by Chris Bunch
“Now, Damastes, if you are as needful as I am, let me taste you,” and she took me in her mouth, moving her lips down along my cock’s shaft, her tongue coiling, caressing, and I had my hands around her head, pulling her hair around me, and gasped as my long-held semen gushed.
She kept moving her head and the joyful agony grew, and then subsided. She rose to her feet, her mouth wet with me, and swallowed.
“That was to make sure we would have our full share of pleasure.”
I stood, and embraced her once more. As we kissed, I slid the robe down from her shoulders, then pulled at the knots holding her gown up, and it fell about her waist.
Pregnancy had made her breasts grow, and now they curved like beautiful persimmons. She curled a leg around me, and rubbed my calf with her heel. My cock stiffened against her stomach, and she caressed my balls gently.
I carried her to my small camp cot and laid her down on it I stood over her, bestriding the cot. She lay with her head back, then opened her eyes and looked up at me, and smiled, dreamily. She pulled her gown up until it pooled in her lap. She brought one leg up, then the other, and let her thighs fall apart.
“Did you dream about me, my husband?”
“Every night.”
“I dreamed about you, and tried to find a bit of pleasure in my own ways. But they were nothing compared to you.”
Still smiling, she began stroking her sex, and put one finger, then the other, inside herself, moving them in and out gently.
“I am wet, Damastes,” she moaned. “I am ready for you. Come love me, come fuck me now.”
I knelt on the coach, and as I touched her wetness with my cock she jerked. I entered her, but only until the head was buried, then moved it slightly in and out.
“All the way, put it in all the way,” she said, but I continued the slight motions. “Oh, love, please, please, it’s been so long, oh, split me, tear me, oh, fuck me!”
I withdrew slightly and she suddenly hooked her heels under the cot’s sideboards, and levered herself up until I was buried in her. She cried out, and I fell across her, pounding as her hips drove against me, her hands pulling at my back, her mouth open, gasping, our wet lips sliding across each other, and we were one again.
• • •
“Soldiers of Numantia,” Tenedos’s amplified voice boomed across the vast formation. “You have served your country, and me, as well.
“I promised you rewards for your sacrifices, and you believed me, and have been most patient. In Polycittara I gave you a taste of what I promised. There shall be more, much more, in the days to come.
“I shall begin with six of my best soldiers.
“All of them are generals, and richly deserve the rank. They are heroes as well.
“This day, I am creating a new rank, the rank of tribune. Here is its symbol of office.” He held up an onyx rod, about two feet long, with silver bands around either end.
The six of us standing at attention before Tenedos were amazed. There’d been no clues as to why he called this army-wide formation, nor why he’d called us up from the heads of our own units.
“My tribunes will hold the highest commands, and will be answerable only to me.
“Now I shall name them. You know them by name and reputation, but I shall have a few words to say about each.
“My first tribune shall be Damastes á Cimabue. He was the first to follow me, and has been the bravest of the brave, from Kiat to the final destruction of Chardin Sher, serving in every conceivable way. Tribune á Cimabue, I honor you for your service.”
He walked forward, and handed me the first staff. I heard the army roar approval behind me. I was incapable of speech, never having dreamed of such an honor. Tenedos must have known what I was thinking, because he smiled, and said softly, “You see what happens when you listen to a madman in a mountain pass?” I managed to salute, and he stepped back. The others would come to him.
“The second is General Hern, a man who has always led from the front, always obeying my commands, and always providing an example.” Hern received his baton as well.
“The third is General Myrus Le Balafre, our best swordsman and a man who leads by example. He needs no medals, for his scarred body shows how he has given his life to Numantia.” Le Balafre took his baton, and walked back beside me. I whispered congratulations, and he nodded thanks. “I guess I’ll stay around for the peace,” he replied. “Life looks like it shall be interesting now.”
“The fourth,” Tenedos’s voice thundered, “is General Yonge. I wish all who are not native Numantians to note this honor, and recognize that there shall be no prejudice for or against people from one state or another, nor against those who choose to enter my service from other nations.” I was waiting for Yonge to shout something outrageous, but the occasion seemed to have overwhelmed him. Knuckling tears from the corner of his eyes, he took the baton and stumbled back to our small formation, forgetting to salute the seer-general.
“The fifth is General Cyrillos Linerges, who returned to the army in its hour of need, and has risen through the ranks rapidly as he proved again and again his leadership and bravery.” Linerges, an arm still bandaged from the battle with the Kallian Army, beamed.
