Demon King

by Bunch, Chris

  • • •

  The next day, we saw a smudge of smoke on the horizon. The day after that, we rode into Oswy, and our time with the Negaret was over.

  SEVENTEEN

  ALEGRIA

  Oswy seemed to be two cities — one fairly clean, for a frontier town, the other shabby and mostly unpainted. The central street, very wide, very muddy, divided them. At first I thought one side held the well-to-do, such as they were, the other the poor, but Bakr corrected me. “On this side are the traders and those who give a shit about clean streets. On the other … the Negaret, who care more for the cleanliness of their souls and bodies, and spend as little time behind walls as they must.” Proof that worldly injustice is rife was that the Negaret side sounded with music and laughter, and the Maisirian traders were pinched-faced and ill at ease.

  Bakr had pitched his tents beyond the city walls, which he said was required for Negaret bands, then he and his warriors escorted me to the balamb, or military governor. Oswy, the first city within Maisir on the main trading route, was too important to be ruled by a civilian kantibe.

  Balamb Bottalock Trembelie and his staff were waiting inside the gates of his sprawling compound. Trembelie was an odd-looking man. He must have been a fine bull of a soldier who’d spent too long at the trencher and not enough in the trenches. At one time he would have weighed 250, perhaps 300 pounds. But something had happened, perhaps a wasting disease he was only just recovering from, for his weight had fallen so quickly his skin hadn’t had time to shrink to its proper size. His jowls drooped, and the skin of his hands sagged in folds. He should have worn a beard, for he looked like a dissipated, petulant baby. He wore jewel-crusted red suede breeches and vest, with a silk shirt that ended at his elbows. His forearms bulged, not with fat but muscle, and I knew he could handle a heavy sword without effort.

  It was raining as we rode through the gates, but Trembelie paid no attention, striding down from the pavilion he and his courtiers were sheltering under. “Ambassador Damastes á Cimabue, Tribune and Baron,” he said, and his voice was a flat, clear baritone well suited for the commands of the battlefield. “Welcome to Oswy. Welcome to Maisir.”

  I dismounted and greeted him. There was the usual babble of introductions.

  “Balamb Trembelie,” Bakr called. “My duty is finished, and I now give over this man to your keeping. Guard him well, as I have.” He looked at me. “Take good care. When you return, come a-hunting with us. Or, if not, think fondly of the day when we’ll be hunting each other.”

  I saluted with an open hand, and he wheeled his horse, kicked it into a gallop, and splashed out of the compound.

  “May I ask what that was about?” Trembelie said.

  “Jedaz Bakr has determined war between our kingdoms is inevitable,” I said.

  “That was rude.”

  “Not in his eyes,” I said. “He thought it would be quite a wonderful time.”

  “And you?”

  “My orders, my desires, and those of my emperor, are for peace. Let those who want war find another enemy than Numantia.”

  “Good,” Trembelie said. “I feel the same. These bones of mine have seen enough of blood. I have no desire to scatter them on some forgotten ground. After what you’ve just said, I personally bid you another, fonder welcome to Oswy. Come inside, you and your men, and let us provide a proper — and dry — reception.”

  • • •

  That night’s banquet was interesting, if somewhat overspiced for my palate. The Maisirians love to give flowery names to their dishes, just as Varan cooks do. One dish, for instance, was called Heavenly Forest Log Bearing Scents of Spring. It was a haunch of venison with far too many spices, too much wine, and too much garlic, cooked with onions, scallions, shallots, and leeks. I foresaw that I’d better eat simple dishes when alone, if the Maisirians proposed to feed me like this in public.

  Trembelie’s eyebrows lifted when I told him I didn’t drink, but within moments he’d ordered up various sorts of iced waters, some charged, others scented with flowers or fruit.

  There were only a handful of women at the table, and these were the concubines of Trembelie and his highest aides. I don’t know if any of these officials had wives in Oswy, but if they did, they were kept in seclusion.

  Bakr had warned me about the interminable toasts, and so it went, beginning with one to the Emperor Tenedos, then to King Bairan, then to each other, then to the city of Oswy, and so on and so forth.

