilian, it mattered little.

I was blind to all the revelry. All I wanted was to return home and Marán. At least her letters had resumed their regularity. She wrote at least once, frequently twice a day, and each time mail met us on our journey north I was inundated with scented documents of love.

I shook myself out of my fixation, though, and wondered what would happen when we reached Nicias. What would Tenedos do next?

His first move was ominous — for the Rule of Ten. As our motley fleet left the delta, he sent word to each ship that it was
not
to dock in Nicias, but rather disembark the troops at the tiny fishing village of Urgone, upriver from the capital. We would set up camp there, and not enter Nicias until “the proper time.” It was obvious he intended to keep the army together, and hold it as a threat in being against the Rule of Ten.

Soldiers aren’t stupid, and by now almost everyone realized something strange was happening, that there was conflict between the Rule of Ten and Tenedos. Some hotheads were heard to remark that if it came to that, since they hadn’t been permitted to loot Polycittara, Nicias would be an acceptable stand-in.

We built a fortified camp, and busied ourselves rebuilding the army with new uniforms, weapons, supplies. We received replacements, but Tenedos ordered them into temporary regiments, saying they’d be permitted to join regular formations within a short time, but not at the present time. Tenedos didn’t want the fervor of his veterans to be watered down. I sensed he must move quickly, however, because the army was at high pitch.

Nicians streamed out to meet us, but most of them were politely told by the sentries they could not enter the camp at the moment.

There were exceptions.

I rode back to my tent one tired afternoon, and found Lance Karjan waiting. He appeared most smug, and I asked him what made him so self-satisfied. He smiled more broadly, and said nothing whatsoever, but I might wish a bath before joining my officers in the mess. Or, if I chose, I could eat alone. In any event, I was to hand over my sword and belt — generals weren’t supposed to look shabby.

I frowned; I was hardly the reclusive sort. I gave him my weapons belt, told him I’d bathe and change into mess gear and be ready to eat within the hour, and entered my tent.

Marán stood quickly from the chair she’d been waiting in. She wore only a thin, white robe with blue flowers on it, and a matching gown, slit to her upper thigh. Its neckline was low, curving just above her nipples. She was barefoot.

I saw, hanging from a peg on the crude framework I used for my wardrobe, her riding costume.

“Welcome home, my husband,” she murmured, not looking up at me.

I was frozen. I’d dreamed of this time and now it had arrived.

She lifted her eyes.

“I … I am sorry,” she said. “For what I did.”

Once more that punished animal look was on her face. I found words, and my legs, stepped forward, and took her hands.

“Marán,” I said. “You did nothing wrong. Not when I was gone, not now, not ever.

“I love you.”

I saw tears well in her eyes.

“Here,” she whispered. “Give me your coat.”

I unbuttoned it, and let it slide to the ground. She came close, ran her fingers over my bandaged forearm and grimaced. Then she kissed my nipples through my shirt.

“I forgot how sweet you smell when you sweat,” she said, and lifted her head to me.

I smelled flowers as we kissed, and blood began to hammer against my temples. I put my arms around her, feeling her warmth through the thin gown. After a time I pulled back slightly.

“Marán, grant me a favor. I don’t want you to be thinking I’m some sort of magistrate, judging what you do or don’t do. I’m your partner, not your lord. I’m going to do things wrong … hells, I know I already have. I’m but human, and expect mercy and forgiveness, so I guess I’d better grant you the same right, hadn’t I? Please stop being so hard on yourself.”

She stared at me, then buried her head against my shoulder. I felt her tears through my shirt.

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all. I just … I guess I just never thought I had any right to be happy. I was, for a while. Then our baby died, and I felt like I was being punished.”