“My final appointment is to General Petre, a man who fights as hard with his brain as his sword. He should be a study for you young officers that time spent studying the art of war instead of gaming or wenches can be profitable. General Petre has done as much to form this army as anyone, and this is his reward.” Petre, humorless as ever, marched to Tenedos, took the baton, saluted snappily, and about-faced. He saw me looking at him, and a smile crossed his face for just an instant Then his expression became as wooden as usual and he returned to ranks.
“Six men,” Tenedos said. “They are but the beginning, and an example. I know there are men out there listening who shall one day carry this black rod, and further honor themselves, their family, their state, and all Numantia.”
“That,” Tenedos said, “was the first arrow of my campaign.”
“So the Rule of Ten knows nothing about your creating this new rank?”
“They do now.”
“What do you suppose they shall do?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I asked you to join me with the special detail I asked for.”
That “special detail,” nearly 200 men, rode behind us as we clattered into the outskirts of Nicias. They were all volunteers, then hand-combed for toughness of mind and body. There were almost as many officers as enlisted men. Among them were Tribune Yonge, Domina Bikaner, and hard fighters like Regimental Guide Evatt, Sergeants Karjan, Svalbard, and Curti, and others I knew not but whose dedication had been attested to by their officers.
They carried not only their swords, but daggers and, hidden under their dress uniforms, truncheons.
Tenedos had personally given them their orders before we rode out of camp, and told them they could be called in various-sized groups, and then named men to each group.
We were heading for the Palace of the Rule of Ten.
• • •
“I am delighted,” Speaker Barthou said, “to honor you, Seer-General Tenedos, for having served us so well.”
“I served not only you, sir, but our homeland of Numantia.” Tenedos stood in the center of the great audience chamber. I stood just behind and to one side, as he’d ordered.
“We have arranged a great triumph for the army,” Barthou went on, “then feasts, ceremonies, celebrations, all that Nicias can do to show its gratitude.” There were cheers, and for the first time Barthou appeared to notice that the balconies were full of soldiers in uniform. He looked worried.
“We thank you,” Tenedos said. “But in fact there is more Nicias can do, and must if proper honor is to be shown. Brave service is best rewarded with real gifts.”
“What do you mean?” Barthou looked upset; this was clearly not going as planned.
“First, gold. Pensions for the men who must be invalided
out of service. Compensation for men who were crippled, losing an arm, an eye, or whatever. More, sir. Numantia is a vast country, and there is much land unworked. I would suggest that the Rule of Ten grant small holdings to those veterans who leave the service.”
“That’s unheard of!” Barthou blurted. I looked at Scopas, Tenedos’s sometimes ally, and he, too, looked surprised, then a calculating expression crossed his face.
Boos and shouts came from the gallery. The Rule of Ten’s guards looked more nervous than their masters. Tenedos turned, and stared up at the soldiers, and there was an instant silence.
Before Barthou could continue, Scopas rose.
“Excuse me, Speaker. But, as you say, the noble seer-general has presented some unusual ideas. I think we should withdraw and consider them.”
Someone shouted from the balcony, “How long, y’bassids? Y’gonna forget about us like allus?”
Scopas looked up and addressed the anonymous jeerer.
“We shall be out for less than an hour, sir. You have my promise.”
Barthou was about to protest, but I saw Scopas move his head slightly.
“Very well. Within the hour.”
The Rule of Ten filed out.
• • •
“Before we continue,” Barthou said, “I have some announcements to make.” The man looked gray, ashen, as if his life had been threatened.
“First, let us congratulate the men Seer-General Teredos proclaimed tribunes. We find this a worthy idea, and are sorry we did not devise it ourselves.”
The Rule of Ten turned their attention to me. I kept my face blank, but I thought, So, you are trying to woo me, and the other five as well. What will you offer?
“We wish to offer our own rewards as well,” Barthou went on. “I note that Gen — Tribune á Cimabue, Count Agramónte, is with us. Tribune, it honors us greatly to name you life-baron. We invite you to choose the remainder of your title at your leisure.
“We also wish to give all tribunes an annual salary of fifty thousand gold coins and will provide estates as well, these estates to be maintained by the government.
“Baron and Tribune á Cimabue, Count Agramónte, since you were the first to be named to the rank, we grant you the Water Palace, to be used as you see fit during your lifetime.
“Other tribunes will be given similar gifts.
“Now, Seer-General — ”
“Before you give me anything,” Tenedos interrupted, “what of the land grants I spoke of?”
“They shall be made, sir,” Scopas said. “We shall set up a commission to begin giving these grants out within a year.”
Tenedos stared at him.
“A year, eh? That should be discussed. But go on.”
I heard a rumble from the troops in the balconies.
Scopas indicated to Barthou he had the floor again.
“Seer-General Tenedos,” Barthou said, “you are created a hereditary baron, and one hundred thousand gold coins per year and an estate for your reward now, with other honors to follow.”