  After dinner I gave out presents to Trembelie and four of his aides. These were clever cylinders that provided a different view of Numantia each time you turned and peered through them, tiny statues of strangely worked metals and semiprecious stones, and suchlike. For Trembelie, I had a dagger whose blade was skeletonized, with various-colored gems set within.

  “We have gifts for you,” he announced. “These come not from us, but from His Royal Majesty. I must say that our king, who does all things well, has outdone himself.”

  First were expensive, soft winter furs, then a jeweled and elaborately engraved sword.

  “There is one more,” and Trembelie sounded wistful. “The king has granted you a great honor, one which I hope, to be frank, to be worthy of if Irisu smiles and I serve my master well.” He tapped a wooden clacker and a young woman walked into the room.

  I don’t know if I gasped, or if it was someone else. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was tall, four inches under six feet. She had straight black hair that fell below her waist and was pulled back and held with a jeweled clip. Her eyes were almond in shape, and green. She had a small, pert nose, equally small and inviting lips, and high cheekbones. Her complexion was a golden marvel, utterly clear, as if the finest lacquer had been laid over the finest hammered metal, and I knew her skin would be as velvet to my touch.

  She was quite slender, but full-breasted. She wore a robe suitable for a bedchamber or an imperial audience — high-necked, close-fitting, and following the lines of her body to her ankles. It was light blue, with a raised pattern lighter blue. Her expression suggested someone who’d come quickly to laughter, curiosity, or passion.

  “This is Alegria,” Trembelie said. “She is a Dalriada.” He said this as if I was expected to know what a Dalriada was, and to be suitably impressed.

  She lifted her face and looked at me. I was shaken for an instant by an unknown emotion. It was lust, but more than lust. I yearned suddenly to take her in my arms, take off the robe she wore, and love her. I said, and meant love, not just lust.

  “This is, as I’ve said, one of the highest honors our King can bestow,” Trembelie said. “Alegria is given to you by our gracious king not only for your time here in Maisir, but to take back to Numantia if you wish.” He paused, then said, “Unless, of course, there are … problematical circumstances.”

  Someone snickered, and I’m afraid I blushed, as much with anger as anything, for a host of reasons. The most obvious was wondering why men behaved in such an utterly boorish manner. I thought, for an instant, a bit of amusement came and went on Alegria’s face.

  The clacker sounded again, and the spell was broken. Two servants appeared.

  “Escort this woman to Tribune á Cimabue’s chamber, along with his other presents.”

  Alegria bowed and walked out, as calmly as if she were royalty leaving an audience chamber.

  • • •

  We sat for another hour, perhaps two, mouthing platitudes of peace and brotherhood. I suppose I held up my end, but my mind was hardly present. I wasn’t eager to have the evening come to an end, at least not until I determined what I’d do about the woman. But no ideas came.

  Finally Trembelie yawned widely and suggested it was time to retire. “I assume you’d also like to … examine the gifts from our king.” That got a laugh, but not from me. I forced a smile, rose, and a servant came.

  My apartments were on three levels, on the highest floor of the building, and faced east, so the rising sun would illuminate the
m, with Oswy and the river it sat on below. Everything was silk, padded leather, and luxury, decorated in a rather feminine style.

  Alegria was kneeling in the center of the main room. “Good evening, master.” Her voice was as I’d expected, soft, gentle, purring but with the force of a tiger.

  “Get up,” I said.

  She obeyed, rising with utter grace, hands not touching the floor.

  “First, my name is Damastes. I’m not to be called master.”

  “As you wish, mas — As you wish.”

  “Sit down somewhere.” She obeyed, curling herself in a round, backless chair. “Let’s start over,” I said. “Alegria, I am delighted to meet you.”

  “And I you,” she murmured. She looked me up and down. “I think I’m very lucky.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” I said, wondering why my voice was harsh, and forcing it to be gentle. “But why do you say that?”

