Demon King

by Bunch, Chris

  “Possibly,” she said calmly, “possibly, Tribune, we should have found the time to discover further details, but I see you are intent on trapping whoever — or whatever — attacked your men.”

  “I am.” Her words caught me, made me think. Whatever?

  “Suppose it is a demon?” I said.

  She shrugged. “I’ve never confronted one fresh from a kill. If so, it should make an interesting conflict.”

  I grinned tightly. One reason I’d chosen the Seer was her complete lack of fear. She was as much a warrior as any of us.

  “Sir!” It was Bikaner. “Troops mounted and ready.”

  Karjan trotted up, leading Lucan. Beside him was Kutulu, astride a bay I knew to be a racer, but a horse I’d trust a babe on. I swung into the saddle.

  “Lancers!” I shouted. “Ride out!”

  The gates of the courtyard swung wide, and we trotted out, into the castle’s main yard. The gates stood open, and the lamps of Polycittara were already glowing in the dankness beyond.

  I saw Marán on an inside balcony. For just a moment battle anger left me, and I wondered what it was like to love someone who’d chosen a life as I had, when each leave-taking might be the last. But there was no time for anything behind. At a gallop we went into the driving rain and out of the city, with blood on our minds.

  • • •

  The rain stopped for a moment, and dying sunlight outlined the village of Nevern. It sat atop a hill and, even though it was unwalled, would be easy to defend, with only half a dozen streets, which wound past ancient stone houses. I heard the wail of a babe, quickly silenced, from one. But we had little attention for the village.

  Twenty-five naked corpses hung on butcher’s cutting tripods along the road, impaled on hooks through their rib cages. They were the missing Lancers. I looked at Legate Ili’s body. Beyond the ghastly wound in its chest, it bore no signs of violence. But he had not died easily — his face, like the others, was twisted in a grimace of fear.

  I remembered Horseman Gabran’s babblings about men becoming snakes, and imagined Legate Ili’s column a few hours ago, drawn up in the village square, about to begin the hearings, seeing the crowd pressed about them change, writhe, become serpents and slither toward them.

  Very well. Those who dealt terror would experience it themselves. I shouted for the commander of the Tenth Hussars’ troop, Captain Pelym, and ordered him to surround the village with the hundred men of his company. Kill anyone attempting to leave — man, woman, child. He saluted, and his company rode away.

  “Your intentions, Tribune?” Kutulu was being formal.

  “This village was responsible for the murder of twenty-five of their fellow Numantians. Under martial law, I intend to put it to the sword.”

  I saw Seer Sinait’s eyes widen. For a moment, I remembered that police sergeant about to slay three elderly innocents, but shoved the memory away.

  “Good,” Kutulu said. “The emperor’s rule can be just — but it can also be harsh to miscreants.”

  “Tribune,” the seer said. “Will you give me a moment before you issue your orders?”

  She dismounted, took the canvas roll from behind her, opened it, and took out a very slender dagger, the blade of which shone of silver, and the haft of gold.

  “I would like to try something I’ve never attempted.”

  She touched the blade to her forehead, then to her heart. She walked to Legate Ili’s body, touched the tip of the dagger to the gory wound in his chest, then went back to her roll. She took out a coil of string that shimmered in the light of the dying sun. Murmuring words I couldn’t distinguish, she wrapped a figure-eight loop around the dagger’s haft, then held it suspended in air. The perfectly balanced weapon hung level. Sinait chanted:

  “There is blood

  There was blood

  Seek the Slayer

  Find the man

  Find the woman

  Find the child

  Blood seek blood

  Point true

  Point it well

  Blood seek blood.”

  The dagger didn’t move; then it swung, pointed toward the village.

  “That’s as I thought,” I began, and then the dagger swung to the side. It moved back and forth, like a hound questing for a scent, then steadied. It pointed a dozen degrees away from Nevern.

  “What does this mean?” I asked.

  “Wait,” the seer said. “Let me be certain.” Again she chanted, and again the dagger behaved exactly as before. “These soldiers weren’t slain by the people of this village. The dagger points to where the real murderers now are.