Barthou paused, expecting, no doubt, Tenedos to babble thanks. But the seer said, coldly, “That is not nearly adequate.”
“What?”
“I think we should withdraw to your chambers once more and discuss this matter,” the sorcerer said.
“There’s no need to do that,” Barthou protested.
“This situation is entirely out of hand,” his newly appointed lapdog, Timgad, blurted.
“No,” Tenedos corrected. “The matter is well under control, in spite of what you gentlemen think. Now, shall we retire for a few moments?”
There was hasty agreement. The Rule of Ten rose, and started for the exit. Tenedos turned to me and signaled.
“Tribune?”
I spun. “Ten men!” I shouted, and there was a clatter as soldiers ran down the stairs from the gallery. Among them were Svalbard and Karjan.
“What is this?” Timgad protested.
“You shall find out shortly.” Timgad was apoplectic, and Scopas took his arm and dragged him out.
“How could you bring armed soldiers into our most private chambers?” Barthou hissed.
“I invited them because I don’t trust you,” Tenedos said calmly. “However, I mean them only as personal protection, not as a threat.”
I nearly smiled, knowing the ten hard men against the wall behind me hardly presented a pacifistic image.
“So what is it you desire?” Scopas said. “This matter, as Timgad said, is getting out of hand.”
“Many things. We shall start with what’s been said already. The matter of land for my soldiers shall be handled immediately, not within a year or so. Second, those whom you name barons, like Tribune á Cimabue, shall be given hereditary ranks, instead of the shameful life-peerages.”
“How dare you dictate to us?” Barthou shrilled.
“I dare, because of those men who stand behind me. I dare, because I am a true Numantian. I dare … because I dare.”
“Go on,” Scopas said grimly.
“You are given forty-eight hours from this moment. At the end of that time, you are to announce that the Rule of Ten is withdrawing from actively governing to an advisory position, and that you have finally found the emperor you were ordered to name, and supposedly have been seeking all these decades.”
“And what if we don’t?”
Tenedos stared at Barthou until he looked away.
“A year ago, the army was in the streets of Nicias, doing your bidding, bringing peace,” he said. “If you do not obey my orders, it shall rule Nicias with the sword once more.
“And you shall bitterly rue the consequences.
“You cannot change what will happen. I shall be emperor, with or without your bumbling approval. The time has come for changes, and I have been chosen by Saionji to make them.
“Think well, think wisely,” Tenedos said grimly. “For the blood shall be on your hands.”
Without farewell, without salute, he stalked out, paying no heed to the gabble and shouts from behind.
THIRTY
THE CROWN
I stood beside the altar, the high priest at my side. He held a heavy box in his arms, a box made of solid gold and crusted with gems.
The huge temple was full. Every nobleman and -woman who could reach Nicias packed its main floor and balconies.
The center aisle was lined with soldiers. All of them were tribunes or generals.
Trumpets blared, the great doors opened, and Tenedos entered as the audience stood. Instead of seer’s robes, he wore the simple uniform of an army officer, but without badges of rank or decorations.
Music from an unseen orchestra swelled, and Tenedos paced slowly toward the altar. As he passed each officer, the man knelt in obeisance, and the men and women behind them bowed humbly.
He reached the foot of the altar and stopped.
“Are you the man named Laish Tenedos?” the priest asked.
“I am he.”
“You are chosen by the Rule of Ten, in the names of Umar, of Irisu, of … of Saionji,” the priest stumbled over the last-minute addition to the ritual, and I heard gasps from the audience, “of Panoan, and all the rest of those mighty beings who created and watch over Numantia, to lead us.
“Laish Tenedos, I require you to promise that you shall govern wisely and well, frequently consulting the gods to ensure you rule in wisdom, mercy, and justice, never treating your subjects with cruelty or disdain, never leading them into war without justification.”
“I so vow.”
“Then I proclaim you emperor of Numantia.”
He opened the box and took out the single gold circlet.
“Tribune Damastes á Cimabue, Baron Damastes of Ghazi, Count Agramónte, you have been chosen the most worthy to crown the emperor. Take this diadem from my hands, and place it on your ruler’s brow.”
I lifted the circlet. As I did, I saw Marán in the audience, her face a beacon of love and hope.
&nbs
p; I placed the circlet on Tenedos’s brow, then knelt, bowing my head.
And that was how the Seer King came to the throne. On that day we stood on the summit of the highest mountain. All the world’s glory spread below us. It was the beginning of the end.
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Text Copyright © 1997 by Chris Bunch
All rights reserved.
Published in association with Athans & Associates Creative Consulting
Cover image(s) © 123rf.com
Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-5353-X
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-5353-0