  “Forgive me for sounding arrogant,” she said. “But those who my lord and master, King Bairan, deem worthy of a gift of Dalriada are generally, shall we say, not young, but of years commensurate with their station. Not to mention bulk,” she said, a smile coming and going.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” I said. “But you should know that I’m married.”

  Alegria held out her hands, palms up. “That isn’t important.” She opened the first button of her robe and took out what looked like a small stone tablet. “My lord, would you do me a favor?”

  “If I can,” I said, eager for a new subject.

  “Put this in your mouth for a moment.” I took the lozenge. It was engraved with tiny symbols. I obeyed, and tasted perfume I knew was her body, her scent. “Now give it back to me.”

  I took it out of my mouth, then hesitated. “Sorcerers try to get a bit of spittle, blood … other substances from those they wish to control,” I said. “Is there magic in this?”

  “There is. But not concerning you. This is something all Dalriada are required to do when they meet their master for the first time.”

  “I said, I’m not your master! Please don’t use that word any more. But what happens next?”

  “Nothing to you, as I’ve said. I merely place this in my mouth for a moment. Then the tablet’s spell is expended, and you may have it back, if you wish.”

  “What does the tablet do?” She hesitated. “Tell me!”

  “It binds me to you. Forever.”

  “A love philter?”

  “Of sorts. But one that’s very skillfully woven. I … I will love you, certainly. But I won’t be blind to your faults, so I won’t moon over you, and drive you mad with doglike devotion. It makes what you do, your happiness, your success the most important thing to me.”

  “So if I said your death was necessary?”

  She looked down, nodded slightly.

  “Utter, complete, contemptible bullshit,” I snarled, rage breaking into the open. I went to a window and hurled the tablet into the night. “Fuck that nonsense.”

  Alegria’s face twisted, and she started to cry. I didn’t know what to do, but finally sat beside her and put an arm about her shoulders. She found that of little comfort, and so I just sat there until the sobs stopped. She excused herself, went into the bath, and I heard water splashing. She came back out and sat down across from me.

  “All this is quite beyond me, quite beyond anything I’ve learned,” she said. “Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Your wife must be very fortunate to have someone who loves her that much.”

  The cheap and convenient lie I’d told suddenly came back up, acid in the back of my throat. “No,” I confessed. “My wife has left me recently, and will divorce me, if she hasn’t already.”

  Alegria’s eyes searched me. “Oh,” she said gently. “So now you hate women?”

  “Of course not. I … just feel, well, dead.”

  “I’ve been taught ways my instructors said will open passion’s gates to almost anyone.”

  “I don’t mean in the flesh,” I said, wondering why I was telling this woman so much. “But rather that there’s no attraction.”

  Alegria stood, and slipped her robe off. Under it she wore a filmy wrap, tinged with red and green, growing darker around her waist and sex, then lighter once more. I saw the delicate brown of her nipples, the firm pertness of her breasts. “No?” she breathed. “Even without the tablet I’m drawn to you, wish to make you happy.”

  “No,” I said flatly, honestly.

  “Then what do you wish me to do? Do you want me to leave?”

  “If I did, I doubt if your lord and master would be pleased with me. But that’s as may be. What would happen to you?”

  “The same thing that’ll happen when you leave Maisir, since obviously you’ll have no interest in taking me back to your kingdom,” she said. “I’ll return to the Dalriada.”

  “Which is?”

  “A place. An order. Where I grew up, where I learned what I know, where my friends are. Where I’ll grow old and die. Probably they’ll want me to teach the novices, although what I’ll have to teach I surely don’t know. Maybe that even the fair can fail.”

  “You haven’t failed,” I said. “Don’t be silly. Don’t you have, well, male friends?”

  Alegria looked at me closely. “I see you’re not making a joke. So you must’ve been told nothing about what I am. I was chosen to join the Dalriada when I was seven years old. From that time to this night, I was never permitted to be alone with a man.”

  “Oh.” This was becoming troublesome. “But when you go back, surely you can do whatever you want. Your service to the king is complete. It’s no fault of yours the situation is what it is.”