  “I’d guess the villagers knew what was about to happen, but were afraid of giving a warning. The knife shows they carry some guilt. I felt this,” she went on. “I sensed no threat, no enemies ahead. That’s not a trustworthy feeling, all too often. But it’s still worth considering.”

  “You said the villagers share guilt,” Kutulu said. “That’s enough.”

  Sinait didn’t answer, but looked at me, waiting. That bloodthirsty warden came back, and a bit of my anger died.

  “Tribune,” Kutulu said, seeing my hesitation, “these people are admittedly guilty and must be punished. Should we ignore them, and chase wisps that will disappear in the hills?”

  “Seer,” I said, “the emperor’s warden has a point. Can the ones who actually did it be brought down?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Is there a map of this area?”

  “Domina Bikaner. A map, if you please!”

  “Sir!” Captain Lasta pulled one from a saddlebag and handed it to Bikaner, who brought it to me.

  “If you could … align it, I think is the word?” Sinait asked.

  I dismounted and laid the map on the ground, using the village and a readily identifiable hillcrest not far away to orient it.

  “We are where, exactly?”

  I knelt and pointed. Sinait got down beside me, picked up a bit of muddy earth, and touched it to the map where I’d pointed.

  “You are what you picture

  You are what you show

  Tell me true

  Tell me firm

  Jacini of the Earth

  Limax of this land

  One other who must not be named

  But she knows, she knows

  She knows I pray to her

  Become what you show.”

  For just an instant, I swear the map became a tiny replica of the land, so Nevern wasn’t tiny dots of ink, but small houses, and the hills around us rose up, like a sand-table model. But then everything returned to normal. Sinait took the dagger once more and held it over the map by the gold cord, muttering words I couldn’t distinguish. The dagger hung level, dipped. She lowered her hand until the dagger’s point touched the map.

  “The ones you seek will be there.”

  I showed Captain Lasta the spot on the map.

  “One hour distant, I’d guess,” he said. “We can follow this trail … here. It doesn’t look too bad, unless the map’s lying to us or the rain’s washed it out.”

  I stood. “Lance Karjan, ride for Captain Pelym, and tell him to bring his company back.”

  “Yessir.”

  Kutulu was frowning. “A word, Tribune?”

  We stepped a few feet away.

  “Do you accept her magic?”

  “Not entirely,” I said. “But I know damned well a group of farmers didn’t come up with the magic to slaughter a quarter hundred Lancers, nor with the courage.”

  “But they knew,” Kutulu said stubbornly. “Even the seer said that.”

  “So she did, and they’ll be punished. But there are other ways of punishment than the sword or prison. I could order the village razed, but how many friends do you think that would win for Numantia in the towns around us?

  “They’ll be punished, Kutulu. Don’t doubt that. Perhaps I’ll order their marketplace destroyed, and all sellers and buyers to do their business elsewhere for a year. I m
ust think on it.”

  “There is no place for weakness in the law,” said the Serpent Who Never Sleeps.

  “You might call it weakness,” I said. “Perhaps I’ll use another word. Mercy. Now, those are my orders. Obey them, sir.”

  Kutulu dipped his head and walked back to his horse.

  • • •

  Within a few moments of Captain Lasta’s prediction, we reached the place Sinait had indicated our quarry would be. It was almost dark, and the rain had returned, but softer than before.

  I’d already given orders to Bikaner, Lasta, Pelym, and Tiger Troop’s commander, Legate Thanet, as the column wound through the hills. We’d leave the horses and close on foot. One man in four had been told off to hold them. The Lancers left their primary weapons behind. If I’d known we’d be fighting on foot, I would’ve had them draw shortswords and knives before we marched out. But their sabers would serve for the task I proposed.

  I was properly armed, having learned years ago from my father that a saber is a single-purpose weapon, good only for a man on horseback, and so carried a straight double-edged blade whether afoot or riding.

  I was at the head of the soldiers, and Domina Bikaner brought up the rear. Behind me was Karjan, then Kutulu and Seer Sinait. We were flanked by archers, then Captain Lasta and the men of the Red Lancers. Before we started, I asked the seer if she felt any magic about, if the wizard who’d ambushed Legate Ili had laid out any wards. She cast two spells, said she sensed nothing, which puzzled her — was the unknown wizard that confident?

  I noted a distinctive crest line just to the right of the direction we wished to travel in, outlined against the darkening sky, and we moved out through the night, not needing a compass. There was not a murmur from the men, and not a clink of weaponry or scuffle as we crept over the hills. Not far ahead, I saw the glow of a fire dimly reflected from the storm clouds above, and I moved in its direction. The ground climbed gently, and I stopped just below a hillcrest, and held out my hand, palm down. The soldiers flattened, weapons ready.

  I touched Karjan, the seer, and Kutulu, and we moved to the top of the hill, keeping in a crouch. I was most impressed with Sinait — though she had none of the training of a soldier, and was hardly in the best of physical shape, she’d kept up without panting, and walked almost as silently as any of us.

  There was a small valley below, almost a natural amphitheater. Fires burned smokily. There were no demons to be seen, but about fifty armed men crouched around the fires. Some were roasting meat, others sheltering under blankets or oilskins. They were talking animatedly, unbothered by the rain, and I heard occasional bursts of laughter. I saw no sentries.

  We watched for some moments. I was about to return to the troops, but Kutulu held up a hand. He was waiting for something. One man stood and called names. Three others joined him, and they moved away from the fire to confer.

  Kutulu leaned close. “Those four,” he whispered. “Or, at any rate, the one in the center. He’ll be their leader. We want him alive.”

  “If possible,” I said, a bit of skepticism in my voice. There were no guarantees in close combat.

  “Not if possible. I have some questions that must be answered.” I saw the gleam in his eyes, reflected firelight. He drew on a pair of long gauntleted gloves, his favorite weapons — each had sand sewn across the knuckles and palms, ideal for knocking someone instantly unconscious. In his left hand he held a dagger he carried sheathed down the back of his neck.

  We returned and I whispered final orders to Captain Lasta, and he went down the column, passing them along to warrants and officers. I wanted Tiger Troop to move around the valley to the left, and the Tenth Hussars to the right. They were to be in position by a count of two thousand from the time they left the column and, at my shout, were to charge.

  I counted slowly as men slipped away. At one thousand, I motioned, and my Red Lancers went on line, crawling to the crest of the hill.

  My mouth was dry, and I could feel my lips pull back in a humorless grin.

  Time. I gave it another few seconds, then came to my feet. As I did, Kutulu bounded over the crest of the hill. I thought he’d not understood, or his nerves had gone, then swore as I realized what he was doing.

  “Lancers … Attack!” I bellowed, and we went over the top in a rush down on the raiders. Kutulu was in front of us, and I saw him cannon into a man and send him tumbling.

  There were shouts of surprise, screams. Men scrambled up, grabbing for weapons. Some tried to run, but saw the other two waves of soldiers, coming over the far crest. My cavalrymen smashed into the throng as if they were a phalanx of spearmen; sabers flashed in the firelight, and the screams were louder and now agonized instead of surprised. Some of the Kallians managed to break away from the swordsmen, but with no hope, for my archers stood at thirty-foot intervals around the rim of the valley, whipping down goose-feathered shafts.

  A man was in front of me, open hands pushing, and my blade went between them into his chest. I booted him off my sword, then spun as someone cut at me with a scythe. I knocked the wooden handle up and put my sword through that man’s neck.

  Two men with clubs stumbled at me, and I danced to the side, sliced one’s arm open, gave him an instant to howl in pain while I gutted his friend, then slashed, almost taking the first man’s head off.

  There was a man with a wide-bladed falchion, and he cut at me. I parried his thrust, struck, but he moved aside. He swung again, and I blocked his blade at the hilt, forcing his arm up, and our bodies slammed together. His breath stank of garlic and fear.

  Before he could pull back, I jerked my knee into his crotch, and he screeched and doubled over. I crashed the pommel of my sword down on the back of his neck, cracking his skull, and finished him as he fell. Then there was no one standing except soldiers.