  “No. If I were to marry, or company a man, that would be considered a disgrace by the king. My life would be forfeit.” She looked to either side reflexively, as if making sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “I don’t understand why that shames my lord and master, but then I’m not a man, not a king.”

  I almost blurted that neither was she a gods-damned fool, and I didn’t understand that kind of thinking either, but caught myself. “Is this what happens to all Dalriada?” I asked.

  “Most. But not all. Some of us are lucky. Some of us become mistresses of those who own us. There are tales of a few even becoming wives.”

  “What about being freed? Of no longer being …”

  “A slave? That would be terrible,” she said. “For who would protect me?”

  “The first man you met,” I said. “You are very beautiful.”

  She blushed. “Thank you. But you don’t know the ways of Maisir.”

  “Evidently not. But I’ll learn them. The question now is, what should you and I do?”

  “Please don’t shame me this night. Allow me to sleep on the floor. Then I’ll do what I must do.”

  “That’s not an option either,” I said. “Let me ask you this — do the talents of a Dalriada go beyond the bed?”

  “Of course! Why do you think we’re as prized as we are?” she said indignantly. “I can sing. Dance. Balance accounts. Provide any sort of conversation you wish, from party chatter to talk about art or books or even diplomacy. We’re very well trained in that,” she said. “Perhaps because most of our mas — lords practice that craft, sometimes to the exclusion of all else. Or so I was told.”

  “Then there’s a solution, at least for the moment,” I said. “Alegria, would you travel with me as my companion? My teacher? For I desperately need to learn everything there is to know about your land.” Needless to say, I didn’t add that it would be for the purpose of conquest.

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. I am yours.”

  “Mmmh.” I was still thinking. “I suppose that Trembelie will have my servants brought up and questioned, to see what happened this night, eh?”

  “I would think so. He was quite interested in me.”

  “There’s but one bed. Would it be better for everybody, I mean … I do
n’t mean to be …” My stammer faded off.

  “Thank you, Damastes.”

  I didn’t meet her eyes as we went into the bedchamber. It was quite awkward, planning to sleep with someone who was a stranger, someone you weren’t going to have sex with. I found a thick robe made of toweling, and that helped. I looked studiously in other directions as we washed, cleaned our teeth, and perfumed our bodies. I rather imagine it would have been roaringly funny to an observer, but it was only embarrassing to me.

  We went into the bedroom, and she sat on one side of the bed. “One small favor,” she said, without looking at me. “Have you a tiny knife?”

  I did, a small folding blade, in my housewife, useful for cleaning nails and such. I gave it to her. “Be careful, it’s sharp.”

  “Good,” and before I could do anything she slashed the tip of her ring finger.

  “What are you doing?” I exclaimed.

  “The same thing you are. Preventing gossip.” She pulled back the covers and allowed blood to drip onto the sheets in the bed’s center. “Remember? I am … I was … a virgin.” Alegria suddenly giggled. “Your face is red.”

  “I know,” I said furiously.

  “And your neck.”

  “No doubt.”

  “How far down do you blush, Damastes?”

  “Stop it, woman. I meant what I said.”

  She leaned over and blew out the light. I took off the robe, lay back, and pulled the covers over me. She got into bed. It was utterly silent, save for the dim clatter of a cart somewhere beyond Trembelie’s mansion.

  Then she giggled once more. “Good night, lord.”

  “Good night, Alegria.”

  Given the strangeness of the situation, I thought, I’d toss and turn for hours. But I didn’t. Sleep took me within moments. I don’t remember what I dreamed. But when I awoke, just at dawn, I felt very happy, and had a smile on my lips. And my cock was as hard as an iron rod.

  • • •

  The next morning, we started south, toward Jarrah. We were escorted by two full companies of the Third Royal Taezli Cavalry. Their proper total strength should have been around four hundred men, the ranking captain and therefore man in charge of both formations, Shamb Alatyr Philaret said. But they’d never been able to muster more than two hundred fifty or so, and fifty of these men had recently been detached to “help train the new units,” further indication the Maisirians were building up their armies.