  “Domina!”

  Bikaner came toward me, limping a little. I saw the dark of blood on his thigh.

  “I think I’m gettin’ a little old, sir. One of ‘em went down and I didn’t stay to finish him. Bastard had th’ brass t’ cut me. What’s your orders, sir?”

  “Take their heads. We’ll have something decorative for the walls of Polycittara come morning.”

  Bikaner’s teeth flashed. “That’ll give them something to ponder, sir.”

  The city would have more than just heads to think of. All Kallio would go into mourning for my fallen Lancers. Not that I expected them to do anything but rejoice privately, but they would mourn several things: the banning of all festivals and playing of any music for a time, and the shuttering of all public houses for the same. If I couldn’t appeal to their sense of justice or their fear of the consequences, I’d instruct them through their guts.

  Kutulu was two dozen feet away. A man lay moaning at his feet and, a foot away, a second was on his hands and knees. I went to him. “I thought you’d gone mad,” I said.

  “Not at all,” and he looked about, saw no one else within earshot, “my friend. It didn’t seem as if you could guarantee the safety of those I needed, so I thought I might make an early selection. One of these is the man we saw giving orders, the other’s one of his … assistants, perhaps. We’ll see what they have to say for themselves, once we return to the castle. I have many questions, and I’m sure they’ll give me all the answers I need.”

  He neither smiled nor sounded angry, and his words were a simple declaration of fact. There would be no mercy from his torturers.

  The skirmishing was over, and it was time for full battle.

  FOUR

  CASTING THE NET

  I never should’a played politics,” the bandit who called himself Slit-Nose grumbled, and spat bloody teeth. “Thievin’s never so dirty, an’ worst it’ll get you is a clean death.”

  “You’ll have your death,” Kutulu promised. “When you’ve told us everything — and we’re sure it’s the truth.”

  “There’s naught more t’ tell,” the man Kutulu had taken said. “Th’ man said he’d
pay us good red gold, an’ did. All we had to do was scrag those so’jers for him.”

  “Who was he?”

  “I told you, an’ I told that dogfucker who’s been beatin’ on me I don’t know. He come to us, knew our hideout, knew th’ places we’d been, knew me by name, an’ was willin’ to pay. A’ready had Oswy’s people convinced, but needed more thieves. Wanted to make sure nobody got away. I asked what th’ band thought. Pickin’s been slender since th’ war. Ain’t none got coppers, let alone gold an’ silver t’ be thieved.

  “We’d been thinkin’ about goin’ on east, into Wakhijr, an’ tryin’ our luck there. ‘Stead …” Slit-Nose spat blood again and wiped his face. He looked distastefully at his shattered fingers. “Don’t guess those’ll ever hold a blade again, now will they?”

  I wanted to turn away and vomit, as much from the stink of the chamber as what the torturers had done to this thief, but forced myself not to.

  “I never had no use for you gods-damned Nicians anyway. Paradin’ around actin’ like you wouldn’t say shit if you had a mouthful, so th’ thought of puttin’ you on th’ long journey to Saionji sounded pretty right.”

  Kutulu’s inquisitor raised his knout. I held up a hand.

  “Let him speak on.”

  “ ‘Sides, killin’ sojers is good trade.”

  “Why? We seldom have money.”

  “Killin’ a sojer makes th’ dirt eaters think you’re on their side. You know, like you’re some kinda hero then, an’ maybe they won’t turn you in, first chance they hear of a reward.”

  I stepped back, curiosity satisfied. Kutulu frowned — I’d had no business breaking the rhythm of his questions.

  “What did this sorcerer call himself?”

  “Didn’t give a name.”

  “What was he dressed like?”

  “Rich. Dark brown breeches, tunic. Had a cloak in th’ same color over it. Must’ve had a spell on it, ‘cause it looked t’ be wool, but cast off th’ rain like it was oiled. Had two men with him. Rough-lookin'. Bodyguards.”

  “So he paid you, and you did his bidding